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shireness-says · 5 years

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If I Could See Your Face Once More (4/6)

Summary: This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~8.3K. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

A/N: I’m sorry for what’s about to happen. I promise I’ll fix it.

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for beta-ing, even if she’s mad at me, and to @csmarchmadness for getting me posting this in the first place. I’ll have the 5th chapter up as soon as I finish it.

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules, @let-it-raines, @lifeinahole27. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!

Seeing Hades standing in the library, threatening the boy Killian views as a son, is the stuff of nightmares. Killian so distinctly remembers every blow, every cut, every bruise inflicted upon him in the god’s cavernous lair; he remembers, despite Hades’ suave exterior, exactly how furious he got when Killian refused to beg for mercy. It makes Killian’s blood run even colder within his dead veins to see that same… demon masquerading as man anywhere near Henry.

Hades mentioned a proposition, but Killian isn’t interested. “We’re not interested in deals, tyrant,” he growls back.

The god only hums though, like he’s got a secret. It just might worry Killian even more than the deal itself. “Are you sure? You might think differently once you have all the information. Reconsider, if you will.” Hades rolls his eyes as Belle pulls Henry further behind her across the room. “Honestly, you’ve got to stop that. What, you think I’m going to smite the kid down? Not my style.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” David demands, ignoring their enemy’s flat attempt at reassurance. Killian’s wondering the same thing - Emma’s father has always just been a bit more blunt about things. Not one for banter, that one.

“I’m sure you’ve discovered my lovely gift already? The personalized headstones? I’ve always been one for that personal touch, you know.” Hades, on the other hand, prefers to yammer away, in love with theatrics and the sound of his own voice. Killian would much rather he just get to the bloody point. “As time’s gone by, though, I’ve really found myself thinking I just didn’t do quite enough. I mean, you’ve got a child with you! How rude of me not to cater to the youth!”

“You didn’t,” Regina growls, as realization slowly dawns on all of them. Oh, gods. Killian feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh, but I did,” Hades confirms, smiling that slimy grin at the collected crowd as Belle instinctively holds Henry tighter. “Like I said: I don’t need to do any of that messy smiting business. Not when I can just add dear Henry’s name to one of those monuments. Neater, don’t you think?”

“You son of a bitch,” Killian spits. Only Emma’s tight grip on his hand and Liam throwing a cautionary arm across his chest keeps him from throwing himself at Hades, and he can spot the same blazing rage in everyone’s eyes. “I’ll kill you, I swear I will, you demon.”

“Good luck with that,” Hades replies, rolling his eyes. “We can either go that route - which won’t work, by the way, in case you’ve haven’t forgotten our lovely little interlude on my home turf before - or you can listen to my proposition.”

“We’re listening,” Liam says, casting a warning look in Killian’s direction. Hear him out, he’s silently saying. Know what you’re up against.

“The way I see it, you’ve got something I want, and I’ve got something you want. So, just give me the Olympian Crystal, and I’ll be happy to wipe all those headstones clean. Hell, I’ll even throw in a portal to get you all home in, say,” he makes a great show of looking at an oversized watch, “two hours.”

It’s a good deal, Killian knows. There had always been some uncertainty around how they would escape the Underworld once they had found a way to revive him, and now that Henry has been tossed into this mess… well, that’s non-negotiable. Henry’s safety, the safety of both his children comes before anything else. Killian would gladly throttle Hades with his bare hands, but not at Henry’s expense.

Emma’s always been an all-or-nothing type of woman, however. “And Killian?” she demands.

“Well, I can’t let a soul that’s rightfully mine just waltz out of here, you know. It’s just not good for business. I think I’ve been more than generous,” the god protests.

Emma looks like she’s about to snap and turn down the deal, but Killian interrupts before she gets the chance. “Give us a moment to talk.”

“Oh, of course. Important decisions, I understand. I’ll just be over here,” Hades says, poofing himself into one of the library chairs. Showoff. With their threat sedately seated to the side, crossing his legs in a deceptively casual manner, Belle and Henry take this moment to dart across the room to where everyone else is standing. Killian draws Henry into his arms just as soon as he’s close enough. The poor lad looks pale and worried, and all Killian wants is to alleviate that concern as much as he can.

(It also might be one of the last times Killian holds his boy if they take this deal like he thinks they should, but Killian is trying not to think about that yet.)

“You can’t seriously be thinking about taking Hades’ deal,” Emma hisses. “We are not leaving without you.”

“I’m more than thinking about it; I’ve made my decision. Emma, love, we’ve got to take his deal, it’s the only way,” he begs.

“I refuse to accept that. We came down here to save you, Killian, and I don’t intend to give up.”

“Emma, please,” he begs. “I love you, and I want to come home with you more than anything, but things have changed. It’s been bad enough to have your name on one of those tombstones, but Henry’s… I can’t live with myself, knowing that he’s trapped down here when there was another way to make sure you’re all safe. Henry’s safety has to be non-negotiable.” Killian looks around for support, desperate for any backup.

He finds it in an unexpected place. “He’s right, Emma,” Snow, the queen of hope herself, says softly. “We don’t have a plan for getting out of here, not really, and we definitely don’t have a way to remove our names from the headstones. This would solve both. I know you don’t want to leave Killian behind - none of us do, sweetheart. But you have to think of Henry, and the baby, and what’s best for them.”

“If we accept this, though… we give up our chance to save Killian,” Emma whispers, tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes and starting to slip down her cheeks. Killian can’t help but reach out to catch those tears; it’d be working against every instinct he possesses to deny that impulse to try and ease her pain.

“Actually,” Belle cuts in, “that might not be strictly true.” All eyes turn her direction, by turns curious and hopeful. “Henry and I think we found another way. I don’t want to say anything with Hades right over there but… we think there’s another way.”

“And it’s doable in that 2 hour window?” Robin asks.

“I believe so.”

“There’s really no question then, my love,” Killian says, just for Emma. Privately, he’s less hopeful about this last chance, but he can’t say that now, when his love is looking for any excuse to refuse the bargain. “Accept Hades’ deal. It’ll all work out, somehow.”

“I love you,” she says with a wobbly smile.

“And I you, my Swan.”

It feels like one of the ridiculous sports games Dave once forced him to watch as they uncluster from their tight huddle again. If not for the circumstances, it might almost make Killian laugh. But the circumstances are what they are, and it’s impossible to really embrace the humor when they’re about to possibly go bargain his resurrection away.

“So if we give you the stupid Crystal, you’ll let us go?” Emma demands, grasping Killian’s hand and refusing to let go. “Names cleared, one portal, no loopholes?”

“No loopholes,” Hades promises. The bastard even has the gall to look insulted at the implication he’d play anything but fair. “I’m a deity of my word, you know. I’ll even toss in a couple extra minutes to say goodbye, free of charge, just so the expiration lands on a nice neat quarter hour. Give me the Crystal, and the portal will open at 8:15pm.”

Emma still hesitates. Killian can understand that; even if they both know what must happen, putting that officially into motion is still hard. He squeezes her hand - in solidarity, in encouragement, in love, in everything else, and with a final nod, Emma finally takes the plunge.

“We’ll take your deal, then.”

“Excellent,” Hades grins, even such a happy gesture dripping with ooze on him. “I’ll take my prize, then.”

After a last pause, Emma reluctantly hands the Crystal over. In Hades’ hands, it briefly glows as if suddenly activated before becoming just a hunk of rock again. Killian tries to comfort himself with the fact that maybe that glow means they wouldn’t have been able to use the Crystal after all, even if it was still in their possession; it doesn’t work very well. The god waves his other hand in an almost dismissive gesture once he has the crystal, and what feels like a ripple of power chases through the room. That must have been him removing the headstones; Killian sure hopes so, otherwise they’re all doubly screwed.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” quips Hades. “Your portal will open an hour before in the cemetery and close at 8:15 on the dot, no transfers, no take backs, only one small carry-on allowed, take only pictures, leave only footprints, yada yada yada. Have a nice life.” And with another hand gesture, he disappears in a puff of red-tinged smoke.

“Well that was excessive,” Regina comments dryly. That might be the understatement of the year. “Now, Henry, what did you and Belle discover?”

“We think we figured out where the ambrosia bush is!” Henry bursts out, the excitement of his accomplishment practically seeping from his pores.

“Well done, lad!” congratulates Killian, slinging an affectionate arm around his boy’s shoulders.

“Not to be the skeptical one here, because I really do hope you have, but what makes you think you’ve discovered the ambrosia bush, Henry?” Robin asks. He truly doesn’t mean it as a criticism, Killian knows; Robin is just a practical sort, a man who likes having a plan before he rushes into a situation, unlike so many of these other heroes Killian’s thrown his lot in with.

Belle smiles though, as if to reassure Robin that no offense has been taken. “Well, we started thinking about all the places here in the Underworld and back in Storybrooke that are really significant. Like how Hades’ lair and the River of Souls are beneath the library. There were places we ruled out easily, like the diner or the well or Regina’s crypt, but then —”

“The mines!” Henry interrupts, before apologizing sheepishly to Belle. “We just thought… you know, the fairy dust comes from the mines. That’s, like, one of the town’s sources of magic. So we got to thinking… what if they’re hiding some other natural magic?”

“There are some curious stories about the mines,” Liam adds thoughtfully. “People have been known to go in and not come back out. It stands to reason.”

“We looked at the maps, and found a dead-end tunnel,” Belle continues. “There was also a mention in one of the books about some odd mechanisms in one of the tunnels. We think perhaps it’s some sort of door.”

“Perhaps to a secret, fabled plant,” Killian finishes. “Brilliant, lass.” It’s a long shot, certainly, but it’s also the best lead they have - especially when they’ve got a two hour time limit and no other options.

“Okay, so Killian and I will go see about the ambrosia, while the rest of you collect our things. And, you know, the baby and Zelena. We’ll meet you in the cemetery.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Emma’s father asks. “You two going off on your own like that?”

“Maybe it’s not, but someone needs to keep an eye on Henry, and I remember how tightly you stuffed those backpacks when we came down in the first place. We’ll be fine,” Emma replies.

“Are you sure?” Snow cuts in. “Your father or I would be happy to come with you —”

“It’s fine, Mom. Seriously, we’ll meet you by Regina’s crypt when we’re done.”

Somehow, she manages to convince Snow to leave and follow Regina and Robin out. Before Henry trails along after, Killian pulls him into a tight embrace.

“I’m proud of you, my boy,” he whispers into Henry’s hair. Gods willing, the ambrosia will be exactly where Henry and Belle think it is, will be the answer to all their prayers, but Killian’s not taking any chances. If worst comes to worst, and this is the last time he sees Henry, Killian wants to imprint every detail into his very soul.

“Thanks,” Henry mumbles back, before pulling back with determination glinting in his eyes. “It’s going to work, you know. It has to.”

“Ah, well of course it will if the Truest Believer decrees it so,” Killian smiles back, forcing all of his worry down to give Henry this moment. “Now, why don’t you go ask that brother of mine about the time he sent us all chasing after a sea monster?”

Henry happily leaps off to catch up to where Liam waits at the door. Catching his brother’s eye, they exchange nods. Liam will keep an eye on the lad, make sure he doesn’t run off into any foolhardy side quests.

“A sea monster?” Emma asks at his side, her tone somewhere between confusion and amusement.

“A particularly clever dolphin, as it turns out,” he explains. “At the time Liam was absolutely convinced we had discovered some mystical new creature. Blatantly abused his new power as captain to go chasing the bloody thing. You didn’t want your parents’ assistance?” he volleys back.

“I mostly wasn’t in the mood for some dramatic hope speech,” Emma admits. “Or Dad trying to, like, fight the door. Or something. I love them, but if time is of the essence or whatever you’d say…”

“I understand completely,” Killian chuckles. “We’ve always made a good team, you and I.” And they have - right from the beginning, even before the romance and the second chances and the deep, undying love, they’d always worked more effectively together than any other way. It should have been a sign, right there back on the beanstalk; Killian is only glad he embraced it before it was too late.

The trek from the library to the mine entrance is quicker than Killian expected, just down to the end of Main Street before walking down a wooded path. It’s probably overreacting to try and help Emma over and around every minor obstacle in their way - roots and stones and the like - but he does anyways, trying to infuse his love and concerned affection into every touch. If the way Emma smiles even as she rolls her eyes is any indication, she knows that already, has accepted it. Now is the time to hover, anyways; as much as Killian tries not to think about how these could be their last minutes together, it proves impossible to entirely banish that pesky little whispering voice from his head. Instead, he caters to the voice by trying to memorize every little detail of her hands - the little spots of dry skin between her fingers and the half-formed calluses where her fingers and palm meet and the odd little scar further down her palm that he knows is from a childhood tumble on rough gravel, not to mention the very specific way she likes to weave their fingers together (her pinky on the outside, always on the outside, or she’ll untangle them just to rearrange them the way she likes). He loves every part of her - every silly little detail that seems so frivolous and unimportant to anyone else but is everything to him.

(She’s everything to him. Gods, he hopes this works, because he’s tried an afterlife without her already and could barely stand it. He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if this doesn’t work.)

The mines themselves are a dark series of tunnels carved into what must have been an existing cave that mostly remind Killian of why he’s glad to be a man of the seas. Even with the electrical switch flipped to switch on a rickety, buzzing series of bulbs, the atmosphere is cloying and claustrophobic, every surface rough from where the tunnels were hewn directly from the stone.

“Careful, love,” he cautions, carefully making his way down ahead of her to test for uneven ground.

Her returning eye roll is less affectionate this time. “I’ve been down to the mines before, Killian,” she reminds him. “Remember how I slayed a dragon? I’m fine.”

The words are rather undermined by a subsequent stumble, making Killian huff in fond exasperation. Bloody stubborn woman. At least it’s an excuse to draw Emma in close against his side - for safekeeping and for comfort.

“I don’t know how you think you’ll be able to handle the map like this,” she grumbles as Killian’s fingers begin stroking gently along her side, just in that place between her bony hip and the soft curve of the Bean.

“Simple. I’ll let you hold it instead,” he replies, only half jokingly. Time is of the essence, but handling the map seems like such a waste when he could be imprinting the feel of her skin between every ridge of his fingertips.

“Smartass,” she mutters with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

It’s the easiest thing in the world, even facing such a terrifying uncertainty, to drop a soft kiss on the side of Emma’s head. “And you love me for it.”

“I do,” she sighs dramatically, before stretching to kiss the back ridge of his jaw in turn. It’s always been one of her favorite spots when it’s just the two of them. Killian pulls Emma even closer against his side as she does so, closing his eyes to better savor the moment.

(It’s not the last, it’s not the last, it can’t possibly be the last… but what if it is? What if he’s forced to live off the memory of her soft lips against the corner of his jaw for the rest of eternity?)

The darkness and close quarters of the mine become no less cloying the deeper they travel, and Killian finds himself clinging to Emma not just for her own safety, but to impart a sense of security to himself as well. In the cave-like environment, the only constants are her warmth against his side and the rocky path they walk along continuously sloping downwards. The map proves to be a blessing as tunnels split again and again, creating a confusion of passageways they’d never have been able to navigate without Henry and Belle’s careful charting. Eventually, the bulbs run out when they get too deep into the maze of the mine, replaced instead by torches, somewhat reminiscent of his and Emma’s little adventure to the past and to Regina’s dungeons. By some miracle, Killian finds a bar matchbook in one of his jacket’s pockets, keeping Emma from having to use her magic. She’s grown more confident again in its use, and more convinced the worst of her exhaustion spells are over, but Killian is decidedly less persuaded. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to his love and the Bean all the way down here. Emma may roll her eyes at the way he frantically starts patting at pockets until he finds the matches, but it really does make him feel better about the situation. Once one is lit, it’s just a matter of continuing to light wall torches along the rest of their way as necessary until they reach the end of their journey through the mines.

Their path finally leads to an elevator, of all things. The walls are even closer down here, barely excavated, and as they squeeze past a last outcropping before the chamber widens for the elevator doors, it’s easy for Killian to understand how this isn’t common knowledge. It’s not something anyone would stumble across on accident by any means. Curiously, he notes that the elevator itself looks an awful lot like the one in the library, both down here and up above in the real world. It’s obvious that contrary to appearances, there is some greater design to this place, even if just in the initial structure.

Killian has some mild concern about the stability of the car, but when he cautiously steps a foot in and allows his weight to shift onto the metal platform, it holds without issue, barely shifting at his weight. Reassured as to the safety of the conveyance, he can finally reach back for Emma. “Milady?” he offers with a smile as he extends a hand back in her direction. It’s such a small thing, but so worth it for the laugh Emma emits as she grasps his hand and boards the elevator car. He’ll do anything to hear that laugh.

“I hope you know how to work this thing,” she jokes, “because I sure as hell don’t.”

It’s easy enough to operate, as things turn out. Though there is a hand crank attached to one wall, the car begins its descent as soon as the cage gate is closed, eliminating the need for any effort on their part. That’s a relief, frankly - Killian’s not sure how well he would have been able to turn the crank with just his one hand, and allowing Emma to do it herself is far out of the question, at least if Killian has any say in it. It feels like the ride downwards takes forever, despite the surprisingly rapid speed, but they pass it in silence, Killian choosing to express himself in the soft rub of his thumb against the back of Emma’s hand as they descend rather than with words.

It’s damn near impossible to see more than a foot beyond their faces when the elevator opens, even with the torch held aloft, but as he and Emma begin lighting the other torches conveniently spread along the walls, he’s pleased to discover that they’re in a wide open space. The persistent feeling of dread still niggles within his empty chest, but the greater space at least helps abate the feeling that the entire world is collapsing in on him, ready to crush him and Emma deep within the earth. A massive set of doors dominates one side of the doors, covered

with intricate metalwork; the lack of evident hinges would suggest that the portal opens inwards, away from the chamber they currently inhabit, but when Killian experimentally presses against the panels, he’s met with resistance. From the feel of things, the door is barred from the opposite side. He shouldn’t be surprised, really; if the contents of the inner chamber are as powerful as they’re rumored to be, a plant with the power to restore life back to the dead, it would stand to reason that there would be some challenge or test to acquire it.

Perhaps that’s where the other device in the room comes in - a set of scales upon a circular table, this one with words in a foreign script encircling the edge.

“Of course it can’t be in plain English,” Emma mutters, frowning ferociously at the inscription. When Killian gets closer though, something triggers in his head - half-remembered lessons from long ago.

“Only a heart filled with true love may pass,” he recites, the translation springing to his tongue more quickly than he anticipated.

“You can read… whatever that is?” Emma asks, raising a questioning eyebrow. He’s always liked to think she picked that up from him.

“Ancient Greek,” he clarifies. “You’d be surprised what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”

“Show-off,” she teases back affectionately. He hadn’t translated the words just to impress her, but as with everything in his life - afterlife? once, always, forever - it’s a lovely little side effect, the way her eyes widen in surprise and appreciation and she smiles like she’s proud of him. He loves that smile; he’d do a lot of things to see that smile. “Ok, well if that’s the case…” she trails off, before shaking out her hands and exhaling a heavy breath. He’s seen that body language before; it usually means she’s trying to ramp herself up to perform some massive feat of magic.

“Hold on a moment, love, what exactly are you doing?” he asks as gently as he can, attempting to disguise the naked alarm in his voice.

Emma just looks at him oddly. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Honestly, darling, I’m not at all sure. Humor a man.”

“Only a heart filled with true love may pass. We need a heart. So, you know,” she waves a hand around, “I’ve got to extract mine real quick.”

“Absolutely not,” Killian protests. With the baby at stake, and Emma’s own exhaustion… absolutely not. There’s no way in hell he’ll allow it, no pun intended.

Emma just rolls her eyes in response. In other circumstances, Killian might find the gesture a little endearing in how quintessentially her it is, but this isn’t one of those moments. “Ok, well, what’s your idea, then? Because last I checked, you don’t have one right now.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just… reach in your chest and yank your own out!” he fires back. “There’s got to be another way.”

“What, with —” Emma checks the watch on her wrist, “sixty-five minutes left?” She fixes Killian with a pointed look, a what’s your brilliant idea, genius? look, until Killian finally sighs out his defeat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I still don’t like it, Emma,” he replies more quietly. “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way any further than I already have, not to mention the babe. And I don’t...” He pauses, trying to collect all his worried thoughts into something resembling sense. “I believe we’re true love, and I certainly hope we are, but we can’t know that, Emma. What happens if we’re wrong? How do you know that this won’t all blow up in our faces?”

“I don’t,” she replies simply. “I just have to have faith that it will be fine,” Emma explains, turning to face Killian and grasping his hand. “See?” And without any further ado, she plunges her other hand into her own chest, wincing slightly as her hand disappears to the wrist. It’s all of Killian’s worst nightmares come to life, watching the woman he loves wince in pain as her heart is dislodged from its home beneath her breastbone. Even if he knows, consciously, that Emma’s in no real peril, that she’s removing such a vital organ herself, it brings back horrible memories of Milah’s death and sends panic rippling through his veins. Desperately, Killian tries to remind himself of the gentleness with which she held his own heart after the debacle with Gold and the Spell of Shattered Sight; surely, she’d treat her own heart with the same gentleness she’d granted his.

(Then again, she did also all but slam his heart back into his chest immediately afterwards. ‘Like a bandaid’, his arse; he’s still positive that the gesture was Emma’s own little revenge for all the worry he put her through, not that he can argue if it’s true.)

Emma seems blissfully unaware of the way the ghost of his heart has climbed into Killian’s throat, extracting her hand again with her jewel-red organ beating within her grasp. “See? Fine.”

He has to give her that, honestly; Emma isn’t even winded, and as nervous as it makes Killian to see his love’s heart outside of where it belongs in her chest, he has to say that it’s beautiful. Unlike his own heart, streaked through with dark wisps of all the terrible things he’s done in his long life, Emma’s is a brilliant crimson, mesmerizing to watch. He can just see the way it gently pulses within her palm, visibly calmer than anything he can muster at the moment.

Emma must notice the fascination with which he watches the beating muscle within her hands, as she holds her heart out to him. What symbolism. “Here, you take it,” she offers, practically shocking Killian out of his boots.

“Oh no, I couldn’t —” he tries to protest, but Emma’s always been a stubborn one, and before he knows it she’s grabbing his hand and tipping the pumping muscle into it. He cradles it against his chest on instinct, making sure to keep his hook arm far, far away; the last thing they need is for him to accidentally nick her heart as he tries to hold it. It’s precious, after all, and so small and fragile; as Killian cradles the organ to his body, there’s a passing, hysterical thought that if he actually makes it out of the Underworld, this kind of careful handling might be good practice for the Bean. He’s sure there’s panic in his eyes as he meets Emma’s gaze, but she just smiles back as if to calm him back down.

“I trust you,” she says simply, as if they’re not the biggest words in the world. Sure, he’s known on a certain level that she does indeed trust him, between the Wicked Witch and Camelot and I’m going to choose to see the best in you, but it’s another thing to hear the words. She loves him, too, and the thought of that alone is enough to make Killian giddy, but love and trust are so often wildly different things, especially where his love is concerned; it leaves him a little bit in awe, knowing that he’s somehow earned it.

Maybe he’s overthinking things, though, as Emma just stands there expectantly as he’s bowled over by emotion. “You gonna put it on the scales?” she asks, jolting Killian into motion.

“As you wish.” He hadn’t known the significance of those words when he’d first told her that what feels like an eternity ago in Neverland, but after several movie nights in those blissful six weeks of peace, he does now. Now, when he says the words, he means them most emphatically: I love you, I love you, I love you. She knows it, too, if the way she smiles just that little bit wider as he passes is any indication. That’s just as it should be; his Swan deserves to hear every iteration of those words, every day.

At the scales themselves, he tips her heart onto the unweighted side ever so carefully before standing back to watch and wait - for what, he’s not sure. For the doors to open, he supposes. It all seems so simple, though, and as the doors stay stubbornly closed, Killian wonders if this is the other shoe dropping, or if that’s yet to come.

Emma’s brows furrow in confusion. Killian can just see on her face that she’s already decided it’s impossible their love isn’t true, even as his own stomach plummets with the proof in front of them. “What the hell?” she mutters, stepping back towards the scales herself.

And that’s when it all really goes to hell.

Emma’s barely taken a step when she suddenly cries out in pain, hunching over and clutching at her chest as she gasps desperately for breath.

“Emma, what’s wrong?” he asks helplessly. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Love, tell me.” She’s obviously not alright, and they’re such stupid words, but they’re all he can come up with in the moment, too worried to pay much attention to sense.

“My… heart…” she manages to gasp out, reaching for the organ only to cry out again, seemingly struck by another attack.

Even in his panic, it’s easy enough to connect the dots that the scale is somehow doing this to Emma, putting her in indescribably pain - Gods, maybe even killing her if he doesn’t do something right this moment. He doesn’t think twice before moving to snatch her heart back to the relative safety of his grasp - Emma, at least, seems to think it’s safe there, even if Killian is less sure of that. He’s hasn’t even finished taking his first step in that direction, however, when he’s stopped by a column of fire, the flames surrounding him and trapping him within their hold. If he feels the flames on his extremities, it’s easily dwarfed by the burning pain that feel like it’s engulfing him from the inside, eating into his soul and heart and everything that makes him him. He should be strong, suffer through it so Emma doesn’t have to add concern for him onto her own pain, but he can’t help the cry that slips out.

“Killian!” she gasps, her eyes widening with an even greater panic than before.

“Get your heart, Emma,” he pleads. There’s something in those same eyes that makes him think she’ll do something drastic to save him at her own expense, and that just can’t stand. She may not think so, but he’s the expendable one here - it’s crucial that she live, that their babe live, even if he’s charred to a crisp right here where he stands. “Emma, get your heart! Your heart!”

He can see her shifting her gaze back and forth between the scales and himself, even as the flames leap higher and send another burst of unbearable pain through his entire being. Killian preoccupies himself praying to any god that will take pity on him that Emma will dive for her heart, save herself. It’s just two steps; at this point, he doesn’t even care if they never open the doors and reach the fabled ambrosia, as long as Emma’s okay. That’s all that matters - all that’s ever mattered, and if she’ll just take those steps, it’ll all be okay —

Instead, another body plows into him, knocking them both over. By some miracle, Killian manages to cushion her fall with his entire body. He could just shake her for choosing him over herself, his stubborn lass, but somehow the fact remains that the flames have disappeared and Emma’s chest only heaves with the exertion, not a slow suffocation.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks again, holding her tight to his body with his hooked arm as his hand combs gently through her hair.

“I’m okay. What about you?”

He laughs a little at that, Emma’s inability to focus on the danger she herself was in for her worry over him. “Aye, love, I’m alright. I’m just fine.” Killian takes a moment just to smile at her, awed by everything she is, before he turns more serious. “You saved me.” He shouldn’t be surprised by that really; she’s been saving him in every conceivable way, ever since that very first moment when she pulled him from beneath a pile of corpses and showed him there were still things in the world worth believing in. Still, the knowledge that she saved him, the unworthy pirate, continues to take his breath away.

“Of course I did,” Emma replies, her voice mildly chiding even as he can see her eyes sweep over his face as if she’s reassuring herself that he’s there.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“But I did,” she reminds him. “I love you.” Simple as that. Like that’s all the explanation needed, and maybe it is.

“And I you,” he echoes, the truth pulled from deep within his soul. “More than I’ll ever have the words to express.” As he draws her into a gentle kiss, something to reassure them both that they’re both still here, still fighting, they almost miss the heavy noise of the doors opening.

Almost.

Emma twists her head to the sign at the sound. “Was that…” she trails off, like she’s afraid to jinx it.

“Aye,” Killian breathes out in response. The proof is right in front of them, after all, the doors having opened to reveal a curved hallway already lit by torches.

“But how…”

“Only a heart filled with true love may pass,” Killian recites back. The meaning of those words is only now starting to really sink in; the doors opened for them, so that means they’re true love, something he hadn’t even dared dream might be true. It nearly brings tears to his eyes, and he can’t help but let the awe leak into his voice. “You did it, love.”

“I guess so,” she agrees, still staring at the door in mild bewilderment. “But… how?”

“You chose me. That was the test.” Killian is kind of reasoning through it as he speaks, but that has to be it. That’s what makes sense. “You could have gone for your heart - should have, probably, but… you chose me. You chose me.” The words will never stop amazing him. Gods, true love.

Emma’s smile is a tender as he’s ever seen it as she strokes along his cheek. “Of course I did, babe,” she says once again. “There was never any question. We’re a team, remember? You and me. Giving up or leaving you like that was never an option.”

Killian sits up suddenly, unable to wait any longer to kiss Emma, his love, his true love. There’s a sweetness to the way their lips meet that’s almost reminiscent of the kiss that started this all, out on Granny’s patio after their time travel adventure. There’s no time to deepen it and turn this into a longer or more passionate encounter - not that this is the place for it, anyways, here on the dusty and rocky floor - but it had just proved impossible not to seal this moment with a kiss.

When they finally separate again, it’s only to rest their foreheads together, still breathing in the same air. Unfortunately, there’s no more time to spare. “Are you ready, my love?” He asks, still somewhat breathless.

“Anything with you,” Emma promises right back, gripping onto his lapels for just a moment longer before they both move to stand up.

It’s hard not to set off down the hewn passageway with something approaching giddiness when Emma’s hand is enveloped within his own and a hope he had almost given up on bouncing around in his still-stopped heart. No matter how many times he’d sworn not to get his hopes up, tried to remind himself this was likely the end of everything, he can’t help it. They’re true love, a fact that bears repeating over and over again. their child will be another product of true love, and it nearly makes him giggle like a child to think about how he or she will be a baby born of true love to a mother that’s herself born of her parents true love. It’s the most delightful and ridiculous statement he’s ever contemplated.

All that hope and wonder, unfortunately, only makes the great fall all the harsher when they both turn the corner to see nothing but an obviously dead bush.

“No,” Emma whispers, her voice the auditory equivalent of whatever this sinking feeling in Killian’s stomach is. “No, there must be something.”

There’s not, though. The bush is just a gnarled mess of branches, no leaves, no flowers, no fruit, even if it’s surrounded by a prettier little golden fence than Killian’s seen in even the most ornate palace gardens. No, the ambrosia plant is clearly, unmistakably dead.

His Emma is a stubborn one, though, and has some of her mother’s unshakable hope - even if she doesn’t like admitting to it. She’s already pulled away from Killian, releasing his hand to stride over to the plant and start rooting around the edges of its soil bed, looking for Gods-only-know-what.

“There’s got to be something left,” she mutters, not quite under her breath in her desperation as she frantically searches. “Leaves or seeds or… something. Why aren’t you looking?” she demands abruptly, that panic back in her eyes again.

“There’s nothing to find, love,” Killian tries to tell her gently, even as his own heart is breaking. This is it; this is how their great search ends.

“Ok, well, if there’s nothing on this plant, there’s got to be another one, right?” she asks, more of that frenzy creeping into her voice as she stands back up and brushes her soil-covered hands off on her jeans. “There’s another plant, we’ve just got to find it.”

“Where, love?” he all but begs, voice breaking on the endearment. “Look around you. There’s nowhere else another ambrosia bush would be hiding.” That much is painfully obvious to him. The chamber surrounding the bush, their last great hope, is perfectly circular and perfectly stone and gravel, the only other organic matter the dried straw fueling the ensorcelled torches. It’s only by a feat of magic, he’s sure, that the perfect circle of soil exists for the plant in the first place; there’s simply no other spot in the cavern that could support life. Emma may look all she likes, but as much as Killian wishes otherwise, she’ll never find anything. It’s just not possible.

Emma huffs in frustration, but it’s so easy for him to see the panic underneath it, especially with the way her eyes dart back and forth as if searching for another answer. “Ok, then, we try the heart split again. Now that my name isn’t on one of those fucking headstones anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. It could still work.” Even as her hand starts moving towards her chest in a motion Killian hopes never to see again in his life - or afterlife, as it were - she sounds doubtful. And for good reason, too.

“No, love, it won’t,” he says as gently as he can.

“Why the hell not? It worked for my parents. You’ve seen David, he’s totally fine. We didn’t even know anything during the whole Wicked Witch debacle until they got their memories back.”

“Yes, but your father was dead for… not even two minutes. Barely longer than the time it took to split your mother’s heart. It’s been months since I died, love, almost four of them,” Killian reminds her, sending his own dead heart plummeting into his boots in the process.

“There’s a preservation spell over your body, though,” she argues right back, picking up momentum. “It’s not like you’re… rotting away, or something.” The very idea of that is enough to make both of them wince.

“That doesn’t mean anything, unfortunately. You and I have both read the storybook, love; we’ve both seen what happened to Regina’s love, how poorly that turned out. He almost hurt Henry, and I won’t put any of you in danger, especially not from my hand. I won’t, love.”

“But we’re true love,” she insists. “Shouldn’t that make all the difference?”

Before Killian can even contemplate his response, the chamber around them starts rumbling, bits of sediment and small pebbles dislodging and raining down on both their heads. Hades must have opened the portal; the disturbance is too similar to what happened when Zelena arrived in the underworld for it to be anything else. The force up above shakes this whole realm to its very foundations, and Killian’s suddenly even more desperate to get Emma as far away from all this as possible - preferably out of this accursed in-between world all together. It’ll break his heart to say goodbye, but her safety, and that of Henry and the baby, is more important than any pain he might be feeling.

“We’ve got to get out of here, back to the surface, love,” he urges, half a plan forming in his mind as he ushers her reluctantly back towards the stone hallway. If he can just get her to the elevator… “It’s not safe.”

Emma casts a look back around the empty, dead chamber, but there’s no denying that he’s right, as larger chunks of stone start dislodging from the ceiling and tumbling down.

The shaking had settled somewhat by the time they reach the elevator, but Killian still hurries Emma on board. There’s not much time left, after all - a few minutes less than an hour, if his timepiece is correct - and Emma will need every second she can get to make her way back through the tunnels, up to the surface, and over to the cemetery before the portal closes. Emma thankfully goes without complaint, even leading at turns, sensing the urgency of this all.

That is, she goes without complaint until Killian steps back off the metal conveyance.

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion at that. “What are you doing, babe? You said it yourself, we’ve got to go. No time to dawdle, or however you’d phrase it.” The corners of her lips even twitch upwards for moment; she clearly has no idea what he’s planning to do, and it sends another stab of guilt through his body.

Killian swallows heavily in a last effort to muster the courage to follow through on this. “I’m not coming with you, love,” he reveals softly, sadly.

That brings the frown back to her face and the panic back to her eyes. “No, that’s not right,” she argues. “You said —”

“I know what I said darling, that we were both getting out of here, but I lied.” He shakes his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I know I said I’d never do that to you, but I had to get you out of that chamber somehow. You’ve got to get to that portal.”

“Not without you,” she declares, stepping back towards Killian with fire in her eyes. There’s tears forming there too, though. “There’s still time, we can still figure something out—”

“No, we can’t. We’ve tried everything, love. This was our last last chance. And if we have to say goodbye… well, I’d rather it was down here, just the two of us. More privacy,” he tries to joke. It doesn’t work.

“But I’m not ready,” Emma pleads. “It’s not enough time.”

“It’s more time than you and I were ever meant to have,” he reminds her. “And I’m so grateful for that. If you hadn’t come down to try and rescue me, I would have never known about our child. I would have never seen you again. Even if your efforts didn’t work to resurrect me, how can I regret a single moment of that borrowed time? Even if we have to part?”

“But I want you there. I want you to meet the baby, and be a father to Henry, and grow old with me.”

“That’s just not in the cards for us, my love,” he replies, voice breaking in the middle. Damn it all, he’s crying too, and he was supposed to hold himself together to try and make this easier. “But I have faith that you and Henry will remember me, and tell our son or daughter all about their father. Especially how much I’ve loved them, from the moment I knew they existed.”

Emma nods, ducking her head for a moment as if to collect herself. “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” she admits.

“Then don’t,” he suggests. “This won’t be forever, just for now. Just for the moment.” A very long now and a very long moment, without any guarantee that he’s done enough to await Emma in a better place, he doesn’t say. “Promise me, though, that you won’t let my death keep you from a happy ending. You’ve still got so much life ahead of you, love. Let yourself be happy in it. I’ve been so proud to see you break down some of your walls; don’t build them back up just because I’m gone. Promise me that.”

“I promise,” she vows with tears in her eyes. “But you have to swear to me that you’ll move on with Liam, that you won’t wait here for me. Don’t let us be your unfinished business.”

“I promise.” He’s not sure it’s one he can keep, but he’ll try his very best.

There’s no more excuses to wait any longer, and Killian carefully helps Emma back into the elevator, reaching up for the gate. Emma stops him before he can close it though, reaching through the bars to frame his face with both her hands.

“I love you, Killian Jones,” she declares, one last time, with tears streaming down her face.

“And I love you, my Swan.”

Their final kiss is slow and gentle, a kiss meant to soak into his very bones and linger with him for all the many years to come. Killian makes sure to stroke along her cheek and through her hair, hoping to engrain the sensations into his brain so he may never forget. This is their one last time, their final goodbye, and it seems crucial that he catalog every moment.

All too soon, the kiss has so end, though, and with one last moment spend resting his forehead against her own, he draws the gate to clang shut. The elevator car lurches to life as soon as he does, slowly making its way upwards, and Killian quickly moves to tangle his fingers with Emma’s own. He doesn’t intend to let go until he absolutely has to. Seeing Emma shake with quiet sobs as the car pulls away, he moves on instinct, drawing her hand to his mouth for a kiss - one, two, three times before she’s carried out of his reach, in a last ditch effort to show his love exactly how precious she is.

And then she’s gone, leaving Killian to his misery at the bottom of the mine.

———

Liam comes to collect him some indeterminate amount of time later, after the shaking finally subsides.

It doesn’t matter though. Nothing does anymore.

She’s gone.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs angst #my writing #If I Could See Your Face Once More #chapter 4 #ouat s5b #canon divergence #I really am sorry

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Of Hockey Thighs & Video Game Goals

Emma was distracted. And staring. And it was kind of, sort of, maybe, totally obvious.

She shouldn't have been. But she couldn't really help it. Because those shorts were there, solely, to torture her. She was convinced.

And Killian absolutely, positively knew.

Rating: Like a high teen of straight up staring at thigh muscles. Word Count: 6.2K LoL AN: Ok. Ok. Ok. So this is equal parts the fault of @optomisticgirl and Team USA Hockey and Chris Kreider’s thighs. But there was a video and some, frankly, ridiculous shorts and B was like “You should write this” and made that absolutely fantastic art as incentive and like seriously look at Chris Kreider’s thighs. There are gifs. Anyway, Worlds was the gift that kept on giving and Chris Kreider did the patented “Killian Jones goal celebration” in the bronze medal game and the Google Doc name for this story was “Emma Loses Her Shit Over Killian’s Thighs.” I will eventually post all the other one shots I have written. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

It should not have been a problem.

It wasn’t.

It was...it was the worst thing she’d ever seen, really. And by worst, she obviously meant best because words seemed to have lost all of their meaning at some indeterminate point that morning and Emma wasn’t sure she’d taken a deep breath in, like, the last ten minutes.

God, this was a problem.

She couldn't stop staring. Her eyes were staring to water, but her eyes simply would not close or blink or do anything except gape her husband, and she kept licking her lips because her mouth was actually hanging open, and that might have just been her body’s innate reaction to try and get some goddamn oxygen in her lungs.

Which was, actually, kind of nice if she stopped to think about it.

At least her body was determined to maintain consciousness.

Killian would lose his mind if she actually passed out in the middle of this thing. And that would take some explaining.

Emma groaned softly, rolling her head in between her shoulders and trying to find a way to stand in the corner of this room without drawing too much attention to herself. And, really, she did have work to do – she was supposed to be watching this whole goddamn event so she could send the video to Merida and there was something about Team USA, but Emma hadn’t really been listening to instructions because she was so distracted.

God.

She was going to burn those shorts he was wearing.

Or, maybe, like, frame them.

God. Again.

This was such a problem.

“Em,” Ruby called, and Emma nearly tripped over her own feet, jumping to attention and slamming her elbow into the wall she’d been cowering against in the process. She grumbled a string of curses under her breath, which wasn’t really helping her under the radar cause much at all, but Emma had more or less resigned herself to the disaster that this afternoon was shaping up to be.

She didn’t thinks he’d ever seen those shorts before. God, why was he wearing shorts? It was the single most distracting thing she’d ever seen.

There was just a lot of muscle.

And, objectively, she knew they were there. He played hockey for a living. It happened. Hockey thighs were real things with real blogs dedicated to them, but now these very specific ones were right there and the shorts weren’t helping and Emma was fairly sure that little indent just above Killian’s knee was actively trying to kill her.

She was staring again.

She was almost positive he was, somehow, flexing – feet propped on the bottom rung of a stool Ruby must have found somewhere because Emma had done absolutely nothing to actually help and maybe they should just tell everyone because then, at least, she’d have some sort of excuse for practically salivating over her incredibly muscular husband.

She really should be spending more time staring at Killian’s thighs.

That was the single weirdest sentence she’d ever thought.

“Emma,” Ruby yelled again, drawing a quiet snicker out of Will who, it seemed, had been roped into camera duty at the same time he was trying to keep Matt distracted.

“Yeah, yeah, here,” Emma mumbled. It didn’t quite ring true though, and her voice shook as much as her hand when she ran it over her face, trying to remember she was a professional with an ever-growing to-do-list and a very enthusiastic two-and-a-half year old and a frantic assistant stateside and, maybe in addition to staring at her husband's absurdly muscular thighs, they should stop having these life-changing kind of moments when they weren't in the continental United States.

It would probably just be easier that way.

“Yeah, you look it,” Will chuckled, wrapping an around Matt’s shoulders before he could try and launch himself at Emma. “Where’d you go?” She twisted her eyebrows. “Excuse me?” “You went all glossy and distracted and your eyes did that tired thing.” “At the risk of repeating myself, excuse me?” “Aw, c’mon,” Will shrugged, glancing around the room like he was looking for backup, but Ruby was trying to get Killian and Robin mic’ed up and there was a league rep somewhere and Roland and Henry had started sword fighting with the pair of discarded crutches in the corner. “You know what I mean,” Will continued. “It’s like you’re making lists in your head.” “Scarlet, can you stop talking about Emma’s head and how many lists she’s absolutely making?” Killian muttered, hissing when Ruby, presumably, pinched his side. “God, Lucas, do you actually have claws for nails?” She flicked his shoulder. “See, you think you’re funny, Cap, but you’re just making this harder for yourself. And Scarlet’s got a point, Em. What’s your deal?” “I have no deal,” Emma promised, and it was a God awful lie. She shouldn’t have been lying in front of her kid like that. It was a bad example. For the future.

Jeez.

She needed to go to bed. And find something to eat. She was starving. She didn’t really want to eat.

This was a disaster.

“You should have practiced that one,” Ruby suggested. Killian shifted on the stool again, which did nothing to help distract Emma from his goddamn legs and the shorts and it felt like the room was on fire. She might have been fire.

Roland and Henry were still sword fighting.

“Shouldn’t you be standing on those?” Emma asked, nodding back towards the crutches, but she didn’t take her eyes off Will or the way he was only kind of balanced on his left foot.

He shrugged. “I mean technically.” “Technically.” “You guys should have some kind of great, big liar competition,” Robin mumbled. “Ah, shit, Lucas, what was that?” “There are children present here, Locksley,” Ruby growled, staring pointedly at Matt and he absolutely did not care. There were video games to watch and another game to get ready for and the Rangers hadn’t made the playoffs, but Killian and Robin had gotten invited to Worlds and maybe this whole gaping at her husband thing started when Emma saw him in a Team USA jersey again.

The whole thing was incredibly cyclical.

“That was for being a jerk,” Ruby continued, widening her eyes in challenge and Robin might have blanched slightly. “Although, I mean, you do have a point.” “Right?” Ruby hummed noncommittally, but she glanced over her shoulder at Emma and her eyebrows might have been the single most judgmental things on the entire planet. Or, at least, in the country of Denmark.

“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Emma muttered, and Matt had finally worked out of Wil’s hold. It was probably because Will couldn’t put much weight on his right knee and Ariel would teleport to Denmark and strangle him with her bare hands if he injured himself again. Or if Roland and Henry came home with bruises from his goddamn crutches.

Although she’d probably have to get through Regina first.

Matt, however, did not seem particularly inclined to care about any of that, tugging on Emma’s shirt and bobbing on the balls of his feet and Killian’s eyes kept darting towards her, a flash of concern and question and she really wished he’d put some goddamn fucking pants on.

She could not be expected to think coherent thoughts or properly parent their kid when he was sitting there like that, and staring at her like he was absolutely, incredibly in love with her.

Emma might have been blushing.

And Ruby kept looking at Will.

Cyclical indeed.

“Lucas can we get this show on the road?” Killian asked, and neither Will nor Robin could quite turn their laughs into convincing coughs.

Emma bit her lip.

Ruby’s eyebrows shifted again, a flash of something on her face that made Emma believe they all spent far too much time together. “Uh, yeah, sure Cap,” she said, voice shaking just a bit and smile threatening to practically crack her in half. “I mean, that’s the single most dad thing you’ve ever said, but…”

She trailed off, dissolving into something that was closer to a fit of giggles than the professional demeanor any of them were trying to hold onto.

Emma squeezed her eyes closed, tugging her kid closer to her side, and he didn’t really appreciate that – head colliding with her waist and there wasn’t really any physical evidence of anything yet, but Matt’s jaw came dangerously close to her stomach and Killian’s hitch of breath sounded impossibly loud.

Even when Roland started shouting about low blows and Henry countered with something that sounded like well, defend your weak side, then and Ruby nearly growled when Robin pulled his microphone out standing up.

They were all horrible adults.

“Guys, guys, guys,” Will shouted, but it didn’t hold much threat when he had to hobble towards Henry and Roland, and Robin was still trying to play mediator.

Ruby looked like she might be praying. To some kind of possibly benevolent hockey god who would let them film this goddamn video.

Emma was staring at Killian again.

“God, this was easier when there weren’t so many of us,” Ruby sighed. That didn’t really ring through either though, particularly when she flashed a smile Matt’s direction and Emma resisted the urge to point out she was the world’s biggest pushover for a two-and-a-half year old.

“Ah, that wasn’t a very good lie either, Lucas,” Killian grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get Em to pencil in practice lying time on those post-it notes I know she’s got all over your room.” “Nah,” Emma objected. “I’ve got it all memorized. I’m way more efficient during this international escapade. Totally learned from my mistakes.”

She was going to shave Ruby’s eyebrows off. Or something less drastic. Like get some food. Or find a chair.

Killian grinned at her. And possibly flexed his left thigh.

Emma wasn’t sure if that was possible.

“Right, right,” Ruby mumbled. “That wasn’t very convincing either, but I honestly do not have time for this and Mer is going to have a meltdown if we don’t get her something within the next forty-eight hours.” “That is a gross exaggeration.” “Yes, it is.” “Oh, wow, I thought there would have been more bantering,” Emma blinked, Matt squirming against her side and she was pleasantly surprised that they hadn’t sustained several meltdowns over not being included in the great crutch battle.

The crutches were back under Will’s arms, Robin rolling his eyes in a put-upon way and he nearly knocked over the stool when he sank back onto it, letting Ruby poke and prod and get the microphone back into place.

“This better not take forty-eight hours,” he warned, clicking his tongue when Ruby swatted at his shoulder again.

“You know,” Will cut in, hooking his head over Roland’s shoulder and he was far too tall for an eleven-year-old. “You guys are coming into this with decidedly garbage attitudes. You’re playing video games for twenty minutes. It will not kill you.” “Probably,” Henry chipped in. He slid down the wall at some point, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other tugged to his chest and whatever he was doing with his face was some weird combination of Killian and Robin that made Emma’s heart practically leap out of her chest.

“It’s a hockey game,” Ruby groaned, pushing a camera towards Will and he nearly fell over. “God, c’mon, Scarlet, take this seriously for two seconds.” “I am!” “No, you are making jokes and quips and Emma’s doing whatever it is her eyes are doing and if Cap stares at her any harder he’s going to snap her in half.” “Yeah, that’s weird, right?” Robin asked. Emma sighed.

And maybe her eyes drifted back towards the goddamn shorts. Honestly, she’d never been more insulted by and attracted to a single piece of clothing in her life.

“Definitely weird,” Henry agreed, grinning when Emma gaped at him. “What? That’s true. And Killian’s really bad at video games.” Robin’s laugh was probably too loud for whatever conference room they were in, but Will almost lost his balance again, mumbling an apology when he nearly fell on top of Roland, and Killian’s eyes widened.

That was almost as distracting as whatever happened to that one muscle in his leg when he tapped his foot.

Emma needed to sit down.

“Ok, if we keep getting distracted with all of this it is actually going to take forty-eight hours and then none of us are going to be able to FaceTime with M’s and David and the cute kid,” Ruby said, staring at them like she was waiting for someone to announce that they didn’t, in fact, want to FaceTime with an only few weeks old Leo Nolan.

Getting to see his sleep-deprived parents was just a bonus.

“And we do have those pesky actual hockey games to play,” Robin added. He twisted his hand in the air, a controller appearing out of seemingly nowhere because the league rep Emma had only kind of forgotten about clearly knew how to apparate.

He handed Killian one as well, quiet instructions about not throwing them and Henry snickered from his spot on the wall, shrugging when Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

“What do you say to a bet, kid?” she asked. Will might have cackled.

Henry tilted his head. “You want to bet on this video game video that’s just supposed to hype up Team USA?” “Yes, exactly that.” “Stakes?” “Your call.” “Oh, that’s a dangerous game, Em,” Will warned, Roland laughing against his side and Matt had lost all interest in Emma's shirt. The league rep only looked slightly affronted when he climbed back on Killian’s lap. No one else was even remotely surprised.

Emma hummed, glancing back her husband and her kid and her mood seemed to swing as often as her desire to eat did, but she was happy and a little exhausted and they should really tell everyone at some point.

Maybe on that FaceTime call.

Mary Margaret would probably cry.

“So,” Emma continued, taking a step towards Henry and sinking down the wall next to him until their shoulders bumped and there was a joke to be made somewhere about time passing and the more things change, the more they stay the same. Or something. “Stakes, kid?”

It took a moment, and his voice was so quiet Emma barely heard him, but her heart might have burst when she finally understood the words.

“If Robin wins, do you think you could read something for me?” Henry asked softly, quiet enough that Emma knew he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. “It’s just...for school and I’m starting to think about places to goand I--”

“--Deal,” Emma interrupted. “If Robin wins.” And no matter, what, she thought, but that was decidedly sentimental and she’d spent most of the day staring at her husband’s thighs, so she didn’t entirely trust her emotions.

There were, of course, rules.

It was a Team USA promo video, but these were still New York Rangers first-liners and there was a bet on the line and they were competitive to a fault. “Ok,” Ruby said, standing in front of the TV screen a different league reap had wheeled in at some point. “You guys are going to play three games. There’s some setting or something that stops the game when you get to a certain score and--” “--Oh my God, Lucas,” Killian laughed, and even Emma couldn’t hold back her laugh. She was slightly worried Henry was going to concuss himself from inadvertently slamming his head into the wall and Roland’s whole body shook against hers when he let his head loll onto Emma’s shoulder. “That was the oldest sentence I’ve ever heard,” Killian continued. “And you were making fun of me before.” “Yeah, well, that’s because you and Em are being weird,” Ruby hissed. “We don’t have time for this, Cap!” “It’s fake pool play, Hook,” Roland explained. He didn’t move his head. “So you and Dad play three games as three different countries and whoever reaches ten goals first in each game wins.”

“Ten goals?” Robin balked. “God, that’s a ton of goals.” “Killian’s not that good at playing,” Henry promised, grinning when the professional hockey player in question rolled his eyes again.

Ruby sighed dramatically. “Guys, I’m serious! We have to get this video to Mer or I really think she’s going to combust on 34th Street and I don’t need that on my conscious right now.” “And you want to make ridiculous faces at Leo Nolan,” Emma knowingly.

“Yeah, well, whatever, you want to keep making eyes at Cap!” “That’s not true!” “Of course it’s not,” Ruby promised, but the sarcasm was practically dripping off her voice and Emma was ninety-two percent positive she was going to combust in the middle of goddamn Denmark. They did not have potato dumplings in Denmark.

Matt was still sitting on top of Killian.

“Alright,” Ruby said, nodding as if that would get back some control of the situation and the now, apparently, half a dozen league reps in the conference room all looked slightly stunned by the incredible normal goings on of the New York Rangers first line. “Can we get back to video games, please?” Robin saluted. Killian grinned.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m assuming you don’t want us to swear on camera, right, Lucas?” Killian asked, but his eyes flickered towards Emma and he totally knew she was staring. He’d absolutely known the whole time. The shorts were probably some kind of ploy.

Although, really, all things considered, that seemed kind of unnecessary at this point.

He smirked at her.

She was going to smack him. With her mouth.

She was way too aggressive.

“No, Cap,” Ruby argued. “I totally want you to swear on camera.” Killian’s eyebrows jumped. “Jeez, no,” she seethed. “Of course not! And there are kids here. Your kid is literally hanging off of you right now. Which, speaking of, come here mini-Jones. You’re going to hang with me while your dad probably loses horribly to Uncle Robin.”

She held her arms out expectantly and it took less than a full second for Matt to climb up her side, head burrowed into the curve of her shoulder.

“First to ten goals wins,” Ruby continued. “Three games, no swearing and, oh, right we’re going to ask some questions while you play so, ready, set go.” “Wait, what?” Killian asked, at the same time Robin mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like several different curse words, but Ruby just grinned and moved behind the stools and started talking to the camera Will was still, somehow, holding.

And really Killian was god awful at playing video games.

He kept making ridiculous noises, his whole body moving with the weight of his frustration – which did not help Emma’s attempts to look at anything that wasn’t his goddamn thigh muscle – and Will couldn't stop laughing and Henry and Roland kept muttering running commentary under their breath.

“You’re uh, you’re really seeming to struggle here, aren’t you, Cap?” Ruby asked, hitching Matt further up her side so she could rest a not-quite supportive hand on Killian’s shoulder.

He glared at open air. And gave up another goal.

“How is that even possible?” Killian shouted at no one in particular. “My guy was definitely in the shooting lane.” “You can’t just expect him to block your shot for you, Cap,” Robin grinned. “And I think that means we’re only three goals away from a pretty crushing defeat.”

“You are a God awful trash talker.” “Nah, this is good. Plus, this brings you back to Earth, doesn’t it?” “How do you figure?” “Ah, well, you scored on that breakaway against Germany and it’s all you’ve been talking about because you're trying to show off for Emma, so now you’re a little more grounded and aware of what you’re actually good at.” “Wow,” Ruby muttered. “That was...almost harsh, Locksley.” Robin shrugged, twisting his fingers and, somehow, moving his wrists at the same time he seemed to hold onto the controller tighter and the telltale sounds of the goal horn going off practically exploded out of the TV.

Henry and Roland whooped.

And fist pumped.

“This is ridiculous,” Killian grumbled, eyes finding Emma’s again and she’d started biting her lip at some point. Probably when he moved on the stool and the edge of his shorts twisted slightly and he was right.

It was absolutely ridiculous.

“You’ve got to move quicker, Hook,” Roland explained. “It’s like being on the ice.” “It is not anything like being on the ice. Do not compare it to that.” Robin scored again. And Killian looked like he was getting ready to throw the controller – possibly at several different league reps. “God,” he sighed. “Is this almost over?” “Have you lost your ability to count, Cap?” Robin asked.

“And,” Ruby added. “Can we not lose quite yet? We’ve still got some questions here.” Killian groaned. “Lucas, I can not focus on the game if you are chirping in my ear.” “Ok, first of all, I resent the implication that I am doing anything remotely resembling chirping and, again, I’d like to remind you that this is a league video and while we can edit this out, I need you to at least pretend like you care. Stop staring at Emma, Cap.”

He stuttered at that, eyebrows flying up his forehead and Emma was going to do permanent damage to her lower lip. “I’m not,” Killian mumbled, but it was as good as her lie before and Ruby’s expression didn’t change.

“Sure you not. Alright, question number one, Cap, if you could have one talent that wasn’t hockey, what would it be?” “Is that a joke, Lucas?” “That is exactly the question Emma and I came up with.” It could not have been healthy for Killian’s eyes to get that wide. Or for his mouth to drop open that quickly. Or that far.

He nearly dropped the controller.

“Swan, you wrote these questions?” he asked, and Roland grumbled slightly when she shrugged in response.

“I mean...I knew this was going to happen.” “Me being embarrassed by Locksley at video games?” “No, no, although let’s all be honest with ourselves, Locksley is kind of cheating. He’s definitely banking off Henry and Rol’s knowledge of this game and their probable talent at this game.” “How do you figure?” Robin asked sharply, shouting when his game-winning goal went in and Ruby clicked her tongue in frustration. “There’s still one more game, Lucas. Maybe Cap will almost make it look respectable down the stretch.” “Fingers crossed,” Ruby muttered.

Killian made a face. Emma tried not to smile. “Alright, alright,” he said “Let’s just get this over with. You ever going to put my kid down, Lucas?” “No. You going to answer Em’s question?” It took a second for him to answer – an impossibly long, slightly tense second filled with video game sound effects and a puck graphic hitting a stick graphic and Killian jumped out of the stool when he scored the game’s first goal.

Emma had to put her hand over mouth to stop herself from giggling.

“Take that, Locksley,” Killian yelled, ignoring Robin’s continued trash talk, and he grinned at Ruby when he had to pick the stool up from where it had crashed onto the ground. “And my super sappy answer to your question, Lucas, and Swan,” he added, glancing Emma’s direction. Her lip might have been bleeding. “Is to be a good dad. So remember that when you’re showing off in front of your kids, Locksley.”

Robin blinked, but he didn’t actually say anything and he smiled when he nodded. Emma tried very hard not to cry.

She started staring at Killian’s left thigh again.

“Ah, why’d you have to make it weird, Cap?” Will asked, but Ruby was already shaking her head and they hadn’t actually said anything yet, but she might have been a mind-reader and Emma was exhausted.

And making eyes at Killian.

And he kept trying to get her to sit down.

They were so bad at under the radar.

“Not weird,” Emma mumbled, drawing a quiet noise of agreement out of Ruby. It was difficult to make out when her head was buried in Matt’s back though. “Super sappy, but not weird.” “Ah, well, that was the goal, Swan,” Killian said, another smirk on his face and incredibly blue eyes and he definitely moved his feet to that lower rung on purpose.

He didn’t score another goal and the whole video was a little embarrassing and a little ridiculous and the absolute embodiment of the New York Rangers first line, smiles on their faces and laughter echoing off the walls and Matt fell asleep with his head on Ruby’s shoulder.

And the league reps wanted to talk to Killian and Robin afterwards – thanks for doing this, as if Ruby had given them a choice, and expectations for the game against Finland, and something about America in general with a stuffed animal that was apparently some kind of prize for winning the competition on camera – but Emma’s eyes didn’t leave Killian once, particularly when he turned around and that slight indent in his thigh was even more obvious and--

“You alright, Swan?”

She jerked up, blinking in surprise to find him so close to her and her eyes almost level with his knees and, eventually, Emma would blame that on whatever came out of her mouth next.

And the hormones.

Mostly the hormones.

“God, where did you even get these shorts?” she asked, half shouting the words at Killian’s shins and he arched an eyebrow when she glanced up.

“What?” Emma felt the blush in her cheeks, eyes wide and something else settling in the pit of her stomach that felt a hell of a lot like butterflies and nerves and this should not have been an issue, but the shorts looked good and he looked good and they’d only found out she was pregnant a couple weeks before.

She was stupid attracted to her husband and father of their, soon-to-be, two kids.

“Swan, you’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking, love,” Killian said, crouching in front of her and that was, somehow, even worse. The shorts rode up slightly and she was fairly certain the muscles were actively trying to taunt her at this point.

“You worry too much.” “You make it very easy.” “It’s really not a big deal,” Emma promised, but she could hear the undercurrent of sincerity of his voice and he was as worried as promised. “I just…” “Yuh huh?” “You’re really not making this easy.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised he caught on so quickly, his slight head tilt more than enough proof that he understood what she was talking about, but then he smiled at her and it seemed to inch across his face in slow motion, like that was purposely trying to taunt Emma too and she had no idea where their kid was.

Probably still hanging off Ruby.

“Swan,” Killian said, dragging out her name until she was positive she could feel it. “Are you ogling me in these shorts?” “No.” “Swan.” “No!”

“Emma.” She stuck her tongue out at him. She’d blame the hormones for that too. And he was still crouching in front of her. “Aw, c’mon,” Emma sighed, tugging her hair over her shoulder and the smile was a full-blown grin now that seemed to light some kind of fire in between her ribs. “That is just patently stupid. And really, really unfair. And teasing.” “All of the above, love.” “The mother of your children,” she said, pointing to herself like he wasn’t almost too aware of every single one of her symptoms and how big the baby was, and Killian’s smile shifted, less goading and more endearing and Emma wouldn’t cry.

Probably.

Hopefully.

She wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to making out either.

“And?” Killian prompted, rocking towards her and pulling her hands away from her front. His thumb worked its way under her laces, tapping softly against her wrist, which Emma was also sure was, somehow, cheating, but she was admittedly distracted by the goddamn fucking shorts again.

She was going to write a very strongly worded letter to the Team USA apparel manufacturer.

“And I can’t think when you’re wearing these shorts,” Emma whined. Killian really did do his best not to smile too wide, but there wasn’t much of a point and he was practically some hockey-playing peacock at this point. “Seriously,” Emma continued, voice cracking traitorously when her free hand moved of its own accord, tracing over the curve of his shoulder and the back of his neck and they needed to be anywhere that wasn’t this conference room.

“Seriously what?” “You can’t figure it out?” “I’d really love to hear it.” Killian chuckled when she swatted at his chest, but he also apparently had some kind of deep-rooted athletic response time that existed anywhere except during quasi video game tournaments and his fingers were warm when they caught around Emma’s wrist.

He kissed her knuckles.

“Have your legs always looked like that?”

“What?” “Your legs,” Emma repeated, eyes flitting towards the offending muscle and that was a mistake. She was distracted again. “It’s...a lot.” “A lot.” “God, why do you just keep saying the same thing I’m saying?” “Because that was honestly not what I was expecting, Swan,” Killian admitted. “A pleasant surprise, but a surprise all the same. And I think it’s an occupational hazard. Why are you harping on my legs?” “Thighs, technically. If you want to be specific.” “I would love to be specific.” Emma refused to be held accountable for whatever noise she made at that, but she was tired and kind of hungry and kind of not and only a little frustrated that they weren’t making out or buying forty-two pairs of these shorts so they could live in this moment for the foreseeable future.

He’d moved his hand to her stomach at some point.

“You’re a flirt,” Emma accused, tugging lightly on the front of his shirt and she’d barely gotten the words out before he was nodding in response.

“As previously mentioned love, you are the mother of my children, so I think that’s part of the deal. And you started it with the ogling. If you want to get technical.” She scrunched her nose, but her pulse picked up a bit and Killian’s fingers were moving, tracing absent-minded patterns over the front of the dress. “It wasn’t ogling. It was...an appreciative glance. Or stare. Whatever. Your thigh muscles are absurd.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” “It was. And distracting.” “Yeah, I noticed.” “Is that why you were so bad at playing video games?” Killian shook his head, a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, but he pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple and they needed to be seventy-six other places. They needed to find their kid. “No,” he laughed. “That was the extent of my video game playing talent. Although I am glad you’ll read whatever Henry asked you to read now.” “I would have done that anyway.” “I know that, Swan.” “How’d you hear him?” “Super-sonic hearing. It’s almost as impressive as the thigh muscles.” “Oh my God,” she sighed, but she was kind of charmed by it and he knew that as well as he knew she’d been staring at him all day. “You don’t get to lord this over me forever, you know. This is solely hormone-based.” Killian nodded, but it felt a little placating – particularly when his hand flattened against her and there wasn’t quite a curve there, but the website claimed there was a cherry there now and they were really good at this whole living life thing.

“Noted, Swan,” he promised, ducking down to catch her lips with his and there was the making out Emma had been waiting for.

They were good at that too.

“Can you get off the floor now, love?” Killian asked. “Please?” “I’m going to look up blood pressure facts and send them to you at random times to remind you that caring about your blood pressure is important.” “My blood pressure is perfectly fine.” “But?” “But,” he echoed, standing up and offering Emma his hand. She took it almost immediately. “I think it is well within my rights to worry about my girls.”

“You’re on a sappy, sentimental roll,” she mumbled, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his middle and that was mostly so he didn’t see the tears in her eyes, but he was almost too good at reading her at this point.

And he really thought it was going to be a girl.

“Ah, well,” Killian shrugged. He didn’t get anymore out though, a noise from the doorway that was somewhere between a screech and a scream and the audible manifestation of joy.

Ruby’s mouth was hanging open – Matt still clinging to her side and Will behind her with his own slightly stunned expression on his face. Robin was still holding the stuffed animal. It looked a duck. And there was a phone in Ruby’s hand.

“Are you guys serious?” Ruby shouted. “Oh my God, I knew it. I knew it! Scarlet, I win.” “What?” Killian yelled, but Emma didn’t move her head, just tightened her arms and tried to breathe him in and she smiled when he kissed the top of her hair.

Will waved both his hands through the air. “It’s not nearly that bad, Cap, honestly. Just...you know, Lucas and I were guessing. And speculating.” “About me being pregnant?” Emma asked.

Several someones on the phone made noise. A baby cried in New York.

“We had a hunch,” Will reasoned, but Ruby was mumbling we totally knew and Killian kept trying to kiss Emma’s temple, like that was grounding him or something. “Cap keeps trying to get you to sit down, Em. It was like watching history repeat itself.”

“He’s super worried all the time,” Robin added.

“Cyclical, huh?” Emma asked. “Can you tell him to worry about his blood pressure? He won’t listen to me.” “Deal. And,” he continued, holding the duck out expectantly. “I claim the honor of being the first one to gift mini-Jones two-point-oh something. In memory of how bad her dad is at playing video games.”

“Can we get some actual confirmation here?” Mary Margaret asked, voice a bit distorted through the FaceTime call and a distinct lack of sleep.

“Reese’s, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Emma countered. She was already shaking her head. And Killian’s lips brushed over Emma’s forehead. “Alright, alright, well, we were trying to do this a slightly more normal way this time, but I’m blaming the shorts, honestly.” “What?” Ruby asked.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing. That’s...I’m about two months pregnant.”

There were more shouts and a few more tears and Leo Nolan shrieking from several thousand miles away, but Emma couldn’t stop smiling and Killian couldn’t stop laughing and it was kind of nice in a kind of perfect way – even with history kind of repeating itself.

They almost got kicked out of the conference room, the league reps scandalized by the small party they seemed to be throwing, and Ruby grinned conspiratorially at Emma when she slung an arm over Matt’s shoulder.

“What do you say you come stay with me tonight, mini-Jones?” she asked. “We can give your parents some privacy to make eyes behind closed doors.” “You’re a pillar of support, Lucas,” Killian muttered, but it wasn’t an objection, and Ruby knew she’d won.

“Yeah, I am. Remember that in the future or whatever.” And, several hours later, the goddamn shorts looked better on the hotel room floor.

“I love you,” Emma muttered, hair over several different pillows and possibly in Killian’s face and she practically yelped when he tugged her closer to his side.

“I love you too, Swan. Even after the ogling.” “Oh my God.” “It’s a good word.” “Yeah, whatever.” “A girl, Swan. Absolutely a girl.” “You don’t know that for sure.” Killian made a contradictory noise, moving further under the blankets and tracing the tips of his fingers over her bare stomach. “A hunch. And we’re one for one already, love. Those are pretty good odds to consider.” He didn’t brag, nearly seven months later, when Margaret Elsa Jones arrived with a tuft of black hair and an incredibly impressive set of lungs, but he did smile and kiss the top of Emma’s hair and promised he loved her.

More than anything.

And for a little while Emma almost forgot about the goddamn shorts and the goddamn thigh muscles and how absurdly attracted she was to her husband until she woke up one night to find him slouched in the rocking chair on the other side of the room with a Peggy on his chest – just back from a road trip and there was a now three-year-old draped on Killian’s side of the bed.

Killian wasn’t quite asleep, and there was a stuffed duck under his hip, but his eyelids were fluttering and his fingers were tracing those same patterns they always followed whenever he touched Emma, and her heart felt like it burst when she looked at him, wearing the goddamn shorts with a towel draped over his shoulder.

“You’re staring, Swan,” Killian mumbled, low and gruff and it took a quick moment of cajoling to make sure Peggy didn’t start crying.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “And that was a good goal tonight.” “Ah, well, I knew I had an audience.” “Flirt.” “Always, Swan. Always.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #blue line one shots #anyway hockey thighs are real #and should be revered

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just-a-spark · 4 years

Text

The Before, and The After Part 12

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (18+ to be safe)

Series Masterlist

Summery: A wealthy classmate of Meg’s becomes close to the family, a little too close to the playboy grandson of Harlan Thrombey. The events leading up to, and following, Harlan Thrombey’s death.

6 Months Later

“Hundreds of bystanders are crowding outside the courthouse today for the murder trial of famed author Harlan Thrombey’s eldest grandson. Hugh Drysdale is accused of not only murdering the family’s housekeeper, but also conspiring to murder his own grandfather in an attempt to secure a piece of his fortune. Anticipation hangs in the air as the crowd wonders, not if he’ll be convicted, but whether or not members of his influential family will pull strings to free him from a life in prison.”

Three different television stations had sent their media crews to cover the trial, and they stood at the base of the steps reporting until a car pulled up in front of the court house, causing the media to storm it for a chance to get a quote from Ransom’s mother.

“Mrs. Drysdale, how do you feel about your son being the reason for your father’s death?” The newswoman asked, and Linda turned to her with a sharp scowl, never removing her sunglasses. It was probably a good thing because if looks could kill, the newswoman would have a daggers in her head.

“First of all, It’s Ms. Thrombey.” Linda sneered, her jaw slack as she stared into the camera bitterly, “And secondly, I don’t have a son. I have a demon spawn who will spend his life in prison. I’m just here to see the look on my ex-husband’s face when his son finally learns his lesson.” With that, Linda shoved past the flashing cameras and yelling reporters to enter the courthouse.

Inside, Elizabeth smoothed down Phil’s tie as he fidgeted in the hallway outside the courtroom, “Honey, calm down. This will be quick and easy. He confessed, remember?” Elizabeth grabbed his hands to stop him from moving, “Relax.”

“This is the murder trial of the decade. I can’t mess this up.” Phil said, reaching down and placing his hands on either side of his wife’s plump stomach. “What’ll he say if I fail?”

“She’ll be proud of you no matter what.” Elizabeth cooed, placing her hands on top of Phil’s, “She’ll be proud that you made the world safer for her. Because if that man goes free... who knows what he’s capable of. You know we have history.”

“Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t go free.” Phillip answered confidently, leaning forward to kiss his wife, “It’s like you said, quick and easy.”

“You have all your evidence?” Elizabeth asked as he opened his briefcase on the windowsill, “They’re bringing in the vials, the prop knife, the needle?”

“And I sent over the confession to the clerk of courts this morning. I even have a backup copy in my briefcase, just in case.” Phil promised, clipping the latches closed. “I know you said the family may try to pull something, but we’ve covered all our bases.”

“You’re sure?” Elizabeth prodded, having a sickening feeling in her stomach that Ransom would somehow walk away unscathed.

“I’m positive.” Phil leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, “I love you. I’ll take care of this for you. You have nothing to worry about.” Phil looked up and saw Linda approaching, “Incoming.”

“Mr. Stevens. Mrs. Stevens.” Linda greeted coldly and Elizabeth gave a curt nod as she thrust her hand forward to shake Phil’s, “I expect you’ll have an easy trial.”

“Are you... hoping for that?” Phil asked, eyes darting over to Elizabeth who kept her expression neutral. Linda’s mouth twisted up into a devilish grin that made Elizabeth queasy.

Linda noticed Elizabeth shifting uneasily, but didn’t bring attention to it, “Why wouldn’t I? If he’s capable of attempting to kill my father, he could kill anybody.” She turned to Elizabeth with a warning stare, “Especially those of us who abandoned him.”

As Linda left, Lizzie swallowed hard and released the breath she’d been holding as Phil rubbed her arm comfortingly, “After today, you’ll never see him again.” She nodded, staring in the direction Linda went with panicked eyes. Phillip looked at his watch, then his wife, “Honey, I have to go. Will you be alright? My parents should be here soon, you can sit with them.”

Elizabeth heard a familiar drawl from behind her and turned to see Benoit Blanc and Marta Cabrera entering the building, chased by camera flashes and yelling from the outside world. When Marta saw them, her eyes widened and she balked a little, but Benoit greeted the Stevens with a bright smile and a wave.

“Detective Blanc, Miss Cabrera, “Phil greeted as he shook their hands, “Thank you both for coming, we really couldn’t do this case without you.”

“Well, after everything Miss Cabrera went through and the high profile nature of the case, I felt it would be important to make the trip back.” Blanc explained as he turned to Elizabeth, “Ma’am, can I just say, you are looking radiant today.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe you, but I appreciate the effort.” Lizzie said with a small smile before turning her attention to Marta, “Are you okay? I know how hard today is going to be for you.”

Marta looked from Lizzie to Phil, then to Blanc before stating simply, “Two of my best friends are dead because of him. I have to do what’s right.”

“I was surprised to see you listed as the Prosecution today Mr. Stevens, seeing as your father was close to the Thrombeys for so many years.” Blanc said as Phil glanced anxiously at his watch.

“Well, we are attorney to the Thrombey Estate, not the Thrombey family. We work for Miss Cabrera, and honestly, my father’s blood pressure has been significantly lower since we haven’t seen them.” Phil explained, then pressed a quick kiss to his wife’s cheek, “I’d love to stay, but I have to go. I’ll see you both on the stand.”

“Good luck.” Elizabeth breathed out nervously, blowing air out through rounded lips as she held her growing bump, “Baby’s doing cartwheels.”

Marta looked around, pausing when she noticed the restroom sign down the hall, “I’ll be right back, don’t go without me.”

“You know I won’t. I’ll wait with you until it’s time for you to testify.” Blanc promised as the woman darted down the hall, her ill-fitting heels clunking as she went to the restroom. Once alone, Benoit turned to Elizabeth, “Perhaps your unborn child is doing cartwheels because they know that their father will be in attendance.”

“Shhh.” Elizabeth hissed angrily, glaring up at Blanc, “My baby’s father is here. Her father is Phillip. I thought you understood that...” Elizabeth looked over her shoulder nervously, “If you even think about sharing what you think you know, you have no idea the hell you’ll create for me and my family. I’m begging you. I cannot let that get out, you are the only other person in the world who knows, and I need to keep it that way.”

“Mrs. Stevens, I have no intention of bringing up your infidelity in a court of law. That is between you and your husband and God.” Blanc told her, cracking a smile, “I am surprised you came though, considering your... history with the defendant.”

“I need to see him locked away. I don’t trust him loose. I don’t know what he could do.” Elizabeth shivered as the doors opened again, more camera flashes and screams followed whoever entered, so she guessed it was someone from Ransom’s family, “I’m scared. I’m scared of all of them. Ransom told them everything about us right before he was arrested and now I’m on the other side. They could kill me.”

“Ma’am, I feel confident that after this you will never have to see that terrible family again. I hope I can say the same.” Yelling echoed from just inside the foyer, and Elizabeth flinched as Joni’s voice screamed over Richard’s.

“Good luck today Detective. We’re all counting on you.” Elizabeth said, giving his arm a firm squeeze before she quickly entered the courtroom before the Thrombeys took notice of her.

She wasn’t fast enough.

“Hey slut! Thanks for nothing!”

Lizzie cringed at Meg’s voice, turning around slowly to meet her old friend, “Hi-”

“Don’t hi me. For six months you let us all suffer and scramble and didn’t even bother to check in? And now you want to be friends?” Meg snarled, but Joni worked to pull her back as Lizzie maneuvered around the pair and started walking toward the front of the courtroom, “Oh, real mature, you’re just going to ignore me!”

“What would you like me to say, Meg? What exactly are you angry at me for? Are you angry that Harlan didn’t leave you any money? Are you angry that my husband is representing the estate and not your family? Or, wild thought, I’m sure I’m way off base here,” Lizzie hummed as she raised her finger to her jaw, “Maybe you’re mad because I fucked your cousin. But that’s none of your business. I, like everyone else, realized he was the devil and ran for the hills. I got a real husband and I’m having a real family. Thank God too, because I dodged a bullet, not having to deal with all of you.”

Before she left the conversation, she saw Linda take her seat at the edge of the back row, clearly not wanting to be part of the spectacle. Elizabeth didn’t blame her, turning back to Meg and Joni to deliver the final blow, “Now if you excuse me, I have to go watch my husband tear your family to shreds.”

As Elizabeth stormed away, she heard Richard’s booming voice, “Oh, how nice of you to come and support our son, Linda Do you have a good enough vantage point from back here to watch him be tried for murder?”

Elizabeth slid into the first row next to her father-in-law, leaving space for Marta and Benoit after their testimony. Despite being five rows ahead, she could hear the Thrombey’s continuing their squabble.

“Oh, Walter, are you going to hide in the shadows too? Or did you actually come to support your nephew?” Richard yelled as Allen and Lizzie turned to look over their left shoulders, unabashedly watching the sight unfold. Linda just stared blankly at her ex-husband, not saying a word as Walt approached Richard.

Walt laughed when he reached them, “Support him? We’re here to watch him burn. He destroyed this family, and you destroyed your marriage. He probably learned it from you...Sorry, Linda.”

“I spent thirty years helping out this family. I’ve seen them through so many ups and downs, Neil’s death, what to do about Joni and Meg, through it all. But even now after Harlan’s gone, they just don’t get it.” Alan sighed, turning to face the front of the court as people began settling down around them.

“Get what?” Elizabeth asked earnestly, looking from Alan back to the arguing Thrombeys.

“They don’t get that you have to take care of your family. Most deaths bring people together, but Harlan’s drove them all apart.” Alan said quietly and silenced his cell phone.

“Hmm.” Lizzie hummed as she looked back, hearing Walt’s voice continue to rise despite the filling room.

“Go to hell, asshole! You can bail your murderous son out of the electric chair with the money from your little tramp! Oh wait, she doesn’t want an old, jobless geezer like you? What a fucking surprise!” Walt yelled and Linda just rolled her eyes and placed her head in her hand as Richard surged toward his brother-in-law.

“You wanna go, Walt? Where’s your son right now!? Jerking off to Mein Kempf!?” Richard yelled. Joni put her hand up to push him back as her daughter ducked behind her mother. Meg caught Lizzie staring and rolled her eyes, but was distracted when Walt almost elbowed her in the face in his attempt to get Richard.

Joni’s floral skirt swished as she whipped around to face Richard, finger pointed at his face as he took a step back from her, “Our family has gone through a really hard time. You cheated on my poor sister and your son tried to murder our dear father. We are here to support Linda, who is about to lose her son. We have come here today, as a group, so we can take all the bad, toxic energy that has seeped into our auras over the past several months and expel it into the universe for our souls can find their light-”

“Oh, quit spouting your fucking nonsense, Joni. You aren’t even part of this family!” Walt barked loudly and Joni gasped in exaggerated surprise. Richard took this opportunity to leave, allowing the chaotic Thrombey’s to rip each other apart as he went to take his place in the first row behind the defense.

“How dare you? After everything I’ve gone through with this family? Go to hell you piece of shit!” Joni screamed back, shoving Meg onto the bench beside Walt’s wife.

“Enough!” Linda yelled as she stood and the whole room went silent.

Lizzie bit the side of her index finger and turned around slowly as to not pull any attention to her. Her back was rigid as she tried not to laugh, but she listened to hear if Linda would berate her family or just shut them up. After a couple excruciatingly long moments, she decided it was the latter.

Elizabeth’s mind went blank as the jury began to file into the room, signalling that the trial was about to begin. She rubbed her stomach fondly, beginning to feel sick as her husband entered the room as well as the defense attorney. She was tall, lean, and sharply dressed. Elizabeth wondered how on Earth Richard and Ransom were able to afford her, but she reasoned that’s why Ransom didn’t make it out on bail.

The woman shook hands with Phil and they went to their respective sides of the court. There were whispers in the court room as everyone waited for Ransom to be brought out, but one voice was louder than the rest.

“I think I know her.” Meg told her mother and Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her spine as she considered what strings the Thrombey family would pull to save the trust fund asshole.

When the doors opened and the guards brought Ransom forward, Lizzie’s heart sunk. He was dressed in a nice suit, but he was slimmer than she remembered. The beginnings of a beard grew on his normally smooth face, and his hair was combed back, but much longer than it had been last time she’d seen him, teasing the back of his neck in a way Lizzie was sure would annoy him.

Ransom seemed to have made the conscious decision to let himself go, perhaps in an attempt to seem sadder, less wealthy and dickish. He scanned the courtroom as he was led to the table to join his defense attorney, but when his eyes landed on Lizzie, he paused just a second too long and almost tripped as she pushed him forward.

Lizzie dropped her gaze so he couldn’t find it again, wishing she could wipe away the image of his desperate, hurt blue eyes from her mind forever.

#knives out #knives out fanfic #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction

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darlingpetao3 · 7 years

Text

For Asgard (Chapter 14/?)

There it was again, that “portal feeling” you had felt once before. Like you were floating, and at a fleeting pace. The entire atmosphere around you was as blue as the stone on Loki's sceptre. There's a light shining in front of you, bright as the sun.

Suddenly, your feet come in contact with the hard ground beneath you. Your arrival feels like a hot one as you can feel your forehead beginning to sweat. There is a blue haze surrounding you and funnelling outwards and upwards. Loki has hunched himself over you in full protection mode.

For goodness sake, where were you now?

Wherever it was, it had blinding lights shining right at you, so you couldn't exactly examine the place too well. But you hear carefully placed footsteps...

You both rise slowly to stand straight and take in your new surroundings. Eyes adjusting, it seems to be a giant warehouse or laboratory. There are men staring at you strangely from all points in the room. Some with impressively large artillery.

You dart your eyes over to Loki, who is grinning rather evilly at the onlookers. Then he turns to look at you, that same crazy smile on his face. It's happening. This is apart of his plan. You return an equally devilish smile. These people are about to see just what you two are capable of.

Time to play along.

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. At least, until one of the men breaks the silence.

“Sir, please put down the spear,” calmly, yet firmly says the man wearing a bizarre black eyepatch and some kind of black leather duster straight out of The Matrix. But then again, you two are wearing odder than normal clothing as well, so who are you to judge, really?

Loki looks at his new toy, held tight in his hand, then to everyone else. You stand there with your hand on your hip, looking at your nails, appearing bored and unimpressed with everything.

He probably shouldn't have said that.

Loki blasts his weapon at Eyepatch, but the man beside him knocks him down and out of the line of fire. Loki leaps down off the platform you were standing on like a predator at a soldier about to shoot at him and stabs him with the pointy end of the sceptre. The soldier yells out in pain.

You spot the other soldiers preparing to shoot at Loki again, but you take control of the situation. Pulling out deadly throwing knives from your hair and letting it loose, you launch them at the men in an attempt to hit your marks: their brachial arteries. One hit in that upper arm area and they will require some serious emergency medical attention. Stat.

It's pure chaos in the warehouse. These men were no match for the power of two fully trained people, plus the power of the sceptre. Bodies fly, hitting the walls and machinery. They drop to the ground after cries of agony. But they were out to get us. We had to defend ourselves. We've come too far to play nice, you repeatedly try to assure yourself.

One man tries to get up, but you dart over to him and hold his arms back while Loki places the sceptre over his chest.

“You have heart,” Loki tells him. The sceptre's stone lights up and the man's eyes turn completely black. Demon-like. It's kind of unnerving, especially knowing that you were in that exact position once... He puts his gun back in its holster. His eyes clearly read he's open to Loki's every order.

“Thank you, darling,” Loki says to you, followed by a kiss.

“My pleasure, babe.” You lean in towards your newly acquired subject. “What's your name, hon?”

“Clint Barton, Miss,” he informs you. “Alias: Hawkeye.”

“I'm sure you'll be an excellent asset to us.”

You and Loki carry on to take over the minds of other pathetic soldiers left standing, but not long into the task, you spot Eyepatch in the distance trying to make a break for it with a glowing blue cube. That does not look good. You bring it to Loki's attention by motioning your head in that direction.

“Please don't,” Loki calls out to Eyepatch. “We still need that.”

“This doesn't have to get any messier,” says Eyepatch definitively.

“Of course it does. We have come too far for anything else. I am Loki of Asgard, and this is The Mistress.” You give a little waggle of your fingers to Eyepatch. “And we are burdened with glorious purpose.”

An older looking man shouts from behind, “Loki, brother of Thor!” You cover your mouth with your hand. Oh no... Don't bring up Thor. Sometimes, during your visits at the compound, Loki would let off steam by ranting about all the things Thor did to ruin his life growing up (though maybe that was a bit dramatic of him). God, you were in love with such a drama queen sometimes. Loki looks absolutely pissed at the comment. He's far more than the “brother of Thor.” And that is the last thing anyone should say to him right now. Loki swallows any and every possible comeback. That must have been hard for him to do.

“We have no quarrel with your people,” Eyepatch tries to level with him.

“An ant has no quarrel with a boot,” Loki points out.

“You planning to step on us?”

“We come with glad tidings of a world made free.”

“Free from what?” Eyepatch doesn't seem all too impressed.

“Freedom. Freedom is life's great lie. Once you accept that, in your heart...” he spins and taps the old man with the sceptre and converts him to your side. Frankly, it serves him right for that Thor comment. “You will know peace.”

“Yeah, you say peace. I kinda think you mean the other thing.”

“Sir, Miss,” says the first man you converted. Shoot, you forgot his name already. Something with a bird in it. Birdman? “Director Fury is stalling. This place is about to blow. Drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us.”

“Like the pharaohs of old,” your darkly clad opponent mutters.

You lean over to Birdman. “I knew you'd be helpful,” you commend him. “But how can you be sure-?

“He's right!” the old man calls from behind a computer. “The portal is collapsing in on itself. We've got maybe two minutes before this goes critical.” What is he, a scientist or something?

“Well then,” says Loki, looking to Birdman, who then shoots Eyepatch without hesitation. It's as if he telepathically received the command. Remarkable. The one-eyed man falls to the ground with a thud.

Loki takes your hand and kisses it. “Shall we?”

“We shall. Let's roll out, boys!” you signal. The Scientist grabs the blue cube that hides safely in a briefcase and carries it like it's his security blanket. Birdman leads your squad out of the warehouse and into the vehicle parkade where you come across a lady agent.

“We need these vehicles,” Birdman tells her. Loki helps you into the bed of one of the trucks. He sits down and pats his thigh for you to sit on his lap. You don't have to be told twice.

“Who're they?” you hear the lady agent ask Birdman.

“They didn't tell me,” he replies coolly. She starts to walk away. That was easy. But then a static sounding voice crackles out of her radio. Damn it, it sounds like Eyepatch, and he's warning her. This is not good. Luckily, Birdman shoots at the leggy agent, but she ducks out of the way just in time. Before she even has a good shot at your crew though, Birdman hops into the driver's side and peels out of the parkade followed by a vehicular entourage. Loki holds tightly to you. The adrenaline pumping through you is thrilling and the sensation it brings you is startlingly addictive.

Soon enough though, this agency has got backup sent on your tail, and they are shooting frantically at your vehicle. Loki blasts at them with the sceptre to deter them. It works excellently, causing one of the cars to smash into a wall, flip over, and subsequently act as a barrier to the rest of your pursuers.

“Nice shot, baby,” you praise him. He gives you another peck on the lips. There's something about wild Loki that brings out his affectionate side. You like it.

The Lady Agent, now in her own car, pulls out in front of Birdman from out of freaking nowhere! You suppose this place has a secret tunnel system, that's smart. There's a commotion and gunshot sounds coming from in front of the vehicle, but it's impossible to see from back in the bed of the truck.

A deep rumbling can be felt beneath the ground. It must have to do with the power of the cube somehow. The Tesseract, you remember its name. Holy shit- the tunnel is caving in! The ceiling of rock is crumbling and gaining on your squad. You can do nothing but watch it race your way. Birdman punches the accelerator.

A massive clump of rock breaks from overhead and falls on and in front of Lady Agent's car. A gasp escapes you for some reason. You weren't close to her, you didn't know her. She was after you. Plus, she's probably fine anyway, you tell yourself. At last, you breathe in fresh air from outside upon exiting the tunnel. But now a helicopter flies overtop of the getaway truck. You see the chopper's door slide open and a black leather duster flaps in the wind. Eyepatch. Next thing you know, he's firing at you guys ruthlessly. A bullet cracks the windshield.

Loki motions for you to stand. He hands you the sceptre and shows you how to hold it, his hands resting over yours. He wants you to shoot back? But you don't even know if you can! How does this thing even work? The adrenaline you have been feeling all this time has reached its top notch now, and you don't even think you can contain it, it's so overpowering. Loki runs his hands up from yours to your arms and then sets them on your waist.

“Ready. Aim. Fire,” he commands you. First, you focus on a non-critical area of the helicopter to attack. You don't want any deaths on your hands, now. Serious wounds you'd be okay with. Once you find the right spot, you channel all the built up energy inside of you and the sceptre seems to read your timing. A bright blast shoots up at the chopper. It hits where the tail meets the body of the machine and that sends it spiralling toward the ground. Eyepatch jumps down from the doomed machine, plummeting before it hits the ground. It didn't look like that far of a jump. He shouldn't be too hurt. Not that you particularly care for his safety, that is. But you had to hand it to the guy, he's pretty badass.

The getaway truck speeds away from the destruction. Loki and yourself are breathing hard now. “You were absolutely wonderful, darling,” he praises you. “Come here.” You curl into him, feeling unexpectedly and overly tired. It's like the weapon drained all the energy stored from inside you in order to function. How does Loki possibly manage it? You fall in and out of sleep on the long, cool-aired drive. Before your last stream of consciousness, you thought you heard a set of propellers and engines firing up...

Part 15

Tag List: @gerardwayisapotato, @theloneavenger1995, @magellan-88

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