#some of it is going like cs or spiral curls

[lilgynt]

i know it’s a process but my hair is so lucky my mom would have a heart attack if i just shaved it all off. you are so fucking lucky.

[csmeaner]

Good evening mod shit

To fill you in on some of the Terraliens drama, some people complain that Terras are just Chimereon rip offs because one of the species owners based the species off one of their Cham concepts that got rejected. I just find that really funny because Chams are some of the most unoriginal things ever and without the nose horn and tail curl (which are illegal in terraliens) nothing could possibly look like a Cham. "Chimereon rip-off" chimereons are just fuvking horned chameleons that people go nuts over? All CS are a dumbass concept tbh, but I've always found chams absolutely ridiculous

chams have been able to proliferate themselves into being just about anything with some even ditching the nose horn/horns/spiral stuff that of course obsessed cs freaks will call anything a ripoff

i guess points to terraliens for being upfront with the creation and making sure they can't just be a way to create chams for cheap, teabeetles was basically the cham-rip-off species beforehand with that

cs concepts arent interesting enough so i'd base it more on its management

[swanslieutenant]

into the depths - part 1/2

Summary: Running out of options to save Henry, Emma and Hook venture to Mermaid Lagoon, to the dangerous and treacherous mermaids for a desperate attempt at their help. There is no assurance it will work, but to save her son, Emma is willing to do whatever it takes.

Rating T.

Written as a part of the CS Neverland New Year Event @neverlandnewyear. This is Part One of two, and Part Two will be up shortly. Hope you enjoy! 

Read on AO3 

PART ONE 

The night at the camp after the Echo Caves is quiet and subdued, everyone lost in their own thoughts. The initial discussion of retrieving Pan’s shadow had quickly faltered, the group deciding to wait for Regina to return before attempting that mission. The shadow is an entity all on its own, separate from Pan, and while Hook had seemed confident Emma was capable of securing it without Regina’s aid, her parents had objected to the danger and so, here they are, waiting around.

Yet again.

Emma tries not to be angry at this situation, knowing logically it is fine to wait for Regina to return, that it may be safer in the longer run. But it’s been several hours since, and she still hasn’t returned from wherever she went off to earlier. And so, the remainder of their mix-mash of a group sit around the fire, the silence amongst them anything but comfortable.

Emma almost wishes for Regina’s presence, not only so they can go after the shadow but for at least some snarky remark to break this tension. The Echo Caves are living up to their reputation, the aftershocks of its secrets leaving everyone in a strained silence that seems to fester and persist the longer it lasts.

Neal is sat on a log in the centre of the camp, munching on a pitiful dinner of leftover hardtack from the Jolly Roger and a handful of berries Hook has deemed safe, while Hook himself is sharpening his sword at the other end of the camp. Neither has so much as looked at the other since they returned and took their seats in their respective corners.

There is some history between them, something Emma doesn’t understand. She knows Neal spent time with Hook in Neverland previously – the cutlass leaning against her bedroll a reminder of it – but whatever occurred in that time is still a mystery. Though, it clearly didn’t end well, given the glares Neal sends Hook every so often, while Hook’s brow is furrowed in a twisted, painful expression unrelated to his work on the sword.

In the centre of the camp, David pokes miserably at the dying fire, casting mournful glances over to his wife every so often, who is already lying down on her bedroll, her back to the rest of the group. Mary Margaret hasn’t said a word since they left the Echo Caves – other than to object to finding the shadow without Regina – and it’s not looking like she will do so anytime soon.

Emma herself is at a loss of what to do now. She’s resorted to pacing the outskirts of the camp, her mind racing as she tries to think up their next steps to save Henry. But its hard to do so when her mind keeps returning to the Echo Caves and the secrets it has revealed. Even with Hook’s warnings about his crew, Emma wasn’t prepared. Not at all.

She glances over to Mary Margaret, silent on her bedroll. It was hard for Emma to hear that  David was poisoned and cursed to remain on Neverland too, but she can only imagine how that blow has landed with Mary Margaret. Emma feels like she should reach out to her, try to comfort her. But she can’t think of the words. Mary Margaret’s own secret from the Echo Caves is fresh in Emma’s mind, leaving her stunned and lost.

She’s all grown up.

We missed it, David.

I want to have another baby.  

Each secret was a whiplash, even her own regarding Neal and the wish that he was still dead, and Emma is beginning to understand what Pan’s game was. Make them reveal their darkest secrets to tear them apart, to distract them from the real reason they are here.

She hates to admit it, but it’s working. David and Mary Margaret’s secrets had hurt her perhaps the most, a form of abandonment all over again – David’s physically, Mary Margaret’s emotionally.

Emma finds herself glancing over to Hook, who is still silently examining his sword. His secret on the other hand …

Until I met you.

She would be lying if she said that it hadn’t made her heart skip a beat. The sincerity, the honesty, the truth of it. It knocked all the wind from her lungs. She’d wanted to reach out to him, to say something, anything, but before she could gather her wits about her, other secrets had been spilled, sending her spiralling all over again.

Emma straightens her back and forces all those thoughts away. Hook, Mary Margaret, David, Neal – they and all their secrets and their potential implications can wait. Henry is the only one that matters here.

“We need to discuss our next steps,” Emma says, marching to the centre of the camp, hands on her hips as she surveys the others. “We can’t just sit here and wait for Regina forever.”

“Agreed,” David says, and he drops the long stick he was using as a fire poker, sending sparks from the dying fire floating through the air. “Who knows when she’ll be back.”

Neal sets down his half-finished meal, and frowns. “Is Tink around here still?” he asks. “She could –”

“She won’t help us,” Emma replies flatly, a flash of irritation at the fairy who had so quickly fled at the first sight of danger. “We already asked her. She won’t help us get into Pan’s camp until we have a plan to get away from Neverland after saving Henry. And for that, we need to wait for Regina to get the shadow.”

The camp falls silent, then Neal asks, “Has Pan ever said what he wants with Henry? Like, what he brought him for?”

“No,” Emma admits. “He’s just been playing games with us. But maybe … maybe if we could figure that out, we could at least stop him before he hurts Henry anymore than he already has.”

Hook sets down his sword and the sharpening stone then, stroking absently at his face, brow furrowed in thought. “We could ask the mermaids.”

Emma turns to face him, taken aback by the suggestion. “The – mermaids?”

He nods, thoughtfully. “Aye. They may –”

“You want to ask the mermaids who attacked your ship for help?” David demands, interrupting with incredulity. “They nearly killed all of us, and Emma almost drowned because of them! There is no way they would help us!”  

“Perhaps not,” Hook admits, his tone calm in the face of David’s outburst. “But they may be our only option. The mermaids can travel this island in a way no one else can – through the water, and even Pan’s camp must be near a water source. Perhaps they will know why he’s brought Henry here.”

Emma’s heart is starting to beat faster, a chance of hope accelerating it. Neal is glaring at Hook with narrowed eyes, though he has leaned forward to hear better, and even Mary Margaret rolls over now, propped up on her elbow to listen.

“Did you say the mermaids attacked the Jolly Roger?” Neal asks, his eyes crinkling with a frown.

“Yes, and tried to sink it with a storm,” David adds pointedly, glaring at Hook.

“Aye, they did,” Hook says, shrugging. “But, as Emma so eloquently discovered, the storm was worsened by our squabbles. If we can keep our wits about us this time, a cursed storm will not be a problem.”  

Emma’s eyebrows raise. Hook hardly ever uses her first name, reserving her addresses to ‘Swan’ or the epithet ‘love.’ ‘Emma’ sounds different coming from his mouth, and then couple that with a genuine compliment with no flirtatious undertone … well, Hook is full of surprises tonight.

“I don’t think they’ll help us,” Neal says, his sour tone bringing Emma back to reality. He crosses his arms, leaning back on his heels as he frowns at Hook. “They were with Pan last time I was here.”

“Allegiances change,” Hook replies, meeting Neal’s eyes in a measured, even gaze, and something unspoken passes between them then. Neal’s expression contorts, from a quick flash of anger and betrayal and confusion. He scowls at Hook, his cheeks reddening slightly in a sign Emma remembers as anger, and looks away, kicking at the loose twigs at his feet.

David and Emma exchange a glance while Mary Margaret, oblivious, sits up from her bedroll, rising from her feet to join them around the dying fire.

“I knew a mermaid once,” she says, growing excitement in her tone. “She saved me from drowning, and then even helped save me from Regina. If these mermaids are anything like her, we can definitely count on them to help us.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Hook interjects rapidly. “Unfortunately, these mermaids may not be as helpful as any you met previously, milady. Neverland is a cruel place. The mermaids who live here … they’ve had to adapt to survive.”  

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma can only imagine what they’ve had to go through. She’s seen firsthand the way the Lost Boys and Tinkerbell have had to adapt to this cursed island, even Neal with his cave and its meagre survival tools.  

David, clearly recalling the mermaids influence on their arrival here in Neverland, shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, one hand lingering at the sword at his hip, as if challenging Hook to disagree. “The mermaids here are monsters, you said it yourself.”

“And they may betray us to Pan,” Neal adds, dismissing the conversation as he settles back on the log, ready to resume his meal.

Emma’s frustration bubbles over, her hands curl into fists at her side, arms stiff at the conscious effort to resist the urge to start punching things. Why are they all content to sit around, waiting for Regina to return, when this idea could help them save her son from a maniac?

“Pan already knows everything about us! He can appear wherever he likes on this island, do whatever he wants! If these mermaids could help us save Henry, who cares if they tell Pan? He’ll probably already know anyways! If this could help us, we have to try!”

David and Neal remain silent as they stare back at her, disagreement plain on their faces, though at least Neal has stopped eating again. Over the fire’s dying embers, Emma catches Hook’s eye. His expression is carefully neutral, but there’s a determined edge to his eye, and he nods imperceptibly at her.  

He clears his throat, making David and Neal glare at him. That doesn’t deter him, and he says, “They may be our best chance at trying to find out more information to save Henry.”

Neal scowls at Hook, and David throws his hands up in the air in dismay. Mary Margaret, however, seems intrigued.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” she says, breaking the unspoken tie. “Let’s go find the mermaids.”

David and Neal are not happy, dragging their feet, but Emma and Hook do not waste any time. They gather up several water canteens, Hook warning it may be quite the walk to reach the mermaids from their camp, while Mary Margaret leads the charge of gathering her bow and arrow and extra weapons for Neal.

Finally, they are ready to set off. The bright, full moon guides their path, filtering down through the jungle canopy in a scattered pattern, shadowed by the thick foliage above. Hook leads them, the rest following in a single file line through the narrow path that has been previously forged through the thick jungle.

Emma feels lighter than she has in a few days, the prospect of a task, of a goal, lifting her spirits. Though she is confident this is a good idea (better at least than sitting around while her son is suffering), the further they walk into the jungle, towards these potentially angry and lethal mermaids, questions of doubt trickle into her mind.

What if the mermaids don’t help them? They’ll have wasted all this time hiking to their lake or wherever Hook is leading them, when perhaps Regina may have returned in the meantime. What if this is just a waste of time, a useless delay, and it ends up with Henry suffering for longer?

Hook is several paces ahead of her, slashing at some fallen vines with his hook, and she increases her speed, scrambling over the loose roots in order to keep up with his hurried strides.

“Do you really think the mermaids will help us?” she asks, glancing back to the others. They are far enough behind that no one appears to have heard her question; if David or Neal got a sense that Emma was questioning this mission too, she’s sure they would be just as happy to turn around this moment.

Hook sighs, brushing his hair out of his face, and regards her with a somewhat sad smile. “I hope so, Swan. They are tricky and slippery creatures, who will parlay with us, if only for their own amusement. They have no regard for me, but neither do they have any love for Pan. He has not been kind to them.” Hook pauses, holding up a large leaf so Emma can pass underneath it, before adding, “To hurt him, they may help us.”

Emma can only hope he’s right.

They continue in silence, Hook guiding them through a small clearing to another long, winding pathway. This one is down a slope, steep and precarious, and at one point, though Emma is trying her best to keep an eye on her path, the dark night of Neverland bests her.

She loses her footing, skidding down several feet of loose rocks and damp leaves. Emma cries out in surprise, her stomach swooping with the sudden drop of gravity, and she braces herself for the fall, which is looking to be down several dozen feet of rocks and tree roots onto the rocky ground below.

But Hook, as if on instinct, reaches out to her as she stumbles past him, grabbing her arm with his hand and his hook catching a belt loop in her jeans. He tugs her back up to standing, jerking her upright fast enough to make her stomach squeeze with nausea once more, and swivelling her close to him.  

“Are you alright, Swan?”

His breath tickles her face, and Emma realizes then, just how close she is to him, practically in his arms. Even in the dark jungle, his features are in clear relief, and the last time she was this close to him … well, she kissed him.

“I’m fine,” she says, a bit breathlessly, which she absolutely attributes to the adrenaline rush, not Hook’s hand on her skin, the cold metal of the hook at the low of her back, or the sight of his face so close to hers once again. She steps away from him to more sturdy ground a few feet down the slope, brushing her hair back and out of her face, wishing again for the hundredth time she’d brought a hair tie with her to Neverland. “Thanks, um, for catching me.”

Hook nods and turns, continuing carefully down the slope. Emma follows him, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal as they head to the bottom of the slope. When they reach the bottom, pausing to wait for the others to come down carefully too, Emma turns to Hook.

“Hook,” she starts, thinking wisely of her next words. She’s been trying to think of how to say this for several days now, but with this latest suggestion on how to help save Henry and now just saving her from a potential broken leg or arm, it reminds her that … well, he’s here. He doesn’t have to be. But he is, and she’s not sure she’s able to fully communicate how much that means. “I wanted to say thanks for helping us find Henry. I don’t – I don’t think I’ve really said that yet. You didn’t have to help us to get here, and then help us since and I … I appreciate it.”

“Of course, love,” he says, his voice soft. He glances up the slope to the other three, slowly making their way down, and a dark shadow passes briefly over his expression. “There have been far too many boys lost to this island; if I can be of any help to save one more, it is my duty.”

Mary Margaret, David, and Neal reach the bottom of the slope then, and after checking in with Emma to make sure she is okay, the group continues their trek, through the dark jungle of sprawling roots, broken branches, and heavy, dew-soaked leaves. Emma is more careful this time, watching each step closely, but even still she slips a few times here or there.

This walk seems to be taking forever, Emma’s emotions fraught with both nervousness of approaching a group of mermaids who probably work for Pan and may not even help them, but also the general sense of anxiety and stress she’s felt since Henry was first taken. Her good mood has dissipated as quickly as it came, leaving her hollow with anxiety.

Finally, after they’ve been walking for at least an hour, Hook pushes through a dense crowd of bushes, leading them out onto a dark, sandy beach.

Ahead of them is an enormous lake, far larger than what Emma was imagining which, in all honesty, was essentially the pond from the Disney movie.

His voice grim, Hook announces, “Mermaid Lagoon.”

The term ‘lagoon’ is a misnomer, as this is a true lake, with black water rippling gently in the light breeze, water stretching far out into the dark horizon. Emma can only just see to the other side of the lake, where it meets the slope of a stony mountain, while the water disappears into the dark horizon to the west.

The water is mostly smooth and calm, but a dark cluster of rocks breaks the surface several hundred feet away, creating a small current and white tipped waves near its shores. The rocks are like a castle floating in the middle of the lake, with some rocks towering tall like towers and casting dark shadows out over the water.

“How are we going to find them in this huge lake?” Emma asks, disappointment already oozing into her thoughts. She wasn’t expecting this.

Hook looks to the sky, where the bright full moon shines faintly through a wisp of clouds, and gestures to the rocks with his hooked arm. “That’s where they’ll be. There are a few different clans in these waters, but they always convene on the full moon.”

It sometimes still surprises her how much he knows about this island, even though they’ve been here for days at this point and Emma realizes that he’s literally Captain Hook and this is Neverland. It’s a strange concept, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that he did spend two hundred years here, trapped by as much his thoughts of revenge as this cursed place itself.

Of course he’d know a lot about the mermaids and their habits.

“Okay, so how do we get over there?” Mary Margaret asks, as she, David and Neal join them at the tree line. She rubs at her face in exhaustion, her cheeks are hollow in the moonlight with dark shadows under her eyes. “Swim?”

“There will be a boat around here somewhere,” Hook replies, squinting around the dark beach. “This place is one of the only spots on the island that is protected against magic, even from Pan’s powers. He’d need some form of transportation to get over there.”

They spread out to search the dark beach. Emma’s feet sink into the soft sand as she keeps close to the gently lapping shoreline. Even with the full moon ahead, its dark here and after several minutes of walking, she doesn’t so much find a boat, as run directly into it.

Rubbing at her shin, Emma squints at the boat at her feet. It’s the size of the small rowboats Emma saw in Tallahassee several years ago, the ones with fathers and their kids eagerly packing their supplies for the day of fishing on the local waterways. This boat is made entirely of rough driftwood, sanded down to be smooth, with two benches facing each other constructed in the centre of it.

“Over here!” Emma calls, waving at the others, now scattered over the beach. “I found it!”

It takes several minutes for everyone to re-group near her, and Hook is the last to join them. He takes in the small boat and grins at her with delight.

“Excellent eyes, Swan. This will be perfect.”

Neal nudges the boat with his foot, sloshing the dark water, leaving the sand where it touches stained an inky black, dark even against the night. “You’re going to go across the lake in this puny thing?”

“Aye. Though I expect it only capable of holding one or two of us.”

David steps forward immediately, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll go.”

“You’ve done enough adventuring for one trip,” Mary Margaret says flatly and David deflates under her gaze, his hand unconsciously moving to hover over the now-healed arrow wound at his side. “Besides,” she continues, “the last time you got near a mermaid, you threatened to cut her throat.”

David steps back, his cheeks reddening in shame. Mary Margaret herself makes no move to volunteer, and Neal is standing off to the side, looking anywhere but at the rest of them. Its no matter – Emma has already made her decision, glancing to Hook. He meets her gaze evenly, determined and set.

“Hook and I will go.”

David exchanges a look with Mary Margaret, and gestures at the small boat, bobbing gently in the water. “No offense, Hook, but how will you row the boat?”  

Hook’s eyes flash. “I suspect we won’t need any oars,” he says simply, and he bends down, running his hand along the edge of the boat. “This is enchanted wood. Similar to the same wood in the Jolly Roger.”  

“Hook knows the mermaids better than any of us,” Emma adds, trying very hard not to glare at David for that comment. “He has to be one of the two to go. And,” she adds, before they can throw in any of their protective parent disagreements, “if anyone is going to get information that will help save Henry, it’s going to be me.”

She lifts her chin, hands on her hips, challenging anyone to disagree with her. Though her parents do not look pleased and Neal appears downright sour, no one says anything else in defiance. Mary Margaret and David set about filling several canteens of water from the lake. As they load them into the small boat, Hook examines it, inspecting for any signs of leaks or holes.

Emma steps away from the group slightly, fastening and tightening the cutlass straps that keep the sword tight and secure against her back, taking a moment to prepare herself for whatever she and Hook are about to face.

Neal wanders over to her, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks.” 

“Not just with the mermaids,” he continues, tilting his head in the direction of the small boat, where Hook is bent over it, his necklace brushing the edge of the boat.

Emma tries not to sigh too heavily at the implication Hook is part of the danger in this mission. She knows they have some dark history, but Neal wasn’t there with them on the Jolly Roger when they first arrived in Neverland, when these very same mermaids had attacked them, when Hook had helped save Emma from drowning in the churning seas.

“Listen, Neal –”

“He betrayed a lot of people when he was here last,” Neal persists, stubbornly. “Those mermaids are no different. You said they attacked the Jolly Roger when you first got here – why do you think they would do that?”

Her hand hesitates over the clasp. That’s a question she hasn’t really considered before …

Neal notices her hesitation, and he nods pointedly. “Like I said,” he continues, his voice low. “Be careful.”

Emma finishes tightening the sword and tries not to grimace when she smiles reassuringly back at Neal. “We’ll be fine.”

She walks back to the small boat before Neal can say anything else, joining Hook at its side.

“Any holes?”

“No, it’s ship shape,” he replies, straightening up. “Ready, Swan?”

Emma nods, and suddenly reminded of the last time they did something like this. Standing beside Hook, about to embark on an adventure, just the two of them – its like they are standing at the base of the beanstalk again, back in the Enchanted Forest. Then, Hook had had his own agenda, had been consumed in revenge and his own goals, and Emma didn’t trust him for a moment.

It’s surprising how different it feels now, regardless of Neal’s implications.

Now, Hook is the only person she would want to go with on this trip across Mermaid Lagoon, to ask a group of mythical creatures for their help in rescuing her son from a demented kidnapper. There’s no ulterior motive this time – Hook is here, in Neverland, the home of one of his sworn enemies, volunteering to travel across a black lake to face mermaids to help save her son. Who, if Neal’s information is accurate, he may have screwed over before.

There’s no benefit to Hook to go on this trip, and yet, here he is, standing opposite her, determined and ready to save her son. 

Emma sets her jaw resolutely. “Let’s do this.”

Hook clambers into the boat first, hand out to help Emma in. Normally she would ignore it out of principle, but the unsteadiness of the water underneath the small boat has her grasping out for it. She expects some snarky comment or perhaps a refusal to let go of her hand, but to his credit, he simply helps her into the boat, his palm rough against hers, and releases her hand once she has her own footing.  

As Hook predicted, the boat carries no oars or other ways to steer or propel them forwards. Instead, as Emma and Hook they settle into their seats, the boat gently pushes off from the sandy shore, gliding out into the dark lake.

“If we’re not back in a few hours, keep going, keep looking for Henry!” Emma calls. “Find Regina and get that shadow!”

The three figures of David, Mary Margaret, and Neal soon fade into small black dots against a dark shoreline, and then disappear altogether.

The tower of rocks in the centre of the lake looms ahead of them, and as they drift closer towards it, a cool breeze kicks up, sending goosebumps down Emma’s bare arms. Most of the time she is overheating in Neverland, with its oppressive jungle heat at all times of the day, hence her abandonment of her black peacoat the moment they arrived, but here out on the water, it’s the opposite. The dark water splashing over the edge is icy, chilling her to the bone. Emma wishes she had brought her jacket, but that is still folded up as her pillow back at camp, so she rubs at her arms, trying to bring some warmth back into them.

Hook, of course, notices.

“Are you cold, Swan?”

“I’m fine.”

He rolls his eyes at her and shrugs out of his large jacket. He holds it out to Emma, but she doesn’t take it, raising her eyebrow in a challenge. He lets out a huff of a laugh, laying it out over her knees instead.

“No sense getting a chill before we’ve even arrived. You’ll need all your strength and wits about you, love.”

The jacket is heavy and warm draped across her knees, and Emma lifts it up, slipping her arms through the sleeves, sheltering more of her body. “Thanks,” she says, begrudgingly.

“You’re most welcome.”  

They lapse into a silence as they cruise across the lake, the coldness of the air brushing against Emma’s face and making her shiver.

“So … mermaids, huh?” she starts, curious but at the same time hoping conversation will distract her from the cold biting at her skin. “I didn’t even know they existed outside of stories until we arrived here.”

He tilts his head at her, eyes narrowed. “Sounds like most of my world is simply stories in yours.”

She nods, thinking of the numerous movies and books on Snow White and Neverland and every other magical character she’s come across so far. “You’ve got no idea. But they’re twisted. I mean, the stories are different than …” She trails off, and waves her hand vaguely in his direction, unsure exactly how to put it.

He nods seriously but his eyes have a twinkle of humour. “Like your moustache and perm comment.”

Emma laughs, imagining the animated Captain Hook, with his exaggerated features and brilliant red coat, versus the man in front of her – almost unfairly handsome, who dresses entirely in black leather, with a loose cotton shirt lacking any effort at buttons. Lethal where the cartoon is a buffoon. Perhaps the only story in her world that had gotten a fact right was the original book, which described his dark hair and blue eyes, as blue as forget-me-not flowers.

Its far too easy for Emma to stare at those blue eyes, to be lost in them, and she shakes herself, continuing, rather hurriedly, “I mean, mermaids, for example. The most famous mermaid in my world isn’t a monster; she’s a curious adventurer and the hero of the story.”

Hook’s humour fades, and he frowns. “Aye, love. In that sense, our worlds are similar. Most mermaids are not monsters. But like I said, Neverland is not a kind home. To live, to thrive here … the softest among them are long gone and the remainder are dangerous.

Neal’s warning from the shore about Hook and the mermaids lingers in her mind, a trail of doubt creeping in.

“Hook, when we first got here, they attacked the Jolly Roger. Why did they do that?”

Hook fiddles with the end of his hook. “It was most likely on Pan’s orders. He has some arrangement with them. I’ve never been able to figure out what he has over them, but he probably had them out on patrol in case you showed up. Though,” he muses, “we had our fair share of disagreements when I was here, before. They like to hold grudges, these mermaids. It may as well of been my doing as Pan’s.”

Her heart sinks; perhaps there had been something to Neal’s warning after all. “What did you do?”

“Nothing too nefarious,” he says, with a wry grin that rapidly fades again into a dark, almost morose expression. “But you live in one place for too long, you tend to gather enemies, especially ones who like to hoard treasure and work for your enemy.”

They lapse into another silence then, and don’t speak again until the boat begins to slow. Emma twists her body as the boat slows its approach, to a rocky beach similar to the one at the other end of the lake, with dark sand and a gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.

This time, however, instead of a jungle framing the beach, it is all rocks, some jagged and sharp like knives, others low and flattened by the water’s erosion, and goosebumps rise on Emma’s skin as Hook jumps out of the boat, tugging it the last few feet onto shore.

“This place is creepy,” she comments, rubbing at her arms as she rises to her feet now, leaving Hook’s warm jacket behind. There is a faint breeze now, and though it is only a feeble wind, it is icy and cuts at her bare arms.

“Aye,” he replies darkly, straightening and glaring at the rocks around them. “This is Marooners’ Rock.”

“Marooners’ Rock?”

Hook is gazing out to the distance, and Emma follows his eyeline. A flat outcropping of rock hangs out over the water, a sheer cliff over the swirling waters below.

“So named after all those who left their crew here to die.”

Hook looks away from the outcropping, offering no more explanation, and continues, “Come, Swan. They’ll be on the other side, facing out into the lake.”

He holds his hand out to her, and Emma takes it, climbing out of the boat onto the soft, black sand. She glances to the outcropping, and this time when she shivers, it has nothing to do with the cold.

The small boat has dropped them off at the bottom of a set of cliffs, towering about thirty feet above them, with a carved staircase leading up from the beach into the rocks above. Though Hook called this a ‘rock’, its truly a little island all into itself, and Emma feels daunted by the scale of it all.

They leave Hook’s heavy jacket in the boat, along with the water canteens and head off, up the stone staircase. At the top of the staircase is a rocky plateau, with a stunning view of the jungle of Neverland all around them. Emma glances behind her, squinting back at the beach for any sign of the others, but the shore is too far away now. Only the thick black jungle stares back at her, oppressive and silent.

For whatever reason, it spooks her and makes her angry at the same time. Here they are, stranded in an unknown, hostile world, her son lost and in danger. It makes her blood boil with anger, anger at the sheer fact that this is even happening in the first place, and Emma turns back to Hook, who is watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What?” Emma asks, more defensively than she perhaps means it to be.

“You need another weapon, Swan.”

Automatically, Emma refuses. “I have the cutlass,” she says, shifting to show Hook the blade strapped to her back.

His eyes trace her movement, the turn of her body, and his voice is low when he says, “Never hurts to have a back up, Swan. Especially against these creatures.”

Strapped to his belt, slung low around his hips, hangs several weapons – in addition to his own sword, there are two short daggers in brown leather wrappings and a short black scabbard. He unfastens the black scabbard, and holds it out to Emma, an ivory handle gleaming at her.

“Here. Take it.”

Something lingers in his words, and Emma doesn’t argue again. She takes it from him and slides the dagger out of its scabbard, revealing a lethally sharp silver blade that gleams in the moonlight. She tucks it into the side of her boot, so that only the emerald tipped pommel shows and nods at him.

“Thanks. Where to from here?”

He gestures to the other side of the plateau. “They will be over there.”

She gestures for him to continue, and then follows him down another roughly carved stone staircase, into the darkness of the rocks below, to whatever and whoever await them.

[artistic-writer]

The Paradox of Light :: CS AU : Rated E :: Part 1

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer​ Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface. They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms? What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control? What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down? How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light? Rating: E Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, sexual addiction, domestic violence, fighting, choking, erotic asphyxiation (use in a non-informed manner), depression, death of Liam Jones, panic attacks, PTSD, attempted rape/non-con/dub-con, stab wounds, bar fights, rehab/AA meetings

- but there is a happy ending to this story, i promise.

Author’s Note: I missed this ficversary because of everything that is going on in the world right now, but its been in the plan to re-release it as a multichapter for some time.  It’s A LOT otherwise and whilst I initially always intended this to be a one shot, because I wrote it in one go, its not logical to expect people to stop and read so many words in one go.  The lovely fanart by @itsfabianadocarmo​ features in all chapters, so go show her some love!

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!  This fic has a lot of them for a reason.  If you want to ask about any, please don’t be afraid to message me.

Part One [ below the cut ]

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At first they had hated each other, with Emma setting her sights on the older Jones brother. Killian was nothing more to her than a thorn in her side. Cocky, arrogant and with a boyish smile that she wished she could slap right off his face, he was not for her. No, Emma Swan wanted Liam Jones, the stronger, more level headed of the two, but with a decade between them, by the time Emma had worked up the courage to tell him how she felt, Liam was announcing his marriage.

When Liam moved from their sleepy little hometown, leaving Emma’s teenage heart in pieces and Killian to continue his roguish antics unchecked, was when Emma began to notice him. He had a certain appeal. He had a car, would take her anywhere at the drop of a hat and puberty had been kind to him, with unblemished skin and a dashingly handsome growth that sprouted from his chin. The more Emma looked at him the more she felt that the bravado and confidence he exuded was more for just show. In private, when it was just the two of them, Killian was different.

One day in high school, they had decided to skip their respective classes and hang out at the edge of the school field. Killian was kind, less presumptuous and respectful when it was just the two of them and Emma liked it. He gave her his jacket when she was cold and his smell made her feel safe, like she was home, which considering she was adopted, was huge. Even the Nolans, her adoptive family, couldn’t completely fill the hole in her heart left by being abandoned, but somehow Killian could.

Killian’s senior prom was the turning point for her. He was a few years older than Emma and had promised to take her to both his and hers. He insisted because if nothing else, attending his with her would be a dry run for her own. Killian taught her to dance that night, holding her close, splayed hand pressed delicately to her lower back, the tips of his pointed ears turning red when Emma had pressed her body further into his, her early teenage yearning for Liam Jones long since gone.

“There’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he is doing.”

Emma had often thought about his words, long after her prom and into her college years, but whilst she had attended a local one, Killian had followed in his brother's footsteps and joined the Army. They never lost touch, sending letters to each other that mentioned everything and anything they could talk about. It was no substitution for the lilt of his accented voice, or the smile on his face that never failed to pick up her mood, but it was all she could get between his visits home.

When he was on leave, the first place he always went was her house. It was familiar to have him near her again, laughing and joking as they did silly things like play cards and swim in the lake. Emma knew he never wanted to talk about what he did in the line of duty, she could only imagine, so she never pressed him and knew that if he ever wanted to, he would tell her. Instead they spent their time poking fun at each other, acting more like a couple than most couples they knew, but with an annoyingly platonic and chaste intimacy that left Emma pining each time he deployed and left her with a seared cheek from his kiss.

But he was a gentleman, and she expected nothing less from him.

Five years went by between Killian joining the military and the day he came home. He was a ranger, the most elite sniper in his class, able to hit a target from over two thousand yards away, but his career had ended when he had been injured in the line of duty and subsequently medically discharged. Shrapnel now littered his torso, had embedded itself in his shoulder joint and had ripped through the muscles of his left upper arm like it was paper. A sniper with the inability to fire a weapon was useless, and rather than push paper for the rest of his life, Killian had come home carrying more than just physical scars and it was the wake up call Emma needed.

She had been beside herself to learn of his injuries. Her heart had skipped a beat in her chest and her blood had run cold through her entire body when she had been informed by Liam via an early morning phone call.

“He’s okay, he just wanted you to know that.”

That was the exact moment Emma Swan vowed to share her feelings that she had kept locked behind closed doors for so long. She loved him and needed to tell him lest she risk losing him with him never knowing how she felt.

The day he arrived home, waiting for him on the military airstrip in her senior prom dress was Emma, hair blowing in the warm breeze that whipped across the tarmac. There was a brief silence between them and people stared at her attire, but Emma did not care. She had finally realised what she had been fighting for so many years. Killian Jones, her best friend and confidant, was the man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. So she had told him.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“In your prom dress?”

“Shut up and listen.”

“Okay, love.”

“I love you, Killian. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and you held me at your prom. ‘Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing’ you told me…”

“Aye, Swan, I did…”

“Then I hope to God you know what you are doing because I am petrified.”

“I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Eight years later and they shared everything. The transition back into civilian life had been hard on Killian, but Emma was always there for him. She watched him cry, watched him scream and watched him fight with the demons inside of his head on a daily basis. It never went away, but it got easier, and on more than one occasion Killian had told Emma that she was his saviour. Only she knew how to help him, calm the beast and soothe his soul, but Killian’s descent into darkness had only just begun.

The day Killian’s phone rang and a police officer informed him of his brother’s demise was the day that would haunt Emma forever. Liam had been killed in a car accident on his way to visit them, the car having rolled along the highway so many times they had struggled to free his body. Emma would never forget the blood curdling sound Killian made as he screamed Liam’s name, collapsed to the floor and curled into the childlike ball of sobs. She let him cry, she let him shout and she let him smash every door in the house in his rage, and then after everything, she let him drink.

Killian Jones had lost count of the bottles he had seen the bottom of since the death of his brother. Each rum laden glass cask gradually weighed less as it emptied but the sorrow that felt like it was crushing him only got heavier. Liam had died quickly, in a car accident with no clear person to blame, and it had changed Killian forever. Whatever demons he carried from active service were amplified, the voices in his head taunting and eating away at his resolve.

There were no answers to his pleas to God at the bottom of the bottles, and even worse, there was no absolution.

  Six months ago

It had been only a short time since Liam’s death, but Killian had spent every second he wasn’t at work at the local bar. He always shot Emma a text letting her know where he was for which she was thankful. His drinking was starting to spiral and it had become pretty apparent that he was drinking more and more to try and quell the voices in his brain. It was wrong, Emma knew that, but it calmed him and helped him sleep, and despite her brain telling her it was wrong to enable him, her heart ached each time he sobbed himself into a slumber, so she let him drink to forget.

Or at least she thought she was. There had been a shift in his behaviour recently and whilst Emma figured he was starting to sober up, clear the niggles in his brain and finally begin to accept his loss, Killian was in fact becoming a functioning alcoholic. His breath reeked of booze each time he returned home, sometimes with bloody knuckles and sometimes with a glassy stare, but each time he was the same. Drunk, and the more he needed to drink to forget, the more frustrated he was becoming with being without his brother.

That night he came home, stumbling through the door and groggily mumbling to himself as he toed off his shoes at the door, Emma simply greeted him as usual without judgement. She was hurting as well. Liam had been her friend too, but as much as she was hurting, she could never compare to how hard Killian had fallen into the darkness of sorrow.

“How was work?” Emma asked, the question becoming somewhat of a code between them. It was something she had devised in order to gauge his level of inebriation and also work out how bad his mentality had been compromised during the day. She shifted her weight, resting a hand to the kitchen island as she watched him struggle with the zip of his jacket.

“It was unusually dull,” Killian slurred sarcastically, his balance suddenly compromised as he tried to pull his arms free from the confines of his sleeves. He stepped sideways, foot landing heavily on the hardwood floor with a thud as he tried to keep himself upright. Finally freeing his arms he staggered backwards into the lounge and sank down onto the arm of the couch with a sigh when the back of his thighs hit the solid mass.

“And your colleagues?” Emma prodded, moving to stand before him. The voices in his head were something he dealt with every day, sometimes successfully blocking them out, but it seemed the demon of drink always gave them free reign to torment him before he had consumed enough to silence them.

Killian screwed up his features, the rosy tint in his cheeks from too much rum hidden under a swipe of his hands as he covered his face with a wavering nod. “Chatty,” he whispered into his palms, inhaling deeply and letting his body hunch over as tears sprang from his eyelids.

“Hey,” Emma soothed, stepping between his parted thighs and pulling his hands from his face. His face was warm beneath her hands as she cupped his head, tilting his head back so he was looking up at her. “I’m here,” she told him softly, searching the clouded grey hues of his eyes with her own. “I’m here.”

Killian couldn’t stop the sound he made escaping his throat as he cried, the wail cutting straight through Emma’s chest and splitting her heart in two. He buried his face in the softness of her sweater, muffling his cries against her body and wrapping his arms around her, desperate to hold onto anything. “Don’t go,” he sobbed. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” Emma repeated, her voice watery from the lump that had begun to sting the back of her throat. “I need you too,” she whimpered, pinching her eyes closed just enough to let a single tear roll from her eyelid and scorch a line down her face. It fell from her chin and down the back of Killian’s shirt, his cries subsiding as he pulled his head back to look up at her.

It had taken weeks for her own grief to manifest enough that she had cried for her friend. Emma wasn’t sure where rock bottom actually was, but she was pretty sure they were both there at this exact moment in time, the silence between them echoing with the words neither of them needed to say. Killian had cried a literal river for his brother, but this had been the first time Emma had shed a single tear, and it had somehow ignited the need within both of them to feel again.

“Emma…” He gulped after her name, his voice raspy and gritty, the emotion in his words all he needed to tell her exactly what he needed as he rested his hands to her hips and gently pushed himself to his feet.

“Killian…” Emma sighed his name, looking up at him through her eyelashes with a prickle of heat that surged over the skin of her neck and through her entire body.

“I want…” he began nervously, unable to stop the way his gaze lingered over her body and his hands toyed with the hem of her sweater. His fingertips barely brushed the surface of her exposed skin but Emma gasped audibly, her eyes fluttering closed and her hand grasping the fabric of his shirt between shaking fingers.

“I know,” Emma said softly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she watched her hand against his chest, the quickening heartbeat beneath her fingertips matching the pounding in her ears. Emma lifted her gaze, blinking away more tears. “I want to feel too.”

The first thing they both felt again was softness of lips slightly salty from tears, mouths sliding against each other haphazardly and clothes being discarded with abandon. There were no words, only the soft pants and heavy breathing that accompanied their ascent to the bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake. It was like a bright light in both of their lives, neither having made love since Liam’s death, and they savoured every second.

Even drunk, Killian knew every inch of her body, every curve, dip and patch of silky skin committed to his memory. And he knew exactly how to make Emma feel, how to excite every cell in her body the way she needed in that exact moment. Killian never stopped touching her, taking his time to make sure that every hair on Emma’s body was standing to attention for him before he dipped his head between her thighs and finally gave her what she needed.

Emma’s cries were like music to his ears and Killian lapped at her essence like he was hearing her moans for the first time. They urged him on, his own need growing hard between his legs with every gasp she emitted from her slightly parted lips. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t need to, because the sounds Emma made as she writhed beneath his assault told him everything he needed to know.

The first time she came, her body stiffening as he relentlessly flicked his tongue over her clit, Killian felt something other than his own arousal surge through him. It was like a drug, a calm washing over his woes and guiding him from the depths of pain. He needed more and when Emma’s cries subsided he surged upwards and impaled her in a single thrust of his hips, watching the way her features twisted in pleasure and loving the feeling of being whole.

“I love you,” he whispered, stilling inside of her and stroking the side of her flushed face with his fingertips.

Emma could barely focus, her eyelids rolling open and fresh tears stinging her eyes once more. She blinked them away and Killian wiped them from existence with a gentle swipe of his thumb over her cheek. “I love you,” he repeated, holding her gaze as he angled his hips a little and sank into her further. Emma’s back arched off of the bed, her body yearning to feel more of the light that only Killian could shine on her.

“Oh God, I love you so much,” she gasped huskily, finally releasing the breath she had been holding and almost losing herself once more with the barest of movements. When Killian began to move and her walls fluttered around him, Emma groaned, more symphonic tones that made him want even more than before.

Killian’s hand found hers, their fingers lacing together and their palms pressing together so firmly that Emma almost couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. He lifted their joined digits above Emma’s head, increasing his pace as he pressed the back of her hand into the bed, his grip like a vice, tethering him to her and both of them to reality.

Killian’s other hand found Emma’s hip and his fingernails dug into her skin, a sensation she didn’t find unpleasant because like the burning between her thighs and the increasing pressure in her stomach, it made her feel, and that was all she wanted. She wanted the light once more, to bathe in its glow as she lost herself and fell from grace at the hand of the man she loved, the swivel of his hips and the drag of his length along her inner walls delicious and torture at the same time.

Emma was so close it was almost painful, the room filled with the stench of sex and alcohol fading away as the pin pricks of white began to flicker behind her eyelids. She felt Killian’s forehead rest against hers and the warmth of his rum laced breath invade her nostrils as his own body shuddered, his knuckles turned white with his grip and he whimpered her name like a prayer.

“I’m here,” Emma panted hoarsely, her hand finding the side of his face and her lips ghosting over his.

It was enough to send them both into oblivion, their bodies basking in the rays of euphoria and numbing the sting of pain they both felt in the very depths of their hearts. They were lost in each other, swaying in an ocean of pleasure that they would quite happily have drowned in should the waves become tumultuous, but they didn’t, instead gently lapping at the edge of their subconscious, chasing away the agony.

For now.

[honestsycrets]

No Thieves Welcome XX: Mads

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk comes to see the reader grieving the loss of his children, finding a surprise.

❛  warnings | deceit, heartbreak, grieving, loss, breakups.

❛ sy’s notes | if you’re still here, i’ll see you in my sequel What She Really Wants under NTW’s masterlist.

Far’s things are in a cardboard box you close up, smoothing clear tape over the lips. Most of the house is packaged for the move cities away. Today is graduation but as you told mother, you weren’t up to it. Something about having your father here just… a week or two ago, and now, he was gone didn’t sit well with you. The only thing you were grateful for was actually getting your diploma with the year you had. Your grades slipped from glorious A’s with sprinkled B’s to… dare you say it, Cs. Despite that, you think that your nearly perfect years will help you in college. 

When you take it, that is.

You pad out of your mother’s room and toward your own, looking around the empty hallway. Studs stick from the wall where pictures of a happy family were. The illusion is gone now. You’re only left with the sticky reminder of the tape that held your heart together.

 You’ve begun to pack your clothes into a giant box for the big move Monday. There’s still momentos all over the place. On your dresser, a framed image of Asta’s bright smile in galaxy painted lips. She isn’t smiling much from prison. Your father in Tivoli, holding you pridefully in his arms against a backsplash of bright lights and stringy plants. He’s not prideful anymore. He’s dead. As dead as a man could get cremated into a small tin of ashes that mother separated between the two of you. 

Keep him in your memory, she said.

Then there was the vanishing child. Your heart hadn’t the time to grieve. You stand by a full-length mirror, dragging your palm over your distended stomach. Hvitserk had not spoken to you since that day. He carried his head lower still when you passed by with Magnus. Good. It was better that way.

Just then, your phone chimes. You pick it up, tapping the app that alerts you when someone is at your front door. You tap ‘live,’ finding your ex-boyfriend is just there. His hands are in his pockets, rain downpouring. His fluffy black hoodie soaked, matted to his sloppy bun. You’re lucky your mother is always working. 

“I’m coming,” you say into your phone. 

Hvitserk turns his head up, nodding with a sway of his body. You go downstairs, holding the railing as you bound down the steps to the front door. Your hand hovers at the handle, composing yourself. You push open the handle and open the door. Hvitserk stands there, eyes rimmed by red as if he’d been crying. Your heart pangs. 

“Hi babe,” he says, a waft of alcohol punches your stomach. You stand aside, letting him step onto the welcome mat inside the home. It’s too cold to be standing outside. You clear your throat when he stops, looking down his sopping wet shorts. The rainwater dribbles over the welcoming mat.

“Think I have a change of clothes for you somewhere.” 

You slip up the stairs and into your bathroom, pulling the fresh emergency pair of clothes. You never asked much of Hvitserk when he came splattered with blood or with injuries that you couldn’t begin to make sense of. A good wife didn’t ask questions. That was what Aslaug always told you. 

“It’s just a t-shirt and some shorts,” you clear your throat. “They’re yours. I have your other clothes somewhe--” 

In a swift motion, Hvitserk pulls you in. His hands don’t wander toward your ass for a grab or cheek for a kiss. They tighten around your back, tugging you forward and into him. Hvitserk’s nose cradles in your hair, breathing in your newest perfume of peonies. A bottle your father meant to give you, with a graduation anklet from a luxury brand. As you learned, he also planned to give you a necklace with two charms when your twins were born. You couldn’t face opening that yet. 

“Hvitserk--” 

“You look good,” he pulls back, wiping wet tears on his wet hoodie. Your eyebrows push together when you nod, looking him over. His well-corded arms reflect that he’s been in the gym instead of the last week of school. Alcohol on his breath indicates that afternoons are spent at the bottle.

“You look… exhausted.” 

“Yeah uh--” Hvitserk looks down to his change of clothes. “Graveyard shift. Uncle Rollo’s taking off to France.” 

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” you remark awkwardly. Your kettle in the kitchen screeches, interrupting you from your words. “I’m gonna go get that. You can get changed.” 

You’ll need that Bubble Tea to deal with Hvitserk. You step off to the side toward your kitchen, fixing your drink of black tea once testing the heat of the water. Burnt bitter tea is gross tea after all. He’d know you were leaving. As you mix quick cooking boba balls, you have to know that he’ll know. Once he knows…

“You’re gonna leave?” Hvitserk’s voice cracks. 

To protect your son, you think. You briefly glance over your shoulder, taking him in. You recall that shirt fitting looser. Not… clinging, as much as it did. “Mor has some connections up in Aarhus to get me into school. And… she can’t really live here without seeing Far,” you drain your boba and begin to assemble it. There’s nothing as gratifying as spilling the cream into the cup. 

“(Y/N) I--” 

“It’s okay, Hvitserk. What happened… it wasn’t your fault. We lost them,” one, you think, one. “...and these things just happen sometimes. Plenty of women have miscarriages.” 

Except that wasn’t the whole picture. The whole picture-- the truth was, you were still pregnant with his child. He should have been a happy father waiting by your side. Mor was right, you tell yourself. Your little boy wouldn’t be safe with his father.

“I could have done somethin’. I even named my fuckin’ kids-- Mads… for the boy and I thought, ya know, you’d name her something stupid.” The side of his lips pull down into a tight whisper. You shift, turning around with a cool drink in your hands. You set a hand to his forearm, steadying his spiraling thoughts from self-deprecation. His eye falls down to your hand. You’re still wearing his ring.

“Listen to me,” you say, shaking his forearm for emphasis. “There is nothing you could have done. If not that day, another day. I was wrong when I blamed you, Hvitserk. Those were-- those were hateful words.” 

“Okay?” you emphasize. 

“Yeah… okay.” he says, though sounding unconvinced. You remove your placating hand from his arm and settle a tea in his hand. He looks down upon it otherwise unmoved. 

“You know I don’t like this shit. Gimme the headaches.” Hvitserk tips the tea up, his eyes flickering up toward you. He holds your look as you stand upright, hand upon your hips now. 

“It’s good for you.” 

“Not after that much shit you put in.” He laughs but drinks it anyway, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows when he manages to down it. 

“Oh, it’s not that bad. You’re full of shit.” 

“Yeah, you too.” Hvitserk pushes himself off the side of the counter, gathering his wet clothes. You supply him with a bag to take them home. He throws it over his shoulder, still smiling to himself. He wants to tell you to keep the ring. That you earned it. That… it was meant for you. But he’s afraid you’ll take it off. “Guess I better head the fuck out before your mother gets here. Bitch sent me some mean--” 

You lean forward, reprimanding yourself as you do so, and grasp his face between your hands. You tug him into your hard kiss, slanting your lips over Hvitserk’s own. His hold slackens on the bag, clattering over your pink painted toes. The coldness of the laundry causes them to shift into a lavender. Your tongue flicks and curls against his own-- and he loses his modest appearance, grabbing your ass and squeezing you tight. Your stomach hits his, and you watch the confusion over his face. 

“Surgery,” you explain just as mother told you to. “Do you... wanna stay the night?” 

Stay the night. He sucks in a breath, hopeful for what those words could mean. The storm raging outside and your hand drifting between the waistband of his shorts tell him that you indeed mean it as he hopes. Your voice strained as if the words trickle slowly through a sieve. “One last time?” 

“Yeah,” Hvitserk says. This half-formed plan to get you back a failure. He wouldn’t beg. But he would hope. He’d always hope you would make your way back to him. “That’d be great.” 

That winter the flurrying of the snow feels all the more pronounced. 

Maybe its the fact that you took that fall off of school. Mother said to enjoy your pregnancy-- what was left of it. But it felt... all the more lonely without someone to enjoy it with. 

Your mother tried, that was a fact, but she wasn’t Hvitserk. Not that you... needed him there. Mother was providing well. Come spring you would go back to school, take your courses in engineering, and get on with your life.

The cold of that December day was lost on you that night. Perhaps because the pains started the morning before-- early at three in the morning. They carried on. Past noon, past dinner time and into the wee hours before the next day. 

“And good-- one more,” your mother says, crouched by your bed which overlooks the large window. You push once again and there’s a cry-- a painless delivery despite the chaos of months earlier. The cries are loud, and you drop your head, exhausted from the pain stretching your womb the whole day. After the miracle of life, you were afraid to use pain treatment. 

“He looks like his father,” your mother announces, pulling the child free. You look up, gripping the necklace around your neck tight. You had a near death grip on it this whole time. 

“He does,” another voice comes from beside you. You glance up to Asta at the foot of the bed. Her charges had been dropped-- and thankful as you were, you knew Ragnar had something to do with it. She was here on return from studying abroad in America and you couldn’t be more thankful. Even if she had done time, she was here now. In a week or two, she’d return to Copenhagen. 

“Great, tell me he doesn’t have his eyes.” you whine, your mother’s work quickly done with the help of one of her trusted co-workers. More best friend at this point, then co-worker. After the afterbirth was delivered, and that incessant shoving on your womb was done, Asta came by your side. She closes the blinds shut, kneeling before you. 

“He does, oh god.” You laugh, bringing him into your arms. Near existant tufts of blond hair and the eyes in the same shape... you look over his forehead and slim lips, noting to yourself just how much of his father’s image he was. Even as a baby.

He’s going to be trouble.

“He’s so cute,” Asta whispers, knocking her forehead against the side of your head like an affectionate puppy. You relax into her, rubbing your thumb over his full and lightly rosy cheeks. “What are you going to call him?” 

“Mads,” you answer immediately. “Just like his father wanted.”

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[searchingwardrobes]

Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee: 1/8

Here it is, my second contribution to the @cssns! I am really excited about this one because the story of Cupid and Psyche is my favorite myth, and I’ve been contemplating this fic since we first heard of the Underworld arc. Since CS spends all their time in the dark and in bed, this ended up being the steamiest story I’ve ever written. It’s not smut (that’s what my beta and I concluded, anyway), but it goes right up to the line. I must warn you, however, that you’ll have to endure a few chapters of slow burn first. I hope you all enjoy it!

A thousand thank yous to my beta @snowbellewells who is graciously still doing her thing even though she just had to go back to work at her teaching job because I last minute decided to make this an MC. And thanks also to @hollyethecurious for the gorgeous artwork that really sums up this story so well!

Summary: Every night, she traces the contours of his body as Killian whispers words of love against her skin. But can Princess Emma ever be fully happy with a husband who only comes to her in utter darkness? A Captain Swan AU of the Roman myth of Cupid and Psyche.

** I’m also curious if anyone knows where the fic and chapter titles come from. Drop me and ask if you have a guess!**

Rating: M for sexual situations

Words: about 3,000 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list): @kday426 @jennjenn615 @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @distant-rose @mythologicalmango @optomisticgirl @xhookswenchx @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256 @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @ohmakemeahercules @gingerchangeling @nikkiemms @revanmeetra87 @cocohook38

Chapter One: On the Rugged Mountain

The procession making its way down the streets of Misthaven was beautiful in a macabre sort of way. It was led by chanting priests in black hooded robes swinging orbs of burning incense. Behind them, Queen Snow and King David rode in an open carriage draped in black satin and drawn by a team of chestnut horses. They were both decked in mourning clothes of black, the queen’s face covered by a lace veil. Behind them was another carriage, this one drawn by two white horses. This one was closed, dark curtains pulled shut. Yet everyone knew who was inside, dressed in the wedding gown that should have been worn in celebration. The townspeople lowered their heads as it passed, some dabbing silently at their tears. Bringing up the rear of the procession were the ladies of the court, also dressed in garments of mourning. The only sounds apart from the clip-clop of the horses and the creaking of the carriage wheels came from them: deep wails of grief accompanied at times by the warbly singing of an old folk song about a maiden wed to death himself.

At the village gates, the priests and mourning maidens abandoned the procession, standing before a throng of villagers. The silence that had fallen amongst the people remained until the royal carriages crested a hill and were no longer in sight.

On these two carriages traveled, cloaked in silence. Even the king and queen were at a loss for words to comfort one another, and their daughter had requested to be left alone for the journey.

Finally, the carriages rumbled to a stop at the top of a misty hill. It was rumored to be filled with monsters and lesser gods and goddesses whose constant turmoil created the rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning upon its peak.

King David helped his wife down from the carriage, then went to assist his daughter. Yet the door opened before he could lend his hand, and Emma alighted on her own, her face pale yet determined, her back straight.

“Emma,” her mother said, a sob rising in her throat, “you don’t have to do this.”

The princess’s stony expression softened slightly at her mother’s tears. “Yes, I do. What is my life compared to that of our entire kingdom?”

Snow let her tears go then, clasping her daughter in a desperate embrace. David enveloped both his girls, his hand coming up to cup the back of his daughter’s head. It seemed only yesterday he was rocking her to sleep after a midnight feeding. He kissed the top of her forehead before releasing her with a trembling smile, his eyes awash with tears.

Emma clasped the pure white fabric of her gown in both fists. “You know what the oracle said. You must leave me here alone.”

Snow practically collapsed in her husband’s arms as he led her away. Emma watched both royal carriages rumble back down the hill, her courage fleeing with them. Once they were out of sight completely, she fell in a heap upon the ground. She was surprised, however, when tears didn’t come. She supposed she’d had time to accept her fate.

The mist turned to a thick fog, and she wondered if she would die quickly before seeing the monster approach. She closed her eyes and awaited her “groom.” A virginal sacrifice to sate the hunger of a beast and save a kingdom. It was an old story, wasn’t it?

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

Emma had imagined many gruesome scenarios since she learned that she was destined to be the “bride” of a hideous creature. Yet in none of those tableaus had she imagined that she would get bored waiting for the damn thing to show up. Yet here she was, going out of her mind wondering how much time had passed. She curled up on the ground, using the long train of her dress as a makeshift pillow. She didn’t expect to sleep, but suddenly she was jolted awake by the hot sun on her face.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, amazed to see the green hill, dotted with the most beautiful roses she had ever seen, and the sky bright and blue above her. The fog was rolling away, revealing such amazing beauty as it went. Then the fog revealed something even more unbelievable, and Emma’s jaw dropped.

Right before her was a huge, glittering castle. It was of white stone, with angels on every buttress and turret instead of gargoyles. Every bit of filigree and trim around its windows and doors was done in gold. Emma scrambled to her feet, in complete awe. As if the castle itself knew she was awake, its gates swung open. Emma hesitated for a moment, part of her wondering if she were still sleeping, and another part worrying that it was a trick, but a tug in her core seemed to pull her towards the castle.

She went through the open gates, marveling further at the beauty that surrounded her. A path of white marble cut through a garden filled with flowers of every hue. They seemed more vibrant than any Emma had ever seen, and butterflies and hummingbirds flitted around them by the dozens.

Just like the gates, the doors of the castle swung open of their own accord. Emma made her way up steps also of pure white marble. The marble extended into the foyer of the castle, yet as the door gently closed behind her, the feeling enveloping her was one of warmth. Despite the cool stone beneath her feet, the wooden banister of the spiral staircase was a comforting mahogany, and the plush furnishings made her long to curl up and take a nap.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively.

In response, Emma heard giggling and childlike chatter.

“You were supposed to greet her at the door!”

“Well, you were supposed to be watching from the second floor balcony.”

“Hush, both of you, you’ll scare her!”

At first, Emma couldn’t figure out where the voices were coming from. Then she noticed glittering balls of colored light bouncing and floating all around her. If the accompanying voices hadn’t sounded so delightful, she might have been frightened.

The orbs began to grow and lengthen, and Emma could make out three distinct colors: green, purple, and red. Then she was able to see wings, then the tiny creatures attached to them.

“Fairies!” Emma exclaimed with a smile.

The orbs faded, and then three young women were delicately landing upon the marble floor in front of her. The first had blonde hair like Emma’s, pulled into a loose bun on the top of her head. Her dress looked as if it were made of green leaves.

“I’m Tinkerbell,” she said with a curtsy, “and I take care of the flowers in the garden and will also be your cook.”

The second fairy had long dark hair plaited in two braids, an olive colored complexion, and large brown eyes. Her dress was made of soft deerskin dyed with indigo and decorated with intricate beading.

“I’m Tiger Lily, and we all take care of the flowers, Tink.”

Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing at the dark haired fairy’s obvious irritation with the blonde.

The red-head giggled fondly at her fellow fairies, then addressed Emma. “I am Ariel, and I am to be your chambermaid.” Then she gasped and lowered into a deep curtsy. “I mean, your majesty.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in surprise as the other two fairies curtsied as well. “I, I don’t understand -”

“We are here to wait upon you,” Tiger Lily explained, “at our master’s command.”

“Your . . . master?”

“Of course!” Tink exclaimed, clapping her hands merrily, “You are his bride, after all.”

Dread flooded through Emma’s veins. Being sacrificed to a monster was one thing, actually being married to one was quite another. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“And . . . who is your master?”

Ariel giggled, and Emma was suddenly weary of the blonde and redhead’s exuberance. At least Tiger Lily seemed more sedate.

“We can’t tell you that!” Ariel exclaimed, as if it were a silly question.

Tiger Lily reached out and grasped Emma’s hands. “You are home now, m’lady, that is all you need know. All will be provided for you; anything and everything your heart desires.”

“But,” she bit upon her lower lip, “when will I meet my . . . husband?” She tried not to choke on the word.

For the first time, Tink looked solemn. “You won’t see him much, I’m afraid. He has many responsibilities. He is away from the castle now, and he gave no word of when he would be back.”

Emma frowned and pulled her hands out of Tiger Lily’s grip. “What kind of being is he? A cyclops? A chimera? What?”

All three fairies burst into giggles - apparently Tiger Lily could be silly too - and without answering, they transformed back into pixies. They dipped and swirled as they darted around Emma’s head in a most annoying fashion.

“Whatever you wish to eat will be served in the dining hall,” Tink’s voice called out.

Emma sighed as the fairies disappeared. She hugged her middle and did a cautious turn, taking in her ornate, exquisitely lovely surroundings. Well, she was hungry, and pork chops with gravy and roasted potatoes would really hit the spot . . .

Scarcely were the thoughts formed when she smelled something delicious down the hallway at the east end of the castle. She followed it, easily finding the dining hall, spread with a feast of all her favorite foods. She wondered for a moment if it could be poisoned, but her growling stomach won out in the end and she sat down to pile her plate high.

Even captive Princesses forced into marriages with beasts had to eat, after all.

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

Ariel chattered excitedly as she showed Emma around her new chambers. They were gorgeous, Emma had to admit, with a large, ornate bed surrounded by exquisite tapestries. Emma longed to draw them around her and sink into the inviting bed piled high with soft pillows.

“Now this,” Ariel said, flitting across the room, “is the master’s favorite part.”

She flung open the French doors that lead out onto a spacious balcony, but Emma latched onto a single word. Her heart plummeted, and the last thing she cared about was a balcony with a view.

“The master’s? This . . . these are his chambers?”

Ariel turned to face her, head tilted innocently. “Of course. I mean . . . they are yours now, too. Yours and his. The . . . marital suite?”

The fairy was wringing her hands now, her face slightly pale. She turned to shut the French doors and pulled yet another tapestry across it. Avoiding Emma’s gaze, she went about the room lighting several candelabra. Then she opened the wardrobe, pulled out a long satin gown and laid it out on the bed.

“So the master will be sleeping here as well? That’s what you’re saying?” Emma demanded, stepping close to Ariel.

Her maid turned slowly to face her. “Yes. I mean, he is your husband after all.”

Emma clasped her hands together as they began to shake and took in a deep breath. She would not succumb to fear now, not when her kingdom was in danger. She released the air in her lungs and tried to force her pulse to slow.

“And when shall he return?”

Ariel shook her head, a look of apology upon her face. “I’m sorry, but one can never tell.” She bit her lip for a moment, then smiled encouragingly at Emma as she grasped her hands. “You have nothing to fear, Princess, I promise you.”

Easy for a fairy to say, Emma thought dryly. She wasn’t sharing a bed with . . . whatever the master was.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Ariel asked.

“No. I just wish to be alone.”

As soon as Ariel’s footsteps faded out into the hallway, Emma sank onto the bed, finding it just as soft and inviting as she had imagined. She lay sideways, curled in on herself, eyeing the satin gown disdainfully. The cloth looked light as air and far more comfortable than the wedding gown she still wore, yet it had thin ribbons for straps and a plunging neckline, clearly a garment meant for seduction. She simply wouldn’t wear it.

Try as she might, however, she couldn’t get comfortable in her cumbersome gown. Frustrated, she leapt up and stomped over to the wardrobe. Inside, she found a collection of beautiful gowns, and in the back, a collection of nightgowns. She grumbled when she found that they were all in the same style, simply in different colors. Black, red, and pink didn’t seem any better than white, so she returned to the bed and began removing her dress. As she struggled with the corset, she wished she had asked Ariel for her help after all, but eventually she was slipping the simple satin garment over her head. It slid against her bare skin deliciously, and Emma sighed in contentment. She crossed over to the vanity and removed the crown of flowers pinned in her hair, running her fingers through her long locks.

A shiver ran down her spine as she crawled into the giant bed, pulling three of the four tapestries closed. On the open side, she kept the last candelabra burning, the encroaching darkness causing panic to crawl across her skin. She slipped beneath the covers, hoping against hope that the master wouldn’t be returning for their “wedding night.”

He didn’t even bother to see me in my wedding dress, Emma thought sarcastically to herself. She started to laugh bitterly, but then an image rose in her brain of being chased through the halls of the castle by a lust-enraged dragon or minotaur, and it turned into a hysterical half-sob.Then the blood froze in her veins at a creaking sound on the other side of the closed tapestries. Did someone just enter through the balcony doors?

The lights in the candelabra by her bed burned lower in an unnatural way, and Emma’s pulse quickened. She scrambled to the head of the bed, fisting the sheets and blankets at her chin. Was this when the monster would come? Had he been toying with her all this time?

A rush of air blew through the room, extinguishing all the light. The tapestries around the bed, which had seemed so luxurious when she first entered the chamber, now felt like heavy walls trapping her in. She held her breath, straining to hear, but it was useless against the pounding of her heart. She sensed his presence more than anything when he reached the bed, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Not that it made a difference in the pitch-black room.

“I won’t lay a hand on you.” His voice was deep, yet gentle.

Emma opened her eyes but still didn’t relax her posture. “I find that difficult to believe considering this,” she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “is our wedding night.”

She felt the bed dip and pulled her feet up hastily.

“Believe it or not, I speak the truth. You can trust me.”

Emma squinted in the darkness, trying to see his face.

“You won’t be able to see me,” he told her calmly.

“Then how can you expect me to trust you?” she shot back, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

He surprised her by chuckling in a low, warm tone.

She licked her dry lips. “What kind of monster are you?”

“I’m not a monster,” he answered simply.

She eased forward hesitantly. “Then you’re human?”

“I . . . didn’t say that either.” She heard him pull in a deep breath. “Listen, all you need know is that you are safe and the plague that was ravishing your kingdom is over.”

Emma bit her lower lip. “But you expect something in return?”

“The only thing I ask is what you are willing to give.”

Emma fell back on her pillows in exasperation. “You speak in riddles just like the oracle!”

There was that chuckle again. “They do like to be mysterious, don’t they?”

Now that she was lounging upon her pillows, Emma released the sheets from her grip as well. “So what are we doing, exactly? You say you won’t touch me, so why are you here?”

“You are still my bride, that much is true, and like any groom, I wish to get to know you.”

“Most grooms do that before the wedding.”

He laughed again, and the sound was actually becoming relaxing. She wriggled down beneath the covers and attempted to stifle a yawn.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said gently. “How about tomorrow night you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Emma hesitated, her body tensing involuntarily. As if he could see her reaction, he hastily spoke again.

“Rest assured, I will not touch you without your consent. Ever.”

Emma swallowed, wanting to believe him, but unsure if she should. “Okay, I suppose tomorrow night we can talk. On one condition?”

He hesitated, and it sounded as if he were clearing his throat. “Within reason. That’s all I can promise you.”

“Tell me your name.”

She could literally hear his body sag in relief. And was it possible to hear someone smile?

“That is easy, love. Please call me Killian.”

“Killian,” she repeated, almost testing it on her tongue. “I like it.”

“I rather fancy it myself.” Yes, he was definitely smiling.

A pleasant breeze blew through the tapestries, and then the candles flickered back to life. Her new husband was gone.

[lenfaz]

La Incondicional, 2/2

CS Top Gun AU:  Emma Swan is one year away from finishing pilot academy before she meets someone that will change it all.

Dedicated to @captainswanandclintasha as a Hub Santa gif. You can watch the terrible 80s video that was inspiration in here: La Incondicional (Luis Miguel) So you can get an idea, Luis Miguel was the bomb in the 80s and 90s. He was like Ricky Martin’s rival in popularity. The shock for a certain part in this video was HUGE.

All the thanks in the world to @sambethe for beta and hand-holding duties

Part I

Ao3 - FF.net

Three years later

Emma shouldn’t be surprised to find herself once again in the hallway waiting to be reprimanded by her superiors. She knew she’d pulled a stunt and disobeyed orders when she went after that bandit, but she couldn’t help herself.

Looking straight ahead, she met the cold eyes of her Radar Intercept Officer (RIO), Elsa - codename Icequeen - who was studying her in the same way she stared down new recruits. Resisting the urge to fidget, Emma turned her attention to one of the posters tacked to the wall. Elsa continued to stare.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“One day, your need to prove yourself is going to get us killed.”

The reproach was clear in her tone, tinged with the exasperation she’d come to known so well since she first started flying with Elsa but both were mixed with a hint of mischief. It was the last that left them friends, and made them a force not be reckoned with.

“But not today.” Emma twisted her lips in her trademark smug smile.

Elsa smirked and nodded in agreement. “But not today.”

“SWAN! ICEQUEEN!”

The loud, booming voice of Commander Nemo echoed down the hallway, making both of them jump. Glancing at each other, Emma and Elsa took a deep breath before they entered his office.

Tall and broad shouldered, their captain’s presence was hard to miss - or ignore, especially when he loomed over them in the middle of his office. And yet, Emma’s eyes darted to the other man in the room. Dressed in his impeccably kept uniform, he was perched on one of the window sills, leaning his shoulder against the wall. There weren’t many people who would lounge so carelessly around Nemo which could only mean that they had history.

Curiosity piqued, Emma turned her attention to Nemo, her eyebrow rising quizzically in her forehead. Nemo’s expression softened only a little as he motioned with his hand towards the other man.

“Ladies, meet Commander Liam Jones, current head instructor and lead of our Top Gun Academy.”

Emma’s heart beat a staccato against her chest, her eyes darting to Commander Jones while she worked to maintain a calm facade. This, this was the moment she’d been working for since she enlisted.

Jones pushed away from the wall and he walked a few steps towards them, holding his hand out to shake hers and Elsa. “Lt. Nolan, Lt. Arendelle, it’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve been hearing remarkable things about you from my friend Nemo for a while now and I thought I should come by and check on your skills myself.”

“Of course,” Nemo drawled, levelling her with his stare, “he chooses to come the day you decided to play insubordinate and reckless, Swan.” Then his expression morphed, the corners of his lips turning into a smug smile. “Which let’s face it…”

“It would have been the same any other day, Sir,” Emma finished for him, already well-acquainted with Nemo’s tirades.

Nemo chuckled. “I should make you pay for that one, Lieutenant. If it weren’t for the fact that Jones here is willing to take you and Arendelle off my hands, I would.”

Liam pressed a hand on Nemo’s shoulder before shooting the two of them a dazzling smile.

“Ladies, how do you feel about joining our ranks at Top Gun?”

/-/

Being here was like a dream come true, this felt like the place she was always meant to be. Emma took a deep breath as she and Elsa walked into the classroom on their first day at the academy. Technical lessons were up first. They’d be followed by two fly missions per day, where they would attempt to take on the instructors one-by-one. She couldn’t wait for those to start, for her chance at bringing down the top-notch flight instructors of Top Gun. She’d heard through the grapevine that Liam Jones and his RIO were undefeated for two years running. They were the pair to beat. Emma was eager for that challenge, and she was sure she’d be the one to take them down.

“Ohhh, I got the good gossip at the bar last night,” Elsa said as they took a seat in one of the middle rows. “I heard our first instructor is a dream come true. Elsa stole a glance around the room and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s supposedly a former pilot. They say he was the best of the best, until an accident cost him his hand and his career as a pilot. His fiancée, who was his RIO on the mission, died in the crash and it left him wrecked. Rumor has it he spiraled for a while after that - drinking, fighting, sleeping around -, nearly was discharged, until his brother set him straight and brought him here to teach. His name is Captain Killian Jones, he’s the Commander’s brother… and I can’t remember his codename, but it was a good one. Give me a sec…”

But Emma had stopped listening, because her attention was focused on the man entering the room. She knew that swagger, would recognize it anywhere even though she hadn’t actually seen him walking towards her in six years. He lifted his head and his blue eyes widened as he met hers.

Her heart stopped. “Hook.”

/-/

Swan.

It would be just his luck to find her sitting right in front of him, plainly avoiding looking anywhere but directly at him as he delivered his lecture to the new wave of pilots selected for the academy. In retrospect, he should have known this was an eventuality, that she had always been good enough to land herself in this classroom. His voice had faltered for a second as he introduced himself and Killian had to force himself to remain calm. He knew his lecture by heart, and could deliver it with his eyes closed and never lose his calm. And yet… he couldn’t help the rapid beating of his heart every time his eyes wandered towards Emma Nolan.

She was as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered, and even more so now with her hair tied up at the back of her head, biting the cap of her pen as she stole a glance at the back of the room. For a moment, a familiar wave of regret threatened to overwhelm him and he absently rubbed his hand against his prosthetic. It was only when Emma’s eyes widened and she grimaced that he realized what he was doing and he removed his hand, clearing his throat. Her eyes darted to his briefly before she quickly turned her attention back to her notes. As he played a fly sequence video and let his assistant instructor do the play-by-play, Killian perched on the desk and closed his eyes, letting the darkness of the room wash over him.

The memories of the weekend spent with Emma flooded him, followed by the agony after the accident. He remembered the messages passed to him, and each time he refused to reply or take her calls. He’d lost everything and he hadn’t wanted to hear the pity in her voice, to be reminded of any happy moments of his life. He had just wanted to curl up with a bottle of rum and die slowly from pain and heartache. It had taken him a long time to shake himself from that state of mind, that and Liam tossing his arse around and dragging him here to do something with his life.

As the video came to an end, he pulled himself together and swaggered to the middle of the room to deliver the end of his lecture. He could do this. He could hear Liam’s repeated mantra to him over these past few years.

Stop stressing about it, little brother. It's just a drop of water in the ocean of your life.

He would finish his blasted lesson to these overeager pups scattered around the room. He could feel each of their proud smiles and cocky glances as they studied him, could practically hear them thinking they could take him down and break his record now that he was out of the game. They thought they could outfly him, prove themselves better than Hook, all-time number one ranked at Top Gun and once-upon-a-time fighter pilot extraordinaire. He bent his head to hide the smirk that was coming to his lips, none of these idiots had what it took to best him.

None but one. If there was one pilot in this room that could best him, that was his Swan.

And that thought both excited and terrified him.

Killian pushed himself to deliver his parting words and then gather his things as the class emptied the room. He caught sight of Emma leaving and while he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but go after her.

“Swan!” He called, hurriedly chasing after her, hoping to catch her for just a brief moment. She seemed to hesitate but finally stopped and turned to meet him, her face a blank mask. “Emma…” His voice sounded breathy, even to him, and he tried to clear his throat as he willed his heart rate to slow. “Uh, hi. Fancy seeing you here.” He almost winced outwardly at how foolish he sounded.

She nodded in his direction. “Lieutenant - sorry - Captain Jones. It’s been a while.” Her tone was formal and direct, and while most men might find it off-putting, Killian knew better. He even knew better then and, gods, it had taken him a while to be reminded, but he knew better now.

“Aye. Gods, how long has it been?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he played with the flap of his messenger bag with his prosthetic. “A lot had happened. Actually, I’ve been -”

She interrupted him, something between hurt and sadness flickering across her eyes. “I know… I tried to reach out to you.”

There was a veiled condemnation in her words, and shame curled in his gut. He should have taken her calls, or at least send word that he wasn’t ready to talk. He should have done something other than ignore her. “Listen… do you want to get some coffee and catch up?” He searched her face, hoping the plea behind his words was plainly written on his own face.

She took a step back and avoided his gaze. “I don’t think that's a good idea, Hook.”

His codename on her lips felt like a sword running through his heart. “Emma, I’m sorry I didn’t- I know you tried to reach out to me but back then I wasn’t- I wasn’t in a good place.” His words were a long, run-on sentence, but he hoped she could understand, would give him the chance to plead his case. “I was grieving and in pain, and half of the days, I was heavily medicated. I was in a dark place. I’m not proud of it, but I’m here now and perhaps-”

She cut him off with a shake of her head. “Look, I know what this is… you trying to bond with me, but save it. I’m not in the mood. I have my own career to think about right now.”

It was time to take a step back. “I see.” He was too little, too late. The story of his damned life.

Emma turned to leave, but had only taken a few steps when she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, a sad smile playing along her lips. “Four years. That was the last time I saw you. You were standing outside the base where I was stationed, a brunette on your arm.”

Another sword ran through his heart, ripping him in two. His voice cracked as he spoke, “Milah, my RIO, my…” but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

The regret in Emma’s eyes let him know he didn’t have to. “I know. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll see you around, Captain.”

/-/

“Good morning, ladies and gents. This is Renegade speaking, I’ll be your catch for the day. As my RIO is indisposed today, my little brother has agreed to step into the role. If you thought you’d seen the last of Hook, think again. And if you think this makes it easier for any of you, also think again. No one should mess with the Brothers Jones.”

God damn it… she almost had him. He was right there in her grasp, and then all of the sudden Liam had swerved to the right in one hell of a maneuver and she’d lost sight of him. Relentless, she pushed to regain her ground, only to lose control of her bird and nearly crash. She recovered and pulled herself back to appropriate altitude, but it was too late.

Emma resisted the urge to bash her helmet against the bench, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. Elsa stood nearby, looking calm and collected, but Emma knew her friend and knew a storm was brewing behind those cold, blue eyes. Elsa also took a deep breath, preparing herself for her usual speech, but whatever words she had were cut short when Liam Jones walked into the room. He had his fatigues on with just a plain white shirt on top. He dried his curly hair with a towel, and then tossed it in a nearby laundry basket before he turned to Emma, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You were good up there, Swan. At the beginning. But you still have things to learn.” He gave her a lopsided grin that made Emma’s skin crawl. Cocky pilots and smug smirks weren’t foreign to her- hell, she was one and gave more than her fair share. She’d been in Liam’s position more than once, looking down at another pilot she had outmaneuvered and feeling proud of herself - but somehow the fact that it came from Commander Liam ‘Renegade’ Jones made Emma want to scream from the top of her lungs.

She had a quick retort at the ready, but when her eyes met his, something else completely came out of her mouth. “Did you bring me here for him?”

She didn’t mean to ask that. It wasn’t something she was supposed to say, or even bring up, but at the moment, it was all Emma could think about. It had been all she could think about during the last two weeks of training lectures and flight lessons. Killian Jones was constantly on her mind, breaking her concentration and making her risk her and Elsa’s life.

Liam didn’t even blink, which made it clear he knew who she was, beyond just her flight record. He sighed and leaned against the wall, giving her a look that was full of contempt. “You wouldn't be my choice for Killian. You’re a hell of a pilot, Emma, but you’re too reckless. That’s the last thing he needs, not when he’s finally put his life back on track.” He pushed off the wall, taking a few steps towards her. “And, Lieutenant, I don’t choose the pilots of this program to suit my little brother’s love life. I have my own to think about.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow at him, trying to decipher the meaning of his words. But all the Jones bravado seemed to have faded from his face and he cleared his throat, a deep blush coming to the tip of his ears. “Not you. The world doesn't revolve around you, Nolan. I like my partners with a little more poise.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes darted briefly to where Elsa stood behind her, her self-composure as perfect as always, the epitome of everything an officer should be. With a swift nod of his head, he left the locker room, the sound of his footsteps slowly fading away.

Once he was out of earshot, Emma turned and bit out, “Can you believe that self-righteous asshole?” But instead of finding Elsa’s attention on her, she found her rooted to the spot, her gaze firmly set in the direction Liam had left, her eyes shining with something that looked a little too close to admiration for Emma’s taste.

Fuck.

“Elsa? You have got to be kidding me.”

Elsa sighed, her lips curving into a sideways smile as she shrugged. “Well, he looked really hot calling you out. Besides, you know what a little silver on hair does to me.” She toyed with the hem of her shirt, biting her lower lip in the most un-Elsa like gesture Emma had ever seen.

But then it was gone as quickly as it came and Elsa shot her a worried look. “Whatever is going on between you and Jones - the other Jones - that has you so off-kilter, you have to solve it before you get us killed.” Her hand reached out to grab Emma’s. “Promise me you’ll deal with it.”

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. “I will.”

She gave her a little encouraging smile before leaving Emma to her own demons.

/-/

Today, however, looked to be in no mood to cut her a break.

When she finally left the locker room, it was to find Killian Jones leaning against the wall outside it, dressed in dark jeans, white shirt, and leather jacket with patches. He lifted his head and his eyes met hers.

“Are you ok, Swan?”

The timing was too perfect, the tone of his question too on point. It could only mean someone had tipped him off about what transpired between Liam and her. Emma doubted it was Liam and she silently cursed Elsa’s meddling.

A good offensive was the best defense. Maybe if she bitched about his older brother enough, he’d be offended and leave her alone.

“Has Commander Jones always been such a sanctimonious bastard?”

Killian snorted, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I prefer pompous wanker, but, aye. I find it to be his preferred mode.”

She had not seen that coming and it must have been clear on her face because Killian’s features quickly sobered, his smile fading. “We lost our mom when we were young and our father was next to useless. Liam raised himself and me. Sometimes I think he never had the chance to have any fun. He was too busy drawing on all his own strength and will to keep us above water, so to speak.”

Well, that put things in perspective and killed any outrage still broiling inside. “I’m sorry,” she offered sincerely. “I didn’t know.”

Killian tipped his head to the side and gave a small shrug “Liam knows you’re good, Emma, but he doesn’t know if he can trust you up there. It’s not always about being the best, at least not in his book. He doesn’t know yet if your thirst for glory would run roughshod over any instinct to protect your team.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“Of course he does… he’s a sanctimonious bastard and the Navy has banked his career on it.” Killian shuffled his feet, as if he were nervous. “I could help you, you know, teach you a few tricks to take him down in the next flying exercise.”

“Why would you do that?”

Killian shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s my job.”

She took a step closer, invading his personal space, her eyes meeting his. “Is it?”

“Aye, it is, but I don’t feel like having to teach all of the pilots how to beat my brother. Perhaps we should meet off base.” He pulled paper and a pen from his jacket and quickly scribbled something down. “My place, 5 o’clock on Sunday?”

It was dangerous, to say the least. But according to everyone she was too reckless and liked to court danger, so what was another drop in the ocean?

She took the paper, her fingers brushing his. “I’ll be there.”

/-/

The sand was warm against his bare feet as Killian stood by the net, watching as Liam toyed with the ball by the service line. It wasn’t early on a Sunday afternoon if a volleyball game wasn’t happening between the academy instructors and the current crop of pilots. Killian rubbed his hand over his left wrist, right at the juncture of his prosthetic, and tried to hide his grimace. He might not be fit to pilot and his time at the air was spent solely as a backup RIO for his brother these days, but he’d be damned if he was going to back out of a beach game. He had more stamina than this. If Scarlet and Hood thought they had it easy because he was missing one hand, they should think it again.

He quickly scanned the field before exchanging a sign with Liam. His brother nodded, his fingers spinning the ball as he leaned in, his tags clashing against his bare chest, a smug smirk gracing his features. His older brother had a tendency to show off, and by the looks of some of the female pilots who were gathering in the bleachers, he was quite the attraction today. As Liam tossed the ball over the net, Killian focused himself on the game, pushing aside that nagging need to see if Emma had shown up to watch them play.

The game continued, Liam and him working together like a well-oiled machine, his body pushed to the limit as he dove to save a ball or two, the sand cushioning his fall. Emma had joined the crowd at some point, sitting next to Elsa with her aviator sunglasses perched on her nose, hiding the direction of her stare. The hair at the nape of his neck, though, tingled with awareness as the game progressed. Distracted, he almost missed a crucial save, but was able to pull a magnificent stunt at the end, landing the decisive point and winning the game. When he picked himself up, he turned to the crowd to find Emma gone. He checked his watch and realized he’d have to run if he wanted to make it back to his place in time to grab a quick shower before she’d show up at his doorstep.

As he made his way to where his clothes were on the bleachers, Liam walked towards him as he dumped half a bottle of water over his head. He tossed one to Killian who did the same, the cold water dripping over his head and shoulders as he welcomed the refreshment.

“Hood and Scarlet want a rematch. What do you say? One more, little brother. Let’s show them the Brothers Jones are in fine shape out of the air too.”

Killian shook his head. “Any other Sunday I’d do it, but I have plans and I’m already late.”

“Come on, Killian. Are you going to leave your commander, your brother in arms and flesh and blood, alone to face these green puppies?”

Killian rolled his eyes as he reached for his shirt. Liam could be such a dramatic and eloquent asshole sometimes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw exactly how to distract him and escape, with the added bonus of teaching his brother a lesson at the same time.

“Icequeen!” He motioned for Elsa to join them. As Elsa came down from the bleachers, he plastered on his most dashing smile. “Lieutenant, I need to bail out of the afternoon’s entertainment. Would you mind lending my brother a hand? Or two? I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Elsa’s eyes widened for a second before she cleared her throat. “It’d be my pleasure, Captain.”

Killian could feel the heat radiating from his brother at Elsa’s soft voice. She made her way towards the sand, shedding her flip flops and sweatshirt, leaving her in a light blue tank top and her cutoff shorts. Killian turned to his brother and almost laughed. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck, the water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand.

Killian clasped his hand over Liam’s shoulder. “You can thank me later, brother.”

That seemed to bring Liam back from his daze. He shook his head sadly. “You know that can’t happen. This will make me look unprofessional, like I’m a man abusing his power over a lowered ranked official.”

Elsa turned her head and cocked an eyebrow at them. “Are you coming, Commander?”

There was no way anyone could misinterpret the double meaning in the way she purred the words at Liam. Somehow, if someone was going to take advantage, Killian wasn’t sure it would be his brother.

“It’s just a volleyball game.” He stared resolutely at Liam. “And need I remind you, she won’t be at the academy forever. Two more weeks and she’d be out of your command. And probably under your command in some other more enjoyable activities.”

Liam chuckled before he turned the tables on him. “Is that what you tell yourself? Two more weeks and Emma will be out of here?”

If only the gods were in his favor like that again. But he knew it’d take more than one poor excuse of a training lesson to lure her back to him.

“I’m counting on it.”

/-/

One thing was clear when he opened the door to find Emma standing there in her red leather jacket and a six pack in her hands - she wasn’t going to stand on ceremony.

“I know you favor rum, but I couldn’t find anything decent at the liquor store, and I didn’t want to be late by going to find another.”

“Beer is fine, Swan.” He took the pack from her hands and motioned her in. “Please come in and make yourself at home.”

He had put a few things together for a light dinner on his patio and he directed her there after he took her jacket. She followed, her eyes studying his place as she sank into one of the patio chairs.

“Your place looks nice.”

“Thanks. It took a while, but once it was clear that I was to remain here a while, I decided to finally settle down. Put down some roots and all that. You know how it is…”

“Actually, I don’t.” She dipped a piece of bread into the hummus and nibbled on it. “I haven’t had a place in a long time. It’s been all barracks and small cots for years now.”

“Right, life on the base, sharing your room with a snoring roommate, not to mention too many body odors going around.”

“Luckily Elsa doesn’t snore.” Emma tilted her head, taking a sip of her beer. “Do you miss it?”

Everyday.

He shrugged. “There’s no hope of getting it back, so why bother?” He took a chance and looked directly at her. “There’s no point in missing something I can no longer have, Emma.”

“As opposed to missing something you can?” The words were barely whispered, and he ached to cross the distance between them and brush his lips against hers.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He fidgeted with his beer instead, glancing away so his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “I don’t think there’s hope on that front either, is it?”

It was her turn to avoid his gaze, her attention turned towards the sunset. Killian could have pushed the issue, but he knew it would have been futile. He took a deep breath, letting the regrets wash over him, and his lips curved into a hint of a smile.

“But we’re not here to talk about that, are we? We’re here to talk about how you’re going to beat my brother.”

Emma’s eyes came back to his face, and he was surprised at the apprehension he found. “You think I can do it?”

Killian didn’t like the hesitation in her voice. He’d seen the footage of her missions. Emma Nolan didn’t second guess herself. She didn’t let people tell her what she was and wasn’t capable of, she punched back and told them who she was.

“Of course you can.” Killian cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned. “You’re one hell of a pilot.”

She chuckled, taking a long pull from her beer and swallowing slowly. “It doesn’t seem to be enough.”

“Self-deprecation doesn’t suit you, Emma,” Killian countered, leaning closer to her, his hand itching to reach for her. “It will be enough. You just need to learn how to read him. It takes time, but I’ve yet to see you fail.”

“I failed the other day, you were there.”

“That wasn’t failing. That was practice. It’s not a failure unless you finish the academy and haven’t taken him down. Most of the other pilots won’t, but you - you will. I know it.” His hand inched closer to hers and her eyes focused on its movement. Her fingers twitched and for a moment they brushed his. Killian almost lost his train of thought as the sensation of her skin brushing against him invaded him, but he cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. “I didn’t beat him on my first try either, and I’ve known him my whole life.”

“When did you finally beat him?” Emma asked curiously, her fingers brushing his again, her eyes fixated on him.

“On my last day.” Killian laughed as the memory came to him. “It was almost over and he’d gotten away a few times, but I knew he was going to swerve right - he always does, remember that - and I was right there waiting for him.”

“I can imagine just how pissed off he would have been when he realized you got him.”

Killian shook his head. “He was proud. As he will be when you take him down.”

“I doubt it.”

“He picked you to be here, remember? He saw something in you, something that makes him think you’re worth the effort. He’s just too stubborn to admit he likes you.”

“I’m pretty sure Nemo begged him to take me and Elsa off his hands.”

“Nuh-uh. I’ve seen some of the stunts you’ve pulled on missions.”

Emma’s eyebrows crept up her forehead and her eyes widened. “You have?”

“They send us footage of all the pilots who make it to the academy, gives us a chance to review and assess everyone before they get here. Sometimes we use the footage for our lessons.”

She leaned closer, her breasts brushing just above his forearm, her gaze intent on him. “And what have you assessed about me, Hook?”

He couldn’t tell her, not now. Not when they were this close to each other and she was finally opening to him. It will be over soon, but Killian would be damned if he didn’t get to have at least this afternoon with her.

“You’ll have to wait for my next lesson to find out, Lieutenant.”

/-/

“And thus, you can see that being daring can sometimes border on reckless. In this case, the pilot got too close and only a combination of good weather elements and sheer luck prevented the bird from crashing. A change in the wind and they wouldn’t be alive today. Be this a lesson to you all, sometimes you need to back down.”

Killian could see Emma’s hurt directly from where he stood at the front of the room, her eyes fixed on the screen playing footage from one of her flights. Although he kept her identity anonymous, he was sure she knew it was hers. Killian knew he might be making one of the biggest mistakes of his life - again - but he also knew he had to see this through. Emma Nolan was going to be out of Top Gun - and his life - in ten days, and he needed to let her go. He needed to crush every single hope of them ever getting together again. It was the only chance he had that he would be able to live again after she left, putting herself in danger mission after mission, without thinking of her safety or back up. It was what she was trained to do and he knew it well. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d lived his life like that and never hesitated. It was only now - now that he knew the price you had to pay on the other side - that he understood Liam’s concerns about Killian back in the day. And Liam’s concerns about Emma now.

She was going to hate him, but he could only hope his words would be branded deep enough to keep her alive.

Killian dismissed the class with a wave of his hand and simply stood here, his eyes scanning the room as they slowly made their way out. He clenched his jaw, trying to force himself not to look at Emma, but failed miserably. When his eyes met hers, he watched as she closed herself off and turned her back on him, walking proudly out of the door.

He should let her go. He’d done all this to be able to let her go.

And yet…

“Swan!” Killian called for her, hurrying his steps to catch up with her.

She didn’t turn around.

“Emma!” He called again, making his way towards the door she’d just exited. But then Elsa came into his view, blocking his way, her anger clearly rolling off her.

“Leave her alone.” Her voice was low, calm and collected, and it froze him immediately. Her reproach was clear, and Killian couldn’t do anything but hang his head in shame.

“You did that purposely.” Elsa placed her hand on his chest and forced him to take a step back. “You chose to push her away, probably for some stupid reason your brother must have talked you into, now you get to see it through.”

The roar of a motorcycle brought his attention to the window on the side of the room, catching sight of Emma as she darted off the base. Elsa was right. He needed to see this through.

But he couldn’t.

“I can’t, I shouldn’t have -” he said more to himself than to Elsa, as he stepped around her and ran towards his car.

/-/

She didn’t know why she ended up at his doorstep, fighting off tears. This was the last place she needed to be, sitting here waiting for god knew what. He’d just belittled her in front of everyone. Killian Jones - fucking Hook, king of temerarious flying - had stood up in front of an entire Top Gun class and called her reckless.

Emma wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually she was drawn out of her circling thoughts by the sound of a car parking and the engine being cut. She lifted her head and watched Killian exit his Chevelle. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes downcast, looking as if he were carrying the weight of the world. When he finally lifted his head and saw her, he stood straighter. Then he all but ran towards her as Emma stood up.

“Emma, I’ve been driving all over town trying to find you…” he started, his eyes scanning her. He must have noticed her tears, because his smile faded and he reached his hand towards her. “Emma - I...”

She wasn’t going to let him get under her skin, or show any commiseration. She took a step back, hastily drying the tears from her eyes. “How could you?” Her voice faltered, but Emma forced herself to look at him. She refused to back down now that he was here. “I trusted you. I thought you understood what all of this meant. You sat with me three days ago encouraging me to continue flying. You call me reckless? You were ten times worse than me, Killian, and you know it.”

He swallowed, his eyes filling with regret. “Aye, I was. And I paid a steep price for it.”

“So you thought the best course of action was making an example of me in front of the entire class?”

He averted his eyes, his voice all but a whisper in which she could hear the shame behind the justification. “I didn’t use your name. No one knew I was talking about you.”

Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please, they knew, they all knew.”

She needed to know. She had to understand. “Why? Why would you do this to me?” Her words came more breathless than she intended and she despised herself for it. She didn’t want to still be feeling his condemnation so deeply. She shouldn't care what he thought of her.

“Because I can’t let them see…”  

“See what?”

He gazed at her, his eyes darkening with regret and fear. “That I’m terrified you’ll go blasting into the sunset during your next mission and I’ll lose you.” He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “That I’m still in love with you…”

Her heart beat frantically against her chest at the truth in his words, at the way he was looking at her as if she were the only thing left in his life, that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Feelings she’d kept buried for these past few years came back as she lost herself in his eyes.

Without hesitating, she closed the distance between them, crashing her lips against his.

/-/

Emma’s lips moved insistently against his, and it took Killian a second to catch up to what was happening. Almost growling, he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, feeling the tip of her tongue brush his. He grabbed her waist, pulling her against him, before moving his hand to tangle on her hair. Tilting his head, he briefly broke the kiss, working to catch his breath before diving back in. Emma’s hands were wreaking havoc in his hair and he took a deep breath as he moved his lips from the corner of her mouth all the way down her neck.

It took him only a moment to back her against his front door, quickly unlocking it and pushing her inside. From there, it was nothing but a blur searing kisses and a race to remove their clothing as they made their way to his room. His hands caressed every bit of skin he could find as her lips traced a series of fleeting kisses down his chest. With the last shred of sanity he had left, he brought her hand to a stop as she reached his belt buckle.

“Perhaps we should talk…”

Her eyes were darkened with desire, and her swollen lips made any semblance of his control fade.  “Later,” she whispered, pulling him closer to her, kissing him with a pent-up frustration he could relate to. And when her fingers brushed against his as she untangled them and returned to his belt, he gave up any thought of arguing.

His clothes finally gone, he fell back onto the bed, pulling her with him in a cascade of laughter and caresses. The world around him narrowed until the only thing that existed was what was happening within the walls of his bedroom. The feel of her skin as he kissed every inch of it. Every gasp and whimper she uttered against him. The feel of her surrounding him again, her response to each slow, deep thrust. How they let the rhythm of their hearts mark their movements, her hips arching to meet him stroke by stroke.

The way she came around him, her body shattering beneath him and bringing him over the edge with her, her name a whispered prayer on his lips.

The way he pulled her closer as their hearts and breaths slowed, and how her arms held tightly to him, her head resting on his shoulder as he dropped a soft kiss to her forehead.

/-/

The sun was filtering through his shutters, marking the late afternoon, when Emma finally dared to break the silence.

“We need to talk,” she murmured against his skin.

Killian pulled her almost on top of him, his eyes half lidded. “Do we? Can’t we just stay like this?” He moved his hand up and down her thigh, watching as the movement brought a shiver run down her spine.

“Killian,” she admonished half-heartedly.

“I know… I know,” he sighed. He opened his eyes and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “It’s just - I’d like to enjoy the feeling of you in my arms for a while longer before reality pushed its way in.”

“I know today was your last lesson, but I still have ten days until I’m done here.” She traced her fingers down his chest, playing with his hair and stopping at his navel. She could feel him hardening beneath her and she bit her lip in a provocative way.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Then I suggest we make the best out of those ten days…” His hand moved to cup her breast, but Emma stopped him, redirecting it down her ribcage.

“And after that?”

Fear and longing flickered across his face, but he tried to mask it with a smile “You’ll be shipped wherever it is that your next assignment takes you, Swan. And you will go.”

“And you?”

“I’ll remain here, teaching the next batch of pilots and bitching to my brother that none of them can hold a candle compared to you.” The conviction in his voice took her breath away.

“Killian…”

“I’m being honest, Emma.” He brought his hand to her face and pulled her into a brief kiss. “Regardless of my opinion on how you fly sometimes and my wish that you were just a tad more careful, I know you have your whole career ahead of you and I would never ask you to give that up.” He took a deep breath and rested his forehead against hers. “Just promise me something.”

Her breath mingled with his. “What’s that?”

“That you’ll come back to me.”

The words were different, but the underlying question was the same one he’d voiced all those years ago after their weekend together. He still wanted this to be something more than a fleeting dalliance. And this time, Emma wasn’t scared of getting hurt. This time, she could see the future she hadn’t been able to face then. She could see coming back to him time and again.

“Everytime,” she whispered against his lips.

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Wait for the Moonrise” (10/10) (au)

Summary:  Emma doesn’t remember who she was before she was found in the woods, but she knows that she has a few close friends, a good job, and a loyal cat that greets her every day when she gets home from work. What she doesn’t know, however, is that her past is about to catch up to her in the strangest of ways. She learns quickly that not everything is as it seems, not even her cat.

Rating: E

Content warnings: smutty smut, brief mentions of the loss of a hand

Chapter specific content warnings: some battle-ish stuff at the start, some more happy smut, and hopefully a satisfying ending.

A/N: Just... all my love. I can’t believe it’s over, and this is the last time you’ll be seeing an update for this story. Out of this world, man. All my love to the team of people that helped me through this, and of course to @clockadile for her lovely artwork. And my eternal love to all of you that read, and left comments, and liked and reblogged, and sent me messages. You guys are rockstars. Thank you! x

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 |

Catch it on Ao3 or FFN! And catch @clockadile‘s artwork HERE!

Surrounded on all sides by the presence of Dark Ones.

It’s not exactly how Emma would’ve imagined a homecoming, but it’s what she’s getting. Regina is standing steady beside her, holding her arm, but otherwise there’s a fire in her eyes that Emma can’t remember ever seeing in their time as friends.

“You okay?”

“Never better,” the other woman grits out, and there’s an edge that she’s never heard before. Emma raises an eyebrow at her, and the look Regina gives her back is telling more than anything. “Might’ve shaken something loose,” she adds.

When Emma was growing up, stories about her mother’s step-mother were very few and far between. Snow always told the story of how Regina saved her from a runaway horse accident, and how Snow would later betray her on accident by sharing a secret she was never supposed to tell. Emma knew the lore that Snow was framed for Regina’s disappearance when it was thought that Regina killed Snow’s father, and even had to go through high trial for it, but no one could prove anything so the issue was buried and Snow was crowned queen.

Every story about Regina included her fierce tenacity and the strength in her voice, and Emma is seeing all of that right next to her. Her suspicions are further confirmed when the barest hint of a spark emits from Regina’s fingertips. Unlike her own magic, Regina’s is red, reflecting her fiery personality. It’s all extremely fitting to the woman she got to know in Storybrooke.

They both do a visual check of their surroundings. Killian, back to poor Cat, is still trying to pull his leg free from the pile of his clothes. Robin is still mostly unconscious, but he at least winces and curls into a ball, which isn’t the worst sign of life she’s ever seen. They need to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike, but being outnumbered is really putting a damper on any possible plan.

All things considered, Emma figures there are worse ways to die. They’re not going down without a fight, and maybe Killian can run away fast enough. Of course, judging by the way he limps his way over to stand by her feet when he’s finally free, maybe that’s not a possibility. She looks down at him, wishing she could remind him how much she loves him one more time, but turns to face the man that got lost in the power of dark magic, and all the entities that came before him.

She and Regina can at least take out a couple of these guys, maybe at least knock Rumplestiltskin out before succumbing to the dark magic that’s building around them. The electric gathering of their powers actually causes the hair on her body to stand on end, and she’s surprised the hair on her head isn’t following suit.

There’s a moment, a locking of eyes, when they make the decision to strike, and she can tell that she and Regina are on the same page. Emma nods, just barely, and Regina mimics her action, and then Emma’s focusing all her energy and emotions into focal points as she was taught during all her training. They make eye contact one more time and each inhale deeply –

Before they can do it, before they can exhale and blast out their magic, there’s a horn from the north. Less than a heartbeat later, there’s a shell horn blast from the beach they just vacated. The Dark Ones all shift, looking towards each call and looking at each other in disbelief. Rumplestiltskin twitches with each call, his eyes hardening and the smile slipping from his face.

Within moments, the circle of dark entities that had surrounded them starts falling apart. Misthaven fairies burst through the trees, taking out as many as they can with the colorful bursts of their fairy dust. From the opposite side, a force of seafolk with their magic bracelets charge in throwing liquid potions, headed by Ursula herself. They all charge fearlessly, grins on their faces as they attack as they’ve always wanted to. They know their best shot at defeating evil is standing in the clearing and that they have nothing to lose at this point.

“This way!” comes a faint yell, and Emma’s breathing speeds up recognizing Liam’s voice in the distance.

With an elated expression, she turns back to Regina, who seems just as surprised as Emma is. Chaos is erupting around them, the seemingly unbreakable enclosure left with holes and pockets, dark entities trying to run, trying to escape from their fate of returning to nothing but dust. “Now!” Emma urges, knowing they have one shot - one chance to catch Rumple while he’s still thrown off guard.

In the middle of the clearing, Rumple is too distracted by the mayhem that surrounds him to notice that Emma and Regina brace themselves and let their magic loose. Twin blasts hit him at the same time: Emma’s white and Regina’s red wrapping around him in tight spirals. He barely has the time to look upset before he crumples to the ground, drained of his magic and incapacitated.

Around them, the dark entities are also dispatched, the last of which are taken down by fairy dusts, sea potions, and a spill of soldiers that break through into the clearing.

Moments later, the whole area goes quiet but for the heavy breathing of exertion from all involved parties. The centuries of dark ones are nothing but memories, and the last one alive is still knocked out on the ground, bound by magic and officially harmless.

Cat lands on the ground a foot away from Emma’s feet, having clearly taken shelter in a tree when the hubbub started. Robin is pushing himself to his feet, aided by Regina, her magic sweeping over him to heal the wounds he sustained from getting smacked against several trees on the route in.

“Sorry for the swift exit earlier. I needed as much time as I could to rally everyone up.” Ursula steps up to Emma, checking her over for wounds as she whistles for two men to lift the former Dark One from the forest floor. “We will deliver him to your parents immediately. From what I’m to understand, they have a special prison ready for him that will hold him even if his magic comes back.”

She moves away just as quickly to supervise, and it’s only when Cat meows at her again that she realizes that this little problem still needs to be figured out. She lifts him up, whispering reassurances that they’ll fix it as soon as she comes back to the clearing, all the while she finally catches her breath. Rumple is revived and then marched past them, and Cat hisses and swats at the man, making sure to use his blunted paw in an extra attempt to tell the man off as he’s lacking the voice to do so.

“By the way,” Emma starts as she holds out a hand to halt their progress. “The details of your stupid curse landed your maid in a crazy house, so suck on that for a little bit.”

The man looks aghast at this news, and he opens his mouth to object or clarify, but before he can utter a single syllable, Emma snaps his fingers and temporarily snaps his mouth shut. Emma does her best to subdue her own chuckling as she turns away from him. Cat gives her a look of fond approval.

As Ursula walks behind the removal of the prisoner, she clicks her tongue. “I’ll be back in a minute to take care of that,” she says as she nods at Cat. He quietly growls to express his feelings on Ursula’s humor about the situation. Emma pauses her attempts to soothe Cat when she hears a voice she’s not heard in a long time.

“Bloody hell, I don’t believe it.” Liam.

Emma turns, her smile tentative and her eyes shining as she looks at the older Jones. “Hi.”

He marches forward, enveloping her in a strong hug and squishing Cat between them in the process. “God, I always hoped… Emma, good god, you’ve changed so much since I saw you last.” He brackets Emma’s shoulders with his hands, holding her at arm’s length and staring as if he can’t believe his eyes. “I need to see to my men, and we need to get you back to the castle as soon as possible. Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, uh.” She hefts Cat a little bit, unsure of how to even begin to explain why she needs a couple more minutes.

“You’ve got a pet. That’s okay, I’m sure your parents will delight in having a cat to wander the halls and catch mice. Poor lad looks like he’s missing a paw.” Liam reaches out to touch the leg in question, but Cat jerks it away, his ears flattening against his head as he backs away from the older Jones’ hand.

Emma definitely can’t help the snort as Cat burrows against her. “Just – Liam, it’s Killian.”

His face goes dead serious at the mention of his brother, his hand hovering above Cat’s head as the feline glares at it with wide eyes. “Is he here? Where is he?”

She looks down at the cat in her arms, and Cat looks at her before looking back at Liam and giving a defeated sounding meow. Liam tilts his head, looking between Emma and Cat and back again, the puzzle pieces all finally connecting in his mind as obvious by the widening of his eyes.

“Oh. Oh my. Well, we’ll…” He stares at Cat some more. Haltingly, he reaches his hand towards Cat again, but retracts it once more.

“So, how about we break this spell?” Ursula says as she finally returns.

“I don’t have to kiss him as a cat, do I?”

Liam’s laugh borders on hysterical as he observes their interaction, and he makes a weak excuse of having to check on his men again before he wanders away between the trees.

The sea witch chuckles, beckoning Emma to follow her as she stoops to pick up Killian’s clothes and leads her to a patch of privacy. Ursula sets down the clothes, indicating that Emma should put Cat as close to them as possible. She waves her hands, a purple inky magic flowing towards Killian, and she edges away from the clearing before Killian is fully restored.

“Nothing I need to see there,” she comments as she waves over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”

Emma calls out her thanks as she turns back to Killian, who’s just struggling into his boxer briefs. She doesn’t let him get anything else on for the moment, instead launching herself at him. She smiles wide as she kisses him, making it less a kiss and more a pressing of her smile to his as he wraps his arms around her.

“Welcome home, love,” Killian murmurs when he pulls back. “Now, perhaps I can finish getting dressed. Or would you rather I reunite with my brother for the second time in nothing but my smalls?”

“No, no, please. By all means. Better than being in nothing but your fur again,” she comments, scratching under his chin, laughing high and free as Killian swats her on the behind.

As she wanders the clearing, turning in a circle to occupy herself while he slips into his clothes, Emma realizes he’s right; for the first time in three and a half years, she’s home.

-x-

There are too many thoughts going through Killian’s head for him to really keep any of them straight. One: he’s home, back in his homeland, on his own turf, with the woman he loves holding so tight to his hand that he fears she might break it, but he’ll never tell her so. Two: his brother is but a few paces ahead of him, still yet to actually see him as human, still yet to hear his voice since the day he last bumped heads with him. Three: he’s going to see Emma’s parents for the first time since he left their room in a huff like a child. Four: he idly wonders if Snow still has the ring. Five: he also idly wonders if David will rescind his blessings when he sees what Killian has become.

He stumbles over a tree root, and Emma looks back at him curiously, noting the scowl on his face and asking without words if he’s okay. He nods, trying to wipe his expression clean and smile at her at the same time.

Truth is, he’s not okay. This is the culmination of the last three and a half years and he doesn’t know whether he should be smug or scared.

Scared seems to be the emotion his insides settle on, but he layers on the smarm in hopes of saving face when the king and queen throw him out of the throne room as soon as he enters. Out of nerves, he rubs the curve of his hook against the leg of his trousers. While his clothes are still the ones he wore when he left Storybrooke, and he has the satchel of clothes slung over his shoulder, he was able to retrieve his hook and brace from the chest that Ursula fetched for him. Someone already dispatched with the rest of the items, surely throwing them in a prison cell for him to look at as he’s locked up for treason.

Again, Emma reaches for him and squeezes his hand. They’ve reached the castle gates, and he feels half of his heart settle from coming home. The other half is already calm, already recognizing its home next to him, holding his hand.

Liam is gone from sight by the time they enter, and Killian flinches as the full fanfare is blasted out from the horns as they walk through the corridor into the throne room. The castle residents and employees line the rug that runs the center of the room, and the king and queen are each sitting in their respective thrones. Their hands are clasped in the distance between the seats, but neither of them stay that way for long. As soon as they see Emma, their only daughter, truly striding towards them, they’re both up and off their chairs and rushing forward.

Out of habit, Killian immediately puts his arms behind his back after he sets the satchel by his feet. He’s not sure if the habit is more from his upbringing or from hiding his vacant wrist from others, though. He stops, even as Emma continues forward and runs to them. They make the picture of perfect royal family, and he’s sure he’ll only taint it if he goes closer. Regina comes to stand by his shoulder, looking on at the scene in front of them, with Robin standing just behind her.

“How are you holding up, pirate?” When he turns his head and raises an eyebrow, she just shrugs. “Emma told me as much as she could at breakfast that day. You have the posture of one who is skulking, so I figured that’s what you would be preferred to be addressed as.”

“Hook, I go by Hook to my crew.”

Same as Emma, Regina’s lips quirk up and she snorts once, very elegantly, before trying to stifle it. “Captain Hook?”

“Bloody hell,” he whispers, shooting her a look before he turns and stalks away. He figures that there’s enough commotion in the room that no one will notice him missing, in any case. Using his memory as a guide, he finds the small door at the back corner of the room, ducking through and ending up in a narrow servants’ hall. He means to amble his way back out the doors, honestly, because while he loves Emma and wants nothing more than to be with her, he would never make her choose between him and her family.

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice someone stepping in front of him until he’s already running into him, and he struggles for a second as the arms come around him. He almost buries his hook into the shoulder he can reach but it all hits him at once. The man is Liam, and he is embracing him so hard that Killian is sure he’ll have bruises around his shoulders.

“You stupid bloody arse,” Liam mutters into his shoulder, and Killian is only aware his brother is crying because he can feel the moisture soaking through the collar of his shirt. “Stupid, stupid, telling us you were dead.” He pulls back, his eyes still wet but his face a mixture of heartache and elation. “Come, we have much to talk about, little brother.”

“Younger brother,” Killian automatically snaps back, his voice the same whine as it was all through his adolescence. It’s clearly what Liam was aiming for, as his bark of laughter echoes down the hallway.

“Come this way,” he instructs, leading Killian back to their wing of the castle. Liam walks him through the door to Killian’s old room, which is still exactly the way he left it minus the new hinges. The surfaces are devoid of dust, the bed is freshly made, and there are flowers in a vase by the very window he left through. He wonders just how many flowers have actually sat in that vase since he left. “There’s a matching bouquet in Emma’s quarters,” Liam says softly, noticing exactly where Killian’s gaze is drawn.

“All this time?”

“Every other week, Queen Snow comes in and replaces them, and sees personally to the maintenance of the room.”

“Are these from the meadow?”

Instead of answering, Liam just nods, a small smile left and much more sadness in his eyes. “The whole field has been preserved with magic specifically so she could tend to your rooms.” He pauses, taking a deep breath before he continues. “Brother, I have missed you. At least when you were running from me I knew you were okay, but when you told that boy to inform us of your death, I spent months in mourning. Until one day, I woke up and decided you weren’t really dead.”

“Should’ve known you’d be too clever to fall for it completely,” Killian comments. He tries to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, but he focuses on the flowers in front of him, careful to keep his eyes clear and his voice steady.

“I followed your stops. I described you to every innkeep and bar wench I could find. I followed you to the End of the World, but the woman I ran into said she’d never met anyone named Killian. Halfway through our conversation, she got whisked away by the devil himself. I entered every port hoping to find your ship, and you alive on it. And after that interaction with the Dark One’s maid, I mentally prepared myself to bring a body home if you hadn’t been dumped at sea. I lost your trail until I ended up in Midas’ kingdom and ran into a little friend you’d made along the way. A mermaid named Ariel was very difficult to convince to tell me you’d seen her, but when I explained I was your brother, she told me you’d confessed that Captain Hook was Killian Jones. And my search renewed. I don’t think I stopped sailing for weeks.”

It’s so much to take in. His brother had gone to the literal ends of the earth for him, trying to find him, never giving up hope. After their last interaction, he assumed it would be to aim again with that cannon, but no, it turns out he just wanted his brother back home.

“I do want you to recall that you shot a cannon at me,” Killian says, as if reminding Liam of this incident will change anything.

“Aye, but you were being a wanker. I pretty much had to.”

Killian snorts, mentally agreeing with his brother but shrugging his shoulders in response.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for neglecting you for so long as my brother.”

“Accepted. I’m sorry for not telling you about Emma and I sooner. And for stealing your prized ship.”

“I hope you’ve kept all my belongings intact.”

“Everything is stowed in the back of the closets in the captain’s quarters. So, Belle got transported a couple months ago. Why did no one ever manage to find Emma?”

“We kept sending bloody emissaries to the land you were in. I had no idea you were a cat that whole time. You’ll have to regale me with those tales once you’ve had a chance to breathe again.” He pauses, barely restraining the snort that he emits. “Tales of tails,” he muses quietly. At the glare Killian shoots his way, he rushes onward. “And tell me about these interesting clothes you’re wearing, as well. And the hook, of course.”

Killian ignores everything else, skipping straight over the cat joke in favor of the first thing Liam said. “Emissaries? When?”

“Shortly after Ariel told us that Ursula had sent you over. We appealed to the giants for beans to send someone over to fetch you, but he never returned.”

Killian turns from the vase, his eyes focusing in confusion on his brother. “And what happened when he never returned?”

“We appealed to the giants for two more beans, and sent two emissaries. After they never returned either, we could only figure they were being captured, or killed. Something was happening to keep our people from finding you and coming back.”

“The portals, they’ve been enchanted to cause memory loss. The Dark One had it rigged so the moment a person went through it, they’d forget who they were. The curse would build fake memories in layers as the person got acclimated. I only avoided all of that by going through the waterways.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back. Even if you are a little unkempt for my taste,” the older man says appraisingly. Killian huffs out a laugh, running his hand through the much shorter hair and rubs his neck. He’s a far cry from naval regulations, but he’s not sure he can ever grow his hair that long again, feeling himself a lad if he did. “Okay, I’ve taken up quite a bit of time with you. Let’s get you back to the king and queen so they might give you a proper greeting.”

“Oh, Liam, no –“

“No, they insist. I assure you. I believe the queen has something of yours?”

Killian’s eyes go wide.

“Yes, she kept that, too. And still wants it where her ring currently resides.” Liam gives him a significant look at that comment, and tells Killian he’ll be waiting outside while Killian freshens up.

“Liam, wait.” His brother pauses halfway to the door and turns to him. “There’s one more thing we’ll need to discuss when we have the chance.”

“And that is?”

“It turns out we aren’t orphans after all.”

With wide eyes, Liam turns fully to Killian, his jaw working several times before he’s able to get any words out. “Father?”

“Not lost at sea, apparently. He looks very spry and happy, but he had no idea who I was, so he’ll need to have the curse broken from him. The whole town will. They deserve to know who they are.”

There’s a whole line of emotions that flickers across Liam’s face in the deep breaths that follow Killian’s words. There’s turmoil in his eyes, and a sadness that distinctly reminds Killian of the way his mother looked when she was told that Brennan wouldn’t be returning from his latest voyage. Maybe it’s that last one that hurts the most, because it’s a pain she never should’ve had to go through. This is yet another way that the Dark One injured his family, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He’s even happier now, knowing that man will never tear apart another family.

“I agree, brother. We’ll discuss that more in the morning. I know he’s cursed and all, but this is excellent news.” He beams at Killian, nodding again and taking his leave while Killian turns toward his wash basin.

The chest, it turns out, was delivered right to his room, and while he pulls everything out, he only fastens his earring in place, and slides on a couple of the less ornate rings he acquired during his time as a pirate. His hand glides over the various articles made of leather that wait inside, but he only finds the ribbon he stashed in his coat pocket, sliding it through his fingers before slipping it into a pocket of his jeans. Everything else gets left behind as he uses the lavatory and splashes his face with cool water. He damns the length of time it would take him to rim his eyes in kohl, but shrugs at his reflection before going to join Liam for the walk back to the throne room.

Liam, however, turns towards the king and queen’s private quarters, and Killian knows without a doubt that the first place he sees them again will be the place he last saw them. He has to stop himself from laying his hand over his chest, unable to physically restrain his heart from beating right out of its cavity if it so chooses.

-x-

Everything is a bit of a whirlwind as soon as Emma enters the throne room. Seeing her parents, her mom and dad (funny how Storybrooke left more of an impression than she thought) just ahead of her, all she can do is rush to them. And while there’s still a lag in her memories, so that it doesn’t feel like she’s waited three and a half years for this moment, she also recognizes that it wasn’t just yesterday they last embraced. Snow cries, her chin crumpled and quivering as the tears fall from her eyes, and David cradles the back of her head the way he’s done for as long as she can remember.

After getting to witness the happy reunion, the small crowd in the large room disperses to allow the royal family their privacy. Soon, it’s just her parents in front of her. She looks around to see that Killian has slipped away, but Regina and Robin are still there, awkwardly shuffling and casting quick glances at the guards still at their posts.

As if thinking of the other people in the room brings attention to them, she hears Snow gasp as she looks over Emma’s shoulder.

“Regina?”

“Hi… Snow. Queen Snow.” Regina is stiff, but smiling, and she walks forward a few steps toward the woman now older than she was when she disappeared. “This whole royal business suits you.” She waves her hand to indicate the room they’re in and everything it entails.

“You’re not - are you…?” Snow works to gather her words. “You look so young.”

“That’s what happens when you end up in a cursed town where time stands still for a few decades or so.” She shrugs, shuffling forward a couple more steps. “Look, Snow, we don’t have to stay…”

“Nonsense,” Snow says quickly, striding forward to take Regina’s hands. “I think it’ll do us some good to work this all out. We’ll set you up with rooms in the east wing.” Her statements leave no room for argument, and Regina gives a curt nod, but adds a smile to soften it a bit. “While they set up a room for you, why don’t we all go sit and you can tell us a bit about… everything.”

The reunited royal family makes their way to Snow and David’s quarters, with Emma’s arms looped with theirs, and Regina and Robin close behind. Upon entering their sitting room, she almost cries at the familiar scent, and she knows if she doesn’t keep going, doesn’t keep talking and immersing herself back into this world, that she will break down, but there’s no time for that. And it’s nothing her parents need to witness. Tonight, later tonight, when she’s alone with Killian again, she’ll allow herself the time to process all of it. Provided he doesn’t find a way to flee the castle or something.

“You’re so skinny,” Snow murmurs as she observes Emma wandering around the space. “I mean just, so skinny. Did you ever eat while you were gone?”

“I worked as a cop. I spent a lot of time at the gym and the rest of the time eating pizza.” At their blank looks, she shakes her head and smiles. “You guys would like pizza.”

David makes some soft comment about her referring to them as ‘you guys’ and smiles. “Twenty years of etiquette training down the drain,” he mutters with a fond expression on his face, directed at Emma.

She grins at him in response, wandering wider to look at the flowers her mother has displayed. She can sense the magic on them, and recognizes them from the field that should be barren and cold this time of year. Her fingers glide along a perfectly preserved petal as she sighs.

Even as she strolls about the room, she listens to the conversation her parents have with Regina. They both seem to be handling her reappearance better than she expected. But the former regent makes it perfectly clear almost immediately that decades as Regina in Storybrooke have erased much of the anger and malice that went along with being the Evil Queen in Misthaven. She also makes sure to introduce Robin, who hasn’t quite regained his true memories, but small tidbits keep shining through for him.

“I don’t feel as if I’m home yet, but I’m hoping my former memories will return soon,” he explains. He also tells them that it helps that he was actually transplanted into the fake town only weeks before Killian was, all because he tripped into the wrong place at the wrong time.

It’s not long before a maid comes to inform them that their room is ready, and Snow and David bid the other two goodnight with promises to talk more tomorrow, after everyone has had some rest.

And then, Emma is left alone with her parents.

On the morning she disappeared, Emma wondered a lot of things, the first of which was whether or not she’d ever see her family again. She didn’t have much time to organize the rest of her thoughts because she was immediately thrown through a portal and forgot her whole life roughly three steps later.

“So,” Snow breaks the silence, “tell us what you’ve been up to the last couple years. Memory curse, right? We used to have those around here all the time until Regina – the Evil Queen version of her – disappeared.”

“They’re so confusing,” Emma confesses, having spent a few days with alternating realities battling it out in her mind and memories. “How many sets of memories do you guys have if they were so common?”

Snow and David look at each other, before they look away again in thought. Snow holds up her hands to count on her fingers while David stares at the ceiling, squinting, as if picturing each different lifetime.

“We’ll just assume a lot,” David finally says, especially when Snow looks like she’s contemplating taking off a slipper to keep counting.

Still, it helps that her parents have been through something like this before, so she opens up and tells them about how she ended up in the forest, and how she made friends in town quickly. She tells them about her job and her hobbies and all the idiosyncrasies of Storybrooke, spending a great length of time on things like indoor plumbing and electricity. And grilled cheese, she can’t leave out grilled cheese.

Several times, Emma has to remind herself to sit still, instead of sprawling across the chair like she would if she were in the sheriff’s station. As it is, she spends plenty of time explaining the clothing she’s wearing, telling her parents all about jeans and sweaters. She realizes she looks utterly out of place in this world as she’s dressed right now, but they’re more curious than confused or put off about it.

She tells them all about Cat showing up on her doorstep, and about when he first changed back into Killian, and how the last six months they’d done little else but focus on getting her memories back. She decides it’s better not to tell them what they were doing any time they weren’t focusing on their mission, though.

“How did you remember?” David asks. “There’s not much that can break a memory curse like that.”

“True Love’s Kiss,” Emma tells them, as if there was any doubt it could be anything else.

Snow sighs dreamily. “Sounds awfully familiar, if you ask me.”

The equal amounts of surprise and pride in her parents’ eyes is comforting, and well-timed when there’s a knock on the door. The guard on duty opens it, and Emma’s smile brightens as she sees the Jones brothers on the other side. Liam leads, with Killian ducking behind him, both of them with their hands held behind their backs. Killian’s clothes may be modern, but his mannerisms are the same as ever.

It’s an obvious contrast from the ease of his actions in her apartment. Even when she didn’t know who he was, she was used to the cocky swagger he exhibited in those short bursts of time. Reconciling Captain Hook (which she still has to control herself from laughing about) with Lieutenant Jones is still a little like playing with a paper doll, as far as her memories are concerned. The man that stands behind his brother is more lieutenant, but with prominent facial hair and a nervous scowl if she’s reading him correctly.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess. Would you care to take a walk with me?” Liam doesn’t waste any time, and judging by the ambushed look on Killian’s face, he had no idea this was a plan.

“I’d love to, Commodore.” Emma rises from the chair. She goes over to wish her parents a good night, kissing them both on the cheek and accepting their tight embraces before she moves toward the brothers. She immediately forgets any princess decorum as she reaches for Killian, giving him a solid kiss on the lips and pressing her forehead to his as she tries to instill some of her calm onto him. “I’ll meet you in my quarters in half an hour, okay?” He nods in response, giving her a wan smile as she moves away.

Liam smiles at her, giving a bow and holding out his arm for her to take before they leave the room. It’s only once they’re out of the sitting room and the door is shut behind them, and they’re halfway down the hall when one of them speaks again.

“Do you suppose we’ve just fed him to lions?” Liam questions.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. Guy lost a hand and became a cat and somehow managed to steal the Jewel of the Realm from you,” she jibes. “Pretty sure he can handle his future in-laws.”

Liam laughs as loud as she remembers. “Oh, how I have missed you, Princess. But I must correct you. It’s no longer Commodore. I’ve decided to retire and settle a little bit. Maybe find a life outside the navy.” Now that she gets a good look at him, she realizes he’s not in the regulation navy uniform. Gone are the white trousers and ornate coat. Instead, he’s dressed in plain black breeches and a white shirt, looking more informal than she’s ever seen him before.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’ve been told that I was so focused on my career that I seemed to have forgotten about my family. Since I’ve lost a lot of time with my brother, I want to correct that as much as possible. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll also find a family of my own since my dear brother seems to have found one in you.”

“He would’ve shared with you sooner, you know. But he was so worried you’d think he was throwing away his career.”

“I would’ve. I didn’t understand at the time. I didn’t understand until I was afraid you were both gone from my life forever.” He stops for a moment, turning to her and placing his hands on her upper arms. “As tragic as your kidnapping was, Princess, it helped me see that I was missing too much by being out there. I only worked as hard in the beginning because I wanted to pay your parents for the debt of taking us in. They didn’t have to, but they gave us shelter, they took Killian under their wing, they let us be part of all of your lives.”

Emma moves her hands to clasp his arms at the elbows. “It was just as rich of an experience for me. I’m sure my parents feel the same way, and I wouldn’t be here again if it weren’t for Killian.”

“And I don’t think Killian would be here if it weren’t for you,” he responds without hesitation.

They walk all the way to the other end of the castle, meandering back at a leisurely pace in order to give Killian plenty of time to talk with the king and queen, and since Killian hadn’t had much of a chance to tell Liam about his animal adventures, she gives him little bits of information. Mostly she tells him about how she called him Cat, and that his missing paw went a long way into convincing her that he wasn’t some crazy person spouting nonsense about being her pet.

“Speaking of hands,” Liam adds once they’ve almost reached her quarters. “He does seem to be missing one. But that just means you’ll be offering him one of yours now, yes?”

Emma smiles, deciding not to answer even though Liam clearly knows she’ll say yes if Killian asks. “Goodnight, Liam.”

“Goodnight, Princess. By the way, you should know I’ll be on duty as guard for the first half of the night. I want to make sure neither of you go anywhere after we’ve just gotten you back.” He smiles to show he’s joking, but then he purses his lips a little. “But I’ll be way down that end. Just in case.”

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her smile growing wider as she understands the implications. “Goodnight, Liam.”

He chuckles, even as he walks away.

Entering her room is an otherworldly experience. The quiet and stillness is almost unbearable after having lived with technology and automobiles for the last three years. But everything in the room is pristine, the bed made to her usual specifications. There’s a large vase of flowers on the table by her chaise lounge, and she recognizes almost immediately that they’re the same flowers her mother displays. She admires them for a moment, but moves on in order to do something that’s more important.

Every window, every door to her private terrace, every conceivable entry into the room is swiftly reinforced with magic of her own making. She would’ve been powerless to almost anything the morning she was taken, but now she can ensure that once she and Killian shut the doors for the evening, no one else will be able to even budge a hinge without blaring alarms sounding in the whole castle.

“Thank you, security systems,” she mutters as she draws all the curtains closed and snaps her fingers to light the candles spread throughout the room. She might miss lightbulbs, but there is a charm to being able to light and extinguish any candle with just a small gesture.

Having been promised their privacy, there are no maids to dress her for the evening. It’s fine, though, because what would they do? Strip off her sweater? Peel the jeans from her skin? No, and while it sounds incredibly appealing to leave that job for Killian, she has other ideas. She uses the basin in her washroom to freshen up, tying her hair into a messy bun after she washes her face and brushes her teeth. Then she wanders into her closet and undresses, leaving her modern clothes on the floor for the time being.

Her fingers run along all the different delicate fabrics in her closet. Even the cotton has a better consistency. She passes by each section of gowns and attire, finding her way to the very back and grinning at what she finds. Black corset, with black skirts.

He’ll either love the throwback, or he’ll run screaming from the room. But either way, she has to. She just has to.

-x-

Bloody hell, this is worse than an overnight siege, Killian decides the second Liam asks if Emma would like to go for a walk. He’s just been handed over to something worse than pirates, in his opinion. He’s been fed to the king and queen, holders of his ultimate fate.

He’s being dramatic and he knows it.

They’re all quiet, and he has no idea if they’re waiting for him to speak first, or if he’s going to have to wait ages for them to deem him worthy of their voices. He doesn’t have to wait long; just as he opens his mouth to say anything, David suddenly stands up.

“You stole one of our ships.”

As soon as the clipped words are out of his mouth, Snow sighs. The exasperated noise is one he’s all too familiar with, especially paired with her quiet words of “Oh, David,” that her husband mostly ignores except for the clenching of his jaw.

Killian swallows, glancing between the two of them and taking note of Snow’s encouraging smile before he responds. “I paid for it.”

“You terrorized the rest of my fleet.”

“Not for very long,” Killian counters. It’s not a lie; he did stop antagonizing the Misthaven Navy after the day Liam shot at him.

“We didn’t make unreasonable demands,” David says, his demeanor cracking with the simplicity of the statement.

“Not unreasonable for you, perhaps.”

“But for you? What was so bad about what we were asking you to do? In this family, we work as a team -”

“Aye, a team. And every suggestion I made was thrown out the window before it could be considered. If you haven’t noticed, your majesty, your daughter is back and darkness has been defeated because I followed the path that called to me. My demands were simple. I wanted to be seen as the man that wanted to marry your daughter. Not just another body that served the crown.”

“I didn’t - we never…” David throws his hands in the air and moves away from his usual perch, pacing around to the back of their chairs and back again. “Okay. I’m sorry we ever let you feel that way. But now you’re back. Will you continue your life of piracy?”

Killian considers this statement. He always thought he would bring Emma home and go on his way, thinking she wouldn’t be capable of loving the man he became. Now that she’s back, and she does love him, it’s hard to say what he’ll do with his life.

“I don’t know,” Killian admits. He pulls his arms around to fiddle with his hook. The fact that neither of them even flinch at the metal attached to the brace at the end of his arm is reassuring. “Your majesty, with all respect, a life of taking orders isn’t something I believe myself to be made for anymore. I’m willing to give up the lawless life under very obvious circumstances, but I don’t see myself stepping back into the war room to be your strategist again.”

David grumbles, crossing his arms and wandering to the window to stare out at the darkened courtyard outside.

Snow, who has largely remained silent during this whole exchange, clears her throat to command his attention. “We don’t want to ask you to do anything that isn’t in your heart, Killian. And you’re right, we often set aside your perspective because we were too wrapped up in our own. Sometimes, sharing a heart gets in the way of listening to others,” she admits. David, sighs, moving to stand behind her chair and placing his hands on her shoulders. “You were always like a son to us. Emma would’ve grown up all alone if it weren’t for you, and getting to see you both mature, and then slowly fall in love, was like watching a fairy tale come to life. You still love her?”

“Aye, more now than ever,” Killian admits with no hesitation. The king and queen have a wordless conversation before Snow focuses back on him.

“What we do want,” Snow continues, “is for you to be part of our lives. Now, I believe I have something to return to you.” She stands, coming forward and reaching into her skirts to retrieve a small pouch.

“I kept it polished for you,” she tells him.

“And I made sure she didn’t polish it too much or else the band would be a half moon at this point,” David adds on. A smile is just barely visible in his eyes, just beneath the never ending affection for his wife.

Snow tumbles the ring into his hand from the upturned pouch, and he marvels at how it gleams. Still, after all these years, it looks like the perfect selection for Emma.

“All other discussions can wait until morning,” Snow reminds him as she closes his fingers around the ring. She reaches up and hugs him, her arms just as familiar as he remembers them. “Welcome home,” she whispers once, before she moves away. She reaches for David’s hand as she passes him, squeezing it once and smiling at him before she bids them both goodnight.

Left alone with David, Killian is unsure what to do. He bows, thinking that the king will leave it there, but David moves around the chair that’s standing between them and stops when he’s a yard away from Killian.

“Because I still need to say it, Killian, thank you for bringing Emma back alive. Talk of piracy and stealing ships aside, there’s no way I could ever repay you for that one act.” Without warning, David moves forward and gives Killian a hug. He slaps the former lieutenant on the back a few times before moving away again. “Goodnight, Killian.”

Feeling lighter than he has in years, Killian walks the familiar path from the king and queen’s quarters to Emma’s rooms. He passes Liam on the way, this time not hesitating to initiate a bear hug with him. Even while growing up, he got all his embraces from the staff or the queen, or Emma who hugged him best of all. He’s lost over three years of the ability to hug his brother, on top of all the years Liam wasn’t around.

For some reason, as he eases towards the door at the end of the hall, that’s when the nerves hit. He’s sure the lead in his stomach won’t allow him to move further, but he manages to push open the door, shaking off a chill of magic when he turns to close it. Clearly, Emma is not joking around with security measures this time. He locks the door out of habit, walking through the antechamber and putting out candles as he goes. He enters her bedroom and closes that door, as well, intent on finding Emma.

His attention is immediately brought to the bouquet of flowers on the table, and Killian realizes it’s where the breakfast tray sat the day Emma went missing. He’s just about to fall down another hole of memories and thankfulness for being back, when Emma clears her throat.

It’s like a startling moment of déjà vu, with Emma spread across the comforter, smile in place. Her hair is all pulled up, leaving the lines of her décolletage exposed. She’s in the corset and skirts from their first night together, her legs crossed just so to hide her privates. He bites his lip against the devilish smile he knows is on his face.

“This all seems a bit familiar,” Killian says as he saunters forward. Years of experience don’t have him as shaky or unsure of what to do next, but he wants to let her lead tonight.

“A few things have changed,” Emma responds, smirk in place, fluttering her eyelashes in a coy manner.

She acts demure, but he knows better. “For the love of all the ships in the realm, please tell me you brought condoms back with you.”

Instead of a response, she shifts off the bed, gliding towards him with the sheer shirts swirling around her legs. At the same time, she waves her hand, and a line of the foil packets appears in her hand. “They were stashed in my coat pocket. Just in case.”

“Always good to be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Just kiss me already,” Emma says, chuckling as she does. She twists a hand into the fabric of his waistcoat and pulls him to her, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle as their arms wrap around each other. He turns his hook so it won’t catch on the delicate materials, but doesn’t hesitate to palm her backside, feeling the warmth of her skin just beneath the fabric.

Piece by piece, she strips the clothes from his body, leaving the brace and his boxer-briefs for last. She’s seen him without his brace before; that’s not what bothers him. But this is her first time seeing it on. As if to reassure him, she draws her hands down his arms, linking one hand with his fingers and grasping his hook with the other.

“I love you, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, thankfully no longer Cat.”

He ducks his head to kiss her, something simple and momentary before he responds. “I can confidently say that I love you, Emma Swan, Princess of Misthaven, Deputy of Storybrooke.”

Her whole face lights up with her smile, her eyes crinkling as she releases hand and hook so she can pluck at the waistband of his underwear. “How about losing these, and loosening my laces?”

“Surely you secured this with magic, Swan. Why delay by asking for help?” She’s in the process of turning away from him, so he takes advantage to wind his arm around her middle and pull her back to him. “In case I forgot to say so, darling, you look divine in this.” He uses the tip of his hook to draw her hair off her neck, enjoying the way her breath stutters as she shifts into his erection. Her whimpering moans when he kisses down the side of her neck are also pleasurable. The sharp cry of his name with at least three expletives following is the real treasure, though, when he bites and soothes with teeth and tongue.

She loses her patience after that, finding the ties to her skirts and practically ripping them off as she moves far enough away for him to access the back of the corset. He doesn’t tease her any longer, instead pulling at the knot and loosening the laces just enough for her to be able to unclasp it without discomfort.

Emma, he’s forgotten, looks stunning in candlelight. But he gets to remember as they come together again and again, until the flames in the room all extinguish on their own and the only light left comes from what’s left of the fire in the hearth. Only then do they settle, their bodies sated, their adrenaline all spent, and no threats looming over them in the near future.

Killian is jostled awake by movement next to him. Apparently, he’s been a little spoiled by Emma’s memory foam mattress back in Storybrooke. Turns out the land without magic does have a few tricks up its sleeve. It's entirely too early to be awake. The sun isn't yet peeking above the horizon, if the back of his eyelids are anything to go by. A dip in the bed this time is what alerts him to Emma’s movements, and he cracks open an eye to watch her climb from the bed.

“Swan,” he grumbles, trying to reach for her as she stands.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him, bending to retrieve his shirt from the floor.

“It’s too early. Come back, love.”

“I wanna go down and grab us breakfast. No matter how many times everyone kept telling us that we would talk today, I plan on bringing back enough food so we can barricade that door and stay here for at least a day or two.” As she finishes fastening the buttons, she tosses a saucy look over her shoulder. “I wanna make up for some lost time.” She bends to lift his jeans, but Killian practically leaps from the bed to snatch them up.

“Now, Swan, it’s your first day back to your homeland. Don’t you suppose we should at least swing through and say good morning?” He eases the pants from her hands, anxious to keep the pockets upright as he does so. He half-folds them, placing them down on the chaise before he moves forward to pull her close by tugging the tail of the shirt. “Of course, when you look like that, I’m hesitant to let you leave at all.”

“This early? No one will be up. No one in the kitchen. No one snooping around wondering why I have a beautiful set of teeth marks on my neck that I want to leave for just a little longer before I heal them.”

Releasing the fabric, Killian slides his hand down until it rests at the juncture between her thighs. Emma gasps, pressing closer to him as one of his fingers slide inside her. “I’ll let you go, but in just a moment, and only once I’ve watched you fall apart. Deal?” The words are a husky whisper, delivered straight to her ear, and she shivers against him.

“Hell yeah, it’s a deal.” She yanks his head down none too gently to kiss him again, and it doesn’t take long for her voice to rise in pitch and volume, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she clutches on. He suspects that grip and his left arm clamped around her lower back are the only things keeping her upright. He hopes that no one is still keeping guard down the hall, or that Emma placed some sort of sound-proofing on the barrier she put around the room, as the lack of upstairs and downstairs neighbors allows her the freedom to call his name without restraint, her triumphant call of “Yes!” echoing off the stone walls.

“Okay,” Killian says, still catching his own breath as Emma collapses in his arms, “now we can go get breakfast.”

She laughs in response. “Oh, sure. Now that I’m torn between dragging you back to that bed to sleep off that orgasm or cause a couple more.” She half-heartedly smacks his arm and kisses him soundly once again. “Let me get some pants on or something.”  

The satchel, it turns out, had been delivered to her room, which he failed to notice when he entered the night before. When Emma wanders from the bedroom to find a fresh change of clothes, Killian scoops his jeans from the chaise and slips them on before digging the ring from the pocket. He’s waited three and a half years for this moment. There’s no time like the present.

When Emma walks back in, Killian is on his knee, his eyes trained on the door so as not to be caught off guard. They smile at each other, even with two yards between them.

As they sneak through the halls towards the kitchen, she’s wearing his shirt and his ring. They leave a note for her parents outside her parents’ quarters, addressed to Snow, with her ring inside. The Queen wisely informs everyone that they’ll postpone the homecoming breakfast until the following morning as she slides the peridot back onto her ring finger.

-x-

“What I’m saying is that the Dark One’s memory curse on the town is wearing off, and these people are freaking out.”

They’re all seated around the large table in the war room, with Ursula in attendance to explain the after-effects of finally dispersing the Darkness. It turns out, Ursula has been keeping tabs on Storybrooke for a long time to make sure nothing was going wrong with the Dark One’s cursed town. But like a sea witch, she’s kept all of her information to herself until now.

It’s been three days since they broke Emma’s memory curse, since they defeated the total darkness that was threatening to destroy more and more families. While they’ve been trying to find some semblance of normalcy since returning to Misthaven, it’s clear that they’re not done with Storybrooke yet, just as the town is not done with them. Emma’s thoughts have wandered to the little home she’s grown fond of more times than she can count, lost in the memories of sidewalks beneath her feet, snow catching on her eyelashes under the fairy lights outside Granny’s diner.

“What do you propose we do, have the merfolk bring them all back here in shifts?” This suggestion from Killian isn’t the worst thing Emma’s ever heard, but it’s not exactly the best solution.

“Some of those people have been there for decades,” Regina comments. “Maybe even longer. We questioned Rumplestiltskin about the town, and he says he’s been using it for at least three hundred years. He got mad at a village for making fun of his name, of all things, so he transported the whole thing to this other land.” She rolls her eyes as she talks, clearly expressing her exasperation with cleaning up after this man.

Robin, having regained his own memories, has been instrumental in helping Regina compile all the data on the fake town that has served as its own prison for centuries. “The curse was so layered that it eventually learned on its own. It’s the strangest thing, but if it were younger, they probably would have all transported back automatically once his magic stopped feeding the spell. As it is, the town has become a source of magic on its own, in a land completely devoid of magical sources. The good thing seems to be that portals won’t strip travelers of their memories anymore. We’ll have to send another emissary to be sure, of course.”

“Because magic beans are so easy to come by?” Emma asks skeptically. Last she heard, it takes an arm and a leg to get ahold of one of those. Mentally, she berates herself, and reaches for Killian’s hook on her right. Thoughts of what he’d look like in a soft flannel shirt, a cozy wool sweater, matching socks, run through her head. She glances at him to catch his eye, smiling when he winks at her, and almost misses what her father is saying.

“Actually, portals might be easier than you think. We made a deal with the giants while we were trying to get to Storybrooke. They’re going to open up a trading post. It took a lot of persuading, but we did them a favor by sharing some magic from the fairies with them, so they can come to land and take part in human spoils whenever they’d like. It looks like we’ve found peace in another area of this world.”

“That’s great,” Ursula mentions, probably because that means her human transportation business will finally dwindle again, but she doesn’t stop there. “But if some of these people have been trapped there for centuries, there’s no way they’ll want to return. Storybrooke is the only home they know. Their families are long gone.”

“Well, we could always establish this town as another sector of Misthaven. I know the town, and all the townspeople. I don’t ever remember actually seeing a mayor, which means the chain of command was probably all part of the curse. They’ll need leadership. What else is a defunct regent going to do with her time?” Regina mutters the part, but in that flippant way she’s so good at. “The politics over there work a little differently, but I’d like to return to Storybrooke and run for their mayor.”

Regina and Snow branch off to discuss the fine details of what would go along with mayorship of a town as an extension of Misthaven. If any two people can figure out a good way to make this all work, it’s those two. Weird to think that her mother and step-grandmother have such a relationship and history, when Emma only knew her as her best friend.

The memory of Regina bumping into her in the hallway and claiming they weren’t besties makes her grin, especially since they went right on solidifying their friendship. Perhaps Rumple never anticipated how close they would become, and how instrumental they would both be in his downfall. The idea of Regina leaving, however, almost makes her sad. She wouldn’t expect things to stay the same after the turmoil they’ve all been through, but how is she to go on living in Misthaven when she feels like she belongs somewhere else?

Between the homecoming celebrations and her own quiet time with Killian, talks about what they’ll do now have been sparse, few between, and almost non-existent. She’s not told Killian about how she stares out the windows sometimes and wishes she could pop over to Granny’s and grab a hot chocolate. She actually misses work. Emma knows she’s going to be met with resistance, but the decision is easy for her. “I want to return, too.”

All conversation ceases around her, with every set of eyes turning to stare at her with varying expressions. Her parents look shell-shocked, Regina looks confused, and Killian just looks… well, like he knows exactly where her mind is. This should come as no surprise since he knows her so well.

“But Emma -”

“But nothing,” she cuts off David. “It’s nothing compared to decades or centuries, but I’ve been there for three years. I love my job, I like my friends. My life is there. If magic beans are readily available, then we can visit any time?” It comes out as a question no matter how hard she tries to make it a statement.

“We can?” Killian says, purely to tease. She hasn’t gotten around to telling him just how much she already misses electricity and grilled cheese sandwiches. The cooks tried for her yesterday, but it just wasn’t the same. The easy smile on his face further tells her he already knows, and the usual look in his eyes says he will follow her to the ends of the earth if she asks.

“We can,” she reasserts, moving her hand to squeeze his forearm when he gives her a nod. “And you could visit us,” Emma states, looking at her parents. David, poor David, looks devastated at the idea of his princess leaving again. They just got her back and she’s already talking about leaving. Snow, however, looks like she’s considering it, and Emma knows if she can get her mother on her side, they can both convince her father that it’s a sound idea.

“The sooner we figure this out, the better,” Ursula reminds them. “There are people in that town that are panicking because they want to get home with their families. We need to either get them back to where they belong without draining my resources, or we need to get them calmed down.”

“How about you take us back with you when you go again? I’ll even help make a spell that will use a little less of your own magic so you can transport us easily.” Regina pushes back from the table, standing and preparing to make her accord.

They seal their agreement with a shake of their hands, rather than a signed contract. The fact that deals can be made without there being a hefty price or threat of punishment on the side is probably the best part of Rumplestiltskin being locked up in a magical cage in their dungeons. Once Regina and Robin have left the room to go pack their belongings, Ursula and the rest of the major council disperses, leaving just the king and queen, Emma, and Killian.

There’s a heavy silence over the table, one that makes her think that even if Snow is considering it, her parents aren’t happy that she plans to leave them again. Plus, it means she’s giving up her rights to the throne if she moves to Storybrooke for good. She even has ideas to pitch on how that should be handled, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“We can have the wedding here,” she blurts out. Killian turns and raises an eyebrow at her, but she barrels on. “We haven’t set a date yet, but we can always plan it to take place here. I would never want to deprive you of another big moment in my life, but I really feel like Storybrooke is just…home. I mean, it’s not home. You guys will always be my home home, but I’m comfortable there. I’m happy there. I like having a job and technology and we can visit any time if this bean thing is really going to work out.”

David gets up from his chair, pacing a few times as Emma talks, and then stopping behind Snow’s seat as she finishes. They both stare at her, shifting their eyes minimally to look at Killian as well. Snow tilts her head back to look at David, and he looks down at her, and they do their married-conversation-without-words bit before they look at her again.

“Okay,” they say in unison.

“Go back with Regina and Robin. It’ll probably help to have a member of the current royal family present while everything gets situated, particularly for those from our kingdom,” David tells her.

“We’ll start planning the wedding. We’ll come visit in a few weeks when the first bean crop is ready for harvest so we can deliver some to you,” Snow says. “And try pizza,” she adds with a wide smile, the word sounding weird coming from her mouth.

It’s hard to think she’ll be leaving them again, but hearing Snow say they’ll come visit soon makes her feel like this is the right decision. This is what she wants. And while she hasn’t really talked to Killian about it, she knows that he enjoyed their time in Storybrooke enough to lament the things he’s also missing.

“Will you send word to Regina to wait for us?” Emma asks as she stands from her chair. Behind her, Killian moves his, and comes to stand beside her.

With a gesture, David draws one of the guards from the doors, relaying the message and sending him on his way. “We’ll be there as soon as we can be,” he tells Emma, accepting the hug she offers and holding her tight. He only releases her when she tells him how much she’ll miss him again, and that she loves him, and then she moves on to Snow.

Her mother is crying, of course, just barely. But Emma knows it’s hard to say goodbye so soon after what they’ve been through. She tells Snow the same thing she said to David, and includes an extra tight squeeze as she tells her how much she’s looking forward to planning the wedding when she sees her again.

A half an hour later, Killian returns to her quarters after packing as much as he wanted from his room. While he had unofficially moved in as soon as they got back, he still had to retrieve the things he most wanted to bring. And tell Liam.

“How’d it go?” Emma asks, not looking up from her own task of putting some of her Storybrooke clothes back into the satchel they brought with them.

“He cried,” Killian says, but she immediately hears the scratchiness in his voice, so she turns her head and raises an eyebrow at him until he looks at her. “Okay, fine, we cried. Happy?”

“Yes, actually.” He was trying to be a smartass, but Emma’s response is genuine. She stops her packing for a second to walk over, not even hesitating as she reaches up to kiss him and wraps her arms around him at the same time. It’s a chaste kiss by the standards they’ve set over the last three days; they have absolutely made up for lost time. But it’s the beginning of their own wordless communication. She doesn’t need to tell him she loves him right this moment (she’ll tell him a thousand times anyway, but it can wait another minute or two). She doesn’t need to thank him, or explain how much this means to her. She knows he would wave off any of those statements if she tried. “I’m just about finished. Any word on how long until the others are leaving?”

“And I quote, there’s not enough time for you two to go at it like rabbits again,” he says, pressing his lips together to ward off the smile that wants to creep up. “End quote.”

“Damn,” she mutters. “Oh well, just means we’ll have to wait until we’re back in my apartment with all those lovely, battery-operated toys.”

“See, now I’m fully on board with going. I had just the slightest hesitation earlier, but you’ve fully won me over with this idea.” She shakes her head, kissing him once before going back to her task.

Killian leaves ahead of her, so Emma has a moment in her room by herself. It feels a lot like a heavy goodbye, even though she knows they’ll be back to visit. Even if the bean trade falls through, Ursula has agreed to help in cases of emergency. The mark for her shell is still on Killian’s arm, so they can call her if they ever need to get back to Misthaven. She turns around the room slowly, smiling at the flowers in the vase, knowing that her mother made the fairies enchant a whole field just so she could go stand someplace where Emma spent so much of her time.

Now, she’s thinking that the same meadow might make a beautiful location for a wedding some day. With that thought in her mind, and a smile on her lips, she walks out, extinguishing all the candles before she closes the door behind her.

-x-

Storybrooke is in calm chaos for weeks. Dealing with who wants to stay and who wants to leave is the trickiest bit. There are many people who, just as Ursula and Regina figured, don’t want to return to a place where their families are long gone. There are others who simply believe they fit better in a modern world than the one they were taken from. Will Scarlet, especially, says he’s a much better man in Storybrooke than he was in Misthaven, or Wonderland, or Oz… or so he claims. He is spending a great deal of time at the library, but Emma has suspicions that it’s because of Belle, and not because of the books.

Most fascinating is watching the connections between the people of the town come out of the woodwork. It turns out that Ruby and Mulan already knew each other, having met as they were on their own adventures, and traveling together for some time. They’d both been attracted to the other, but far too timid or unsure to pursue the idea of really traveling together. What had been a tentative start of a relationship when Emma saw them before the search party set out blossoms into a beautiful partnership.

Graham laughs, his whole body shaking with the action, when he realizes precisely who Emma and Killian are. “You’ve both come a long way from those hand-offs in the hallway. My favorite little tart thieves. No wonder you always felt like my younger sister,” he marvels to Emma. Killian smiles, happy to observe the interaction. He’s been meeting the people Emma has spent her last few years with, and it’s jarring but in a wonderful way.

He’s had the only reunion he was concerned with. Stepping onto the docks yesterday to find Brennan was a surreal experience, especially when his father sizes him up. The last Captain Jones saw of his sons, Killian was barely retaining his memories. His father seemed ten times larger than the average man, so standing before him now, their statures so similar, is the hardest part to swallow. But then Emma was beside him, easing the tension he felt in his shoulders. Introducing him to Emma might be his favorite part of the reunion.

Their stories are not so unique. There are children and parents, friends, lovers, enemies who decide to bury the hatchet – all types of camaraderie all over this town that was born of petty hatred. Person by person, story by story, they sort through every resident in the town to take an accurate survey of everyone there, figuring out where each one wanted to live and shuffling them toward the piers to help get them ready for Ursula.

Shortly after everyone gets placed where they want to go, life returns to something resembling normal. Since the bean crop is just about at its harvesting point, Killian is pretty sure they’re bound to get a message any day about Emma’s parents planning a visit. The idea makes her absolutely giddy. She wants her parents to see that while they were separated for far too long, she was by no means abused in her temporary “prison” town. She talks plenty about taking them to various places in town, not hesitating to point out a new one as they walk to dinner one night, or as he walks with her to work the next day.

He always gives her a kiss on the cheek before they part, with her heading into the station and him walking the last couple blocks to the docks on his own. He knows boats and ships, so what better place for a pirate than working at the docks. His crew, all but Smee, returned to Misthaven to go find their bluer seas. He sent Smee back to retrieve his ship, but hired the man to be his first mate once more, for good over greed this time. Amazingly, Smee happily comes aboard, glad to lend out his services of finding people and goods when not working on the Jolly Roger.

The fair trade of magic beans and goods in Misthaven ends up being so lucrative that Storybrooke becomes something of a tourist destination. There aren’t a lot of visitors in the winter, but in the summer, there are people popping in every day of the week. It means that they have to come up with a conversion rate for gold to money, which is an interesting affair, but it works out fantastically for Granny’s bed and breakfast, and the diner. With the extra revenue, Regina begins making plans for updates and upgrades, for new construction projects and a reassessment of the schools. Everything that can be improved is given a thorough inspection by their new, watchful mayor.

It also works out great for Killian and Brennan. Since he’s already been working on the docks all this time, he and Killian start up an ocean tour business, taking their vacationing Misthaven folk out on the sea and around the coasts they can now travel to since the curse has lifted. When Liam comes to visit, the Jones family has their own day. Liam has more memories of Brennan, and so the two connect much easier than Killian initially had. But having them all together is more valuable than anything else.

When he returns home after the first night, Emma is waiting for him with a knowing smile on her face. She pulls him into her arms as soon as he closes the door, easing the tension and nerves that he managed to hide all day long. Having a family outside of Emma is still startlingly new to him, but he’s adjusting.

The king and queen’s visit is a much-anticipated event for the town. Much like a visit from any other top-ranking officials, the residents all put forward their best efforts. Granny, who knew Snow as a child before she and Ruby were sent to the cursed town, gets to host the royals as her guests. During their visit, Killian gets a taste of how it must’ve been adjusting him to modern amenities. Emma’s parents were told in advance what to expect, however watching David operate light switches is Killian’s new favorite activity.

On the second day of their vacation, Emma and Snow go out shopping for modern clothes for the king and queen to wear during the rest of their stay. In their new outfits, David looks like any other random bloke in town, and Snow looks like a perfect school teacher, her prim cardigans and soft pastels the perfect style for her demeanor.

“In another life, in this town, I think I would’ve enjoyed being a teacher,” Snow tells them after Emma points this out.

The four of them squeeze around the table at Emma’s apartment for meals, and it’s obvious that the space that used to feel adequate is no longer enough. Hand-me-down castoffs are well and good, but as soon as they start shopping for Killian and filling the closet and drawers with his clothes as well, they realize that they’re not destined to inhabit the one-bedroom apartment for something longer than a temporary stay.

Finding a house to live in is an adventure all on its own. They wait until David and Snow return home to go out looking, wanting to devote their whole attention to the task. They bicker about the details, sometimes to the point of going just beyond the term of disagreements and entering fighting, but it’s only through these interactions that they discover ways to resolve them. And make-up sex is the very best way to end any argument, of course.

When they do find a house, it’s a choice they can both agree on. The process of filling the house with more than just furniture and clothes is something they both delight in. Emma has a knack for finding the perfect paintings and artwork to put on the walls, and Killian excels at finding knickknacks and functional items of the perfect style. Soon, picture frames line the walls and sit across the mantel, and curtains they picked together cover their windows.

After a little over a year of residing in peaceful Storybrooke, they head back to the Enchanted Forest to prepare for the wedding. Brennan and Smee sail the Jolly Roger between the realms with the help of the magic beans and ferry guests to Misthaven for the event.

For some of them, it’s their first time back to their homeland, so David and Snow open their doors to any guests, housing all of the wedding-goers in an attempt to make everyone as comfortable as possible.

Killian can hardly believe the transformation of the flower field when he sees it the day of the wedding. Platforms and walkways, all specially crafted with the fairies’ magic, are placed over the flowers so that none of them are disturbed during the ceremony. In the center, a dais has been built up to accommodate the nuptials. With their flowers all in bloom, and the sun shining down on them, Killian and the guests wait patiently for Emma and her parents to walk up the path.

He might be biased, but she’s the most beautiful bride he’s ever seen. The dress is more modern, having been purchased in Storybrooke, but her head is topped with a flower crown made of the delicate buds from the field. The event outshines every ball the kingdom has ever held, with the reception taking place in the main hall. They spend their first night as husband and wife in Emma’s old quarters, with her magic surrounding and protecting the room again, just in case. As is the trend in their lives, this is the room that witnesses another of their firsts.

While the guests all return to Storybrooke in the days that follow the wedding, Emma and Killian stay behind to begin the first leg of their honeymoon adventure. As a princess, Emma had little chance to explore the kingdoms, so they set off on a journey to remedy that. Killian takes her on a tour of the best ports he visited. The second half of their tour is spent exploring the country that houses their new home. Storybrooke still won’t show on any maps, keeping their little magic town a secret of sorts, but the broken curse means that the residents can move beyond the town limits.

Killian is sure that their life in the Enchanted Forest would’ve been filled with plenty of excitement, but as they settle back in after their journey ends, he discovers that they’ve hit the exact amount of thrills to fit their lifestyle. Some nights they dance to whatever music comes from the stereo, and sometimes they go sailing for the joy of feeling the wind in their hair. They make dinner slightly more often than going to grab Granny’s for takeout, and they live and work and love every single day, enjoying every single moment.

And when the time is right, they get a cat.

The End.

Thank you for reading! xo

[cscreativecentre]

CS + teenage crimes

Summary: Henry’s bit of teenage revelry dredges up some memories Emma could gladly do without, go thing her pirate’s there for her to lean on.

Word Count: 1, 326

Rating: PG

Tags: #cs one shot  #cs future family fic  #cs angst

            Sheriff Emma Swan leaned back in her rolling desk chair with a sigh, having just spent the last few hours in her office at the sheriff’s station answering basically frivolous complaint calls, filling in paperwork, and of course, clearing up all the hassle that came along with the previous night’s prank.  She flicked her long hair back over her shoulders once more, blew out a breath of frustration, and rolled her neck experimentally, hoping to work out the crick she could already feel.  Scanning the desktop surface and fruitlessly checking her wrist where she sometimes wore one in case it was needed, she failed to find a hair tie.  She’d been trying to wear her hair down more often, not that her husband would ever tell her how to dress or style herself, but the look in Killian’s eyes the first time he’d seen her all done up for a night out with her hair falling loose down her back in long, golden spiral curls, had been worth the bit of inconvenience.  She knew that gleam in his eye well, and Emma wasn’t above admitting – at least to herself – that she enjoyed putting it there every so often.  Granted, Killian never failed to make it clear that he loved her, appreciated her, and found her beautiful every day, even after almost three years of marriage, but that gobsmacked, just swallowed his own tongue response was something else entirely.

            Eventually, she stalked over to the coat rack where she’d hung her purse and rooted a rubber band from within its depths; for now, a ponytail gave her at least one less small annoyance on her plate.  That done, she flopped back into her seat and forced herself to refocus on the report spread out before her.  It was just a simple Disturbance of the Peace complaint – but the fact that it was against Henry, Violet, and a few of their friends for a toilet papering escapade on the wrong townsperson made Emma fret over it all the same.  They defaced nothing, nothing was broken – they had barely gotten tissue over than more than a couple of the hedges – but none of that seemed to calm down Old Mother Hubbard herself.  Once David had arrived to answer the summons (he’d been the one on duty the night before) he had managed to talk the old battleaxe down from pressing charges.  It had been a near thing though, and Emma couldn’t help the smirk and shake of her head at her mother’s response to that news.  “Well why did you think I called him Charming?” she’d asked innocently.  However, the elderly woman had still been ranting that something needed to be done, kids today were out of control, and she could hardly sleep peacefully at night wondering what might happen next.

            Emma snorted at that last bit, feeling inclined to go tell the old biddy that if she didn’t like surprises she was living in the wrong town.  Instead though, she had simply ordered Henry to bed once her dad had swung by with him in the cruiser the night before.  Over breakfast, she’d told him that while she understood that he was sixteen, almost seventeen, and there were a lot of worse things he could have been caught doing, and that she knew none of them had meant any harm, she still wanted him to go and apologize to Mrs. Hubbard for frightening her and not respecting her property.  Henry had offered a monosyllabic “fine” and tromped out soon after, seeming not to be softened at all by the fact that Emma had ended the whole thing by trying to explain how much she loved him and what a good heart she knew he had; she simply didn’t want something that couldn’t be forgotten, some harmless teenage crime, to keep others from seeing the special young man he was.  She didn’t want anything to happen which could stand in the way of whatever dream he wanted to pursue in just a few years’ time.  She knew all too well that some marks against a person never fully faded.

            She could only hope he would be in better humor and more willing to listen later that night.  Probably not, since she had heard Violet’s father had grounded her for a month, therefore robbing Henry of his girlfriend and main companion for the next few weeks.  Though the man might actually have ended up being from Connecticut not Camelot, Emma sensed some Middle Age ideas about propriety might have stuck.

            Standing again, she went to file the report in the cabinet on the office’s back wall, and then leaned her head against it.  What it really boiled down to, she realized sadly, was that she didn’t even feel she had much room to reprimand her son.  She hated thinking back to those miserable, desperate days, but when she did, it wasn’t easy for her knowing that when she was a teenager she’d done so much worse.  Emma’s shoulders slumped as she stood there, torn, with her mind back in days she didn’t want to relive.

            A knock on the door interrupted her reverie, causing her to pull back and turn quickly to face whoever might be watching, running a hand under her eyes tellingly over suspiciously damp cheeks. 

            “Love, what is it?” her husband’s concerned voice, broke through her turmoil.  And she couldn’t help being glad it was him seeing her in her moment of weakness; if it had to be someone, at least he would understand.  Her pirate was across the room in two seconds and gathering her into his arms.

            Rather than trying to pull away and convince him she was fine, Emma leaned into his solid support, rested her head on his chest, and drew some comfort from his warmth.

            “You left so quickly after Henry this morning,” Killian continued.  “I wasn’t so sure that it went well.  Thought I should see if there was anything I could do.”

            Emma hugged him back, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning back just enough to peer up into his beautiful, adoring face.  “You’re already doing the best thing you could do for me.”

            “It’s just a hug, Swan,” he murmured at her hairline.  “You’ve been upset, and I want to help.  You do know that Henry and his mates didn’t cause any real damage, aye?”

            She gave him a watery smile in return, drawing a steadying breath.  “It’s not that…” she paused, then looked at him again and it all came pouring out.  “I’m upset because what kind of example am I, Killian?  At his age, I was shoplifting to eat, squatting in hotel rooms, living on the run.”  She sniffled, but didn’t stop, “How can I reprimand him for some harmless fun, when at just a year or so older, I was pregnant with him, in prison?!”

            Killian sighed, his brow furrowed with sadness for her, both now and for the young, frightened girl she had been, while he pulled her into his embrace once more.  Emma was grateful when he didn’t immediately offer platitudes or tell her it would be fine, but simply brushed his hook across her shoulder blades and swayed her gently back and forth.  “Oh Love,” he crooned. “You’ve come so far since then…worked so hard… Your teenage crimes have no bearing on that.  You boy is a bright lad.  He will understand.”

            It didn’t make her doubts, her worries for Henry, or the past hurt go away, but somehow Emma felt better all the same, just relaxing in her husband’s arms, knowing he would always believe in her and always see the best in even her clumsiest attempts. 

            “Do you always know just the right thing to say?” she asked him fondly, bemused half smile blooming on her face.

            Killian merely grinned back at his amazing, strong, survivor of a wife, with satisfaction, “Only with you, Emma.”

by @snowbellewells

[spiralingworm]

The Fair Play

So yesterday Polish ski jumping team took the gold medal in Lahti. It was a nice win, they got the early lead and did not let go for the whole tournament. If you never met any Pole, you need to know one thing. We are very to quick to catch a fever for something just to drop it as quickly when things go south. Everyone is an expert when Polish sportsman play well. Ski jumping was very popular when Adam Małysz reign supreme in this sport couple of years ago. Today we still have some great jumpers and one arguably the same class as Małysz if not better. The thing is I don't feel this rush anymore.

(Polish winning team.)

I think one of the reasons I am kinda iffy about sports in general is the fairness issue. For example in jumping wind plays a huge role and as we all know nature can be unpredictable. So when this sport was in development people figured out to change height of start bar based on conditions. This creates another issue in terms of fair play that you cannot always make it so completely balanced. No matter how sophisticated the rules and mechanics would be there is no chance to make it completely fair. With technology still in development maybe one day we will have this sport really fair and balanced.

(The technology will consume us by the way.)

Still the technology can also give unpredicted unfair, at least in my eyes, advantage. There was this trend, and I am really bad at remembering, when I think Germans tested new suits with hoods. In theory this should help with aerodynamics when flying. I am not quite sure what happened with it, but in my eyes this was not exactly. Formula 1 is basicly based on this technological arms race and that is very exciting but on the other hand it can lead to some serious head aches for judges.

(Running in action.)

Spiraling you are being somewhat unfair, because athletics is basicly a whole category of various sports where this kind of disadvantages does not exist. Actually... yeah you are right, but from my point of view only short distance runners are worth watching here. Of course unless some Polish guy or girl can win, remember this Polish almost tribal mentality? Yeah so I don't actually enjoy classical sport, but computer games on the other hand.

(Still one of my favourite wallpaper.)

Today is the last day of Intel Extreme Masters Katowice where players from all around the world compete in Counters Strike Global Offensive, League of Legends and Starcraft 2. I love it. The enjoyment from watching how great players control their units, champions and crosshairs is immense for me. I think I like it, because when I was a teenager this was the first thing time when I trully understood the rules. That and the fact that I was kinda fat and bad at sports... Yeah this helped immensely in my disliking of sports.

(What a nerd!)

So there I was young with my gaming hobby watching WC3 tournament replays. I watched players like Grubby, Moon or Sky doing their best to win the game and take the grand prize. It was actually kinda tedious and archaic when I compare it to todays experience. You needed to go throught the process of finding interesting replay in the database, downloading it and then watching it. Controlling the camera in a perfect way so you won't miss anything important. I still enjoyed it greatly, because it was fun the see micro battles on my computer. WCG was awesome.

(This song is catchy. Be warned!)

This was my first experience of watching games with commentary. Bad video quality and bad web video player in general made for some exceptional horrendous viewing experience. Yet I still was amazed at the fact that someone played a game, casters were providing their voice and crowd was cheering for some great moves. Plus there was this one time when Polish CS team won the whole thing in China. Yay for my Polish nature. Then came along Youtube and various personalities that created shoutcasting for WC3. In general those guys picked, watched, provided commentary and uploaded the whole clip to the service. At this point I was hooked and still am pretty much to this day.

(Why?)

So this entry is called Fair Play, but why? It is actually quite simple. I consider video games to be the best sport in terms of fair play. It may seem like a bold statement, but the biggest disadvantage that I can think of is latency and that would be it. Time and money investment that are required in esports are pretty much the same as any other sport if not lower on the money part. The thing is that in normal sports there will always be a human error in judging. There will always be some minor rule breaking by players not picked up by judges. I am looking at you footbal players, and while I am at you the drama is sometimes just sad. Like there are some guys that could be serious actors if not for their football jobs.

(Game characters. Yay!)

On the other hand we have video game where rules are set by game designer and electronical overlord keeps everything fair. This overlord cannot be bought or persuaded. He sees something out of order and does not allow it to even happen. With internet power everyone can compete and everyone have equal chances. With services like Twitch and Youtube professional players have great relationship with community not exactly seen in other places.

(World divided by variety.)

The other very important factor for me is the setting. When you watch football, basketball, athletics, snow sport or curling it is always about humans using their body and mind to win. Sometime while using some specifics set of tools, but there is nothing funky. In esports? Starcraft is a strategy game where 3 races, human like terrans, high tech protoss and beast-like zerg battle to the death. Counter Strike is a shooter where terrorists want blow up some structure and swat team is there to stop them. League of Legends/DotA2 two opposing teams of five players pick from diverse pool of champions to dominate the battlefield. This list does not include everything, because there are games like Overwatch, Hearthstone, Rocket League, World of Tanks or Smash. Games are interesting and that is because I loved watching them.

(Everything is okay.)

All that blabing makes you think I hate traditional sports, but this is far from true. I am actually watching european athletics right about now with addition to IEM. Especially since Polish guys and girls are getting pretty nice results in Belgrade. I just think that talking about esports will put a stigma on you, because this is all made up. Well of course it is. This is the bigest selling point for games and loved them for it.

[cryptobully-blog]

Solve Genomics with the Blockchain? Why the Hell Not

https://cryptobully.com/2018/02/solve-genomics-with-the-blockchain-why-the-hell-not/

Solve Genomics with the Blockchain? Why the Hell Not

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Scientists lust after genomes like the wolf from a Tex Avery cartoon, heart pounding in throat, tongue lolling, fist pounding on the table, submarine-dive-ahOOOgah!-alarm sounding—all out of desire for the hot, hot data curled coaxingly inside every one of your cells.

Think of all the information tucked into those sinuous DNA spirals—and the life-saving discoveries that some smart machine learning could pull out if it had lots and lots and lots of it to learn from. But first, researchers need a lot of genomes. The bigger the database, the better—only about a million people have taken it all off, as it were, and gotten their whole genomes sequenced. Even though about 12 million people have gotten at least some of their genes unravelled—mostly by companies like 23andme or Ancestry—that level of detail isn’t enough for a precision-medicine future. But it’s getting easier: Ten years ago a whole genome cost $10 million a pop; today it’s more like $1,000.

So far, getting your whole genome sequenced won’t tell you as much as you might hope about your health. It can’t—not until the genome jockeys have had their way with a much bigger database. Chicken, egg, etc. And there’s an obstacle. In a study of 13,000 people, 86 percent worried about what would happen if a researcher misused their genetic data. Slightly more than half had concerns about their privacy.

Obviously there can be only one solution: the blockchain.

Did you just hear a record-scratch? Did the picture just freeze-frame? Yeah. That’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got to talking about blockchains.

Well, it all started when people interested in cryptocurrencies like bitcoin and ethereum realized that their most interesting aspect was not the preposterous valuation or the planet-jeopardizing energy vampirism, but the secure, unhackable ledger that keeps track of transactions. Perhaps that might be useful in, for example, health care, where nobody really knows how to move around electronic medical records securely. An IBM survey of 200 healthcare execs found that 16 of them planned to have a commercial blockchain something-or-other this year. A study from Deloitte promised that the blockchain’s ability to create nationwide health information interoperability could have transformative potential. Transformative information interoperability, y’all! I mean, come on!

Which brings us to now: The 2018 version of “Like Uber, but for X” is “Y, but on the blockchain.” (Y=genomics.)

Early February brought the announcement of Nebula, a company co-founded by the imperial macher of genomics, George Church. His expertise is collecting and understanding genomes; the blockchain stuff, as he hilariously acknowledged in a Q&A with the journal Science, is somebody else’s problem. “When you have the blockchain you have a trustless mechanism in place, where people know they can verify who’s accessing their data,” says Dennis Grishin, another Nebula co-founder. In other words, a blockchain brings security and trust without centralization. “You don’t need to trust or verify a third-party central authority to take a cut.”

The Nebula team expects that people will get their whole genomes sequenced—by Nebula’s machines or others. Research groups that might want to use any individual’s data can pay those individuals to access it with Nebula tokens purchased from the company. (And people can buy their own sequencing from Nebula with those tokens, too.) Research on the DNA, says Grishin, happens on securely partitioned computers, and the buyers of the data get access to the results.

That sounds, maybe, complicated? “The first group of people we’re reaching out to is the cryptocurrency community,” says co-founder Kamal Obbad, “which is on average better educated about data privacy.”

Nebula has competition. LunaDNA will let you upload your genetic information and receive “LunaCoins” when you let researchers have access. EncrypGen does something similar, but with metadata about the actual genome. The AI health care company Insilico is building a system called Longenesis that will let people upload and trade all kinds of health and medical data, not just genomes. And it’s working with BitFury, a major miner (heh) of bitcoin. Zenome lets you upload a text file of your genome, and pays in ZNA Tokens.

The first group of people we’re reaching out to is the cryptocurrency community, which is on average better educated about data privacy.

Kamal Obbad, co-founder, Nebula Genomics

If you believe that these synthetic marketplaces have real value, then blockchains are good, and it makes sense that cryptocurrencies could power and incentivize transactions. Actually, I guess all markets are synthetic, but still. It’s a promising idea. “My wife is a genomic scientist and I’m an ethicist and a lawyer,” says David Koepsell, the CEO and founder of EncrypGen. “We were interested in keeping privacy and encouraging data use in genomic science.”

The strongest parts of the internet are decentralized and peer-to-peer. Leveraging those characteristics does seem like great news for genomics and medical records in general. Linking all those As, Ts, Gs, and Cs to specific diseases, susceptibilities, and health outcomes could genuinely change medicine. Drugmakers could tailor therapies to specific people; diseases of old age could get corrected before they ever manifest themselves.

So maybe the people who actually provide the data that’ll enable it should get a little something for their trouble, huh? “If these sequencing companies truly promote ownership by the individual of their genome, that’s a great segue to owning all your medical data—your genome, the data you generate from sensors, your scans,” says Eric Topol, a genomics researcher at the Scripps Research Institute.

But blockchains may not be the perfect solution. For one thing, most of the new genomic blockchain companies aren’t on the same kind of network as bitcoin. That cryptocurrency is “trustless” because no central authority validates the transactions in the ledger, and anyone whose computers can do the required math can join to mine and add blocks. Medical information-related start-ups tend to be closed blockchains where a central authority—the company, usually—awards the tokens and decides who’s in.

More than that, they’re not interoperable. Your genetic data on Nebula won’t get you tokens on Zenome or EncrypGen. That doesn’t bode well for the broader use case of moving personal data among health care providers, who already have multiple siloed electronic medical records databases. And it really doesn’t bode well for the researchers who need ultrabig genome databases.

Plus, the verifiability and security of a blockchain doesn’t necessarily add up to privacy. In the case of a genome, let’s say, you might want to monetize its nominal value, but you don’t want it to fall into just anyone’s hands. And you really don’t want it to be out there attached to identifiable medical and personal information. Even though that’s exactly what researchers need.

To be fair, the companies starting up in this space all say they have approaches to deal with these security and privacy concerns. The technology is still developing. For now, though, it’s a weakness. “Data is not a single piece of currency. It’s reusable….once you reveal the data, it’s just data,” says Bradley Malin, director of the Health Data Science Center at Vanderbilt University. “So you’re going to have to ask the question of, how do you know they’re not copying it and moving it elsewhere? The blockchain doesn’t stop that.”

Researchers won’t just want a lot of genomes. They want genomes from, let’s say, everyone with clinical depression, or everyone with ovarian cancer, or everyone with chronic pain. They need phenotypes, the things that genes actually do, to understand what they’re looking at. That’s why companies like 23andMe—and Nebula—ask people to provide that information through surveys.

Data is not a single piece of currency. It’s reusable. Once you reveal the data, it’s just data.

Bradley Malin, director, Health Data Science Center, Vanderbilt University

When you start attaching financial value to that information, people could potentially try to game the system. Researchers and companies are going to want relevant, “interesting” genomes. “Once money is in the picture, people might very well start behaving what we call ‘rationally,’ but in a way that’s not very good for the system,” says Emin Gün Sirer, co-director of the Institute for Cryptocurrencies and Smart Contracts at Cornell University. “They start answering surveys in a manner that makes their data interesting.”

Still, getting more people sequenced is probably a good idea. (Research programs like eMERGE have been trying to deal with this for at least a decade, and the federal government’s $4 billion All of Us precision medicine project aims to enroll 1 million volunteers.) Right now most of the genetic material available is from particular demographic groups, mostly white people with the disposable income to buy the scan. That limits scientific usefulness. But some groups are less likely to join in. They might recall negative experiences with scientific experimentation in the past—like when the infamous Tuskegee experiments deliberately denied treatment to African Americans with syphilis and concealed the purpose of the research.

More broadly, someone may still have to answer the question of what people who participate in science—volunteering their time or their cells—should get in return. Maybe the answer is “nothing,” and we participate because it advances science for everyone, and we’re all part of a community. Or maybe we need more of an incentive. People remember that science and society accrued tremendous benefits from the “immortalized” cells derived from Henrietta Lacks, which became vital to biomedical research. But Lacks and her family didn’t benefit directly. “You don’t want to end up in the Henrietta Lacks situation again. You don’t want to exploit a population,” Malin says. “But you do want to have the ability to make the system better for everyone who’s going to use it.”

Blockchain Bits

Blockchain

[artistic-writer]

The Paradox of Light :: CS AU :: Rated E

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer  for @hollyethecurious 

[ AO3 ]

Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface.  They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms?  What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control?  What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down?  How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light?

Rating: E

Word Count: 37.5k

Trigger warnings: Angst, alcoholism, sex addiction, Killian!whump, Emma!Whump, mild erotic asphyxiation, referenced minor character death, choking, fighting, graphic violence, domestic violence, self defense, borderline non-con sexual situation, depression, PTSD, panic attacks, 37k one shot

A/N:  To be safe, I have rated this fic the highest I possibly can.  It contains a considerably emotional trigger warning list and contains some very strong subject matter.  Please do not read it if anything on the list is unsettling to you.  I am always available to answer any questions people may have before they settle in to read this, but I will in no way be offended if you feel like you need to skip it.  It is something I felt I had to write for myself, for the lovely @hollyethecurious and to get out all of my pent up sadness over the death of my grandfather (something I am still struggling with, but thanks to friends, it gets better every day.)

Thank you so much to my lovely betas @resident-of-storybrooke and @kmomof4 !  You ladies are all kinds of awesome.  Tori, thank you for keeping me on the right side of a line that I feared I would cross.  It means so much to me that you could help me with this and I hope there is no lasting damage to your emotional state.  Krystal, what can I say other than you are a wonderful person, who sacrificed her own feels for this fic, in the name of a friendship that is so precious to me, I am crying right now.  You know why else <3 <3 ‘ A man of too many friends comes to ruin, But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.’ [Proverbs 18:24]  And @hollyethecurious I hope you enjoy this, and your cameo ;)

Fuck it, i’m tagging everyone i’ve spoke to about this Taglist: @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @courtorderedcake @sherlockianwhovian @wellhellotragic @the-corsair-and-her-quill @teamhook @totheendoftheworldortime @distant-rose @branlovesouat @snidgetsafan @kymbersmith-90 @bleebug @yayimallamaagain @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @rouhn @wingedlioness @eala-captian  @onceuponaprincessworld  @forestiyari

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At first they had hated each other, with Emma setting her sights on the older Jones brother. Killian was nothing more to her than a thorn in her side. Cocky, arrogant and with a boyish smile that she wished she could slap right off his face, he was not for her. No, Emma Swan wanted Liam Jones, the stronger, more level headed of the two, but with a decade between them, by the time Emma had worked up the courage to tell him how she felt, Liam was announcing his marriage.

When Liam moved from their sleepy little hometown, leaving Emma’s teenage heart in pieces and Killian to continue his roguish antics unchecked, was when Emma began to notice him. He had a certain appeal. He had a car, would take her anywhere at the drop of a hat and puberty had been kind to him, with unblemished skin and a dashingly handsome growth that sprouted from his chin. The more Emma looked at him the more she felt that the bravado and confidence he exuded was more for just show. In private, when it was just the two of them, Killian was different.

One day in high school, they had decided to skip their respective classes and hang out at the edge of the school field. Killian was kind, less presumptuous and respectful when it was just the two of them and Emma liked it. He gave her his jacket when she was cold and his smell made her feel safe, like she was home, which considering she was adopted, was huge. Even the Nolans, her adoptive family, couldn’t completely fill the hole in her heart left by being abandoned, but somehow Killian could.

Killian’s senior prom was the turning point for her. He was a few years older than Emma and had promised to take her to both his and hers. He insisted because if nothing else, attending his with her would be a dry run for her own. Killian taught her to dance that night, holding her close, splayed hand pressed delicately to her lower back, the tips of his pointed ears turning red when Emma had pressed her body further into his, her early teenage yearning for Liam Jones long since gone.

“There’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he is doing.”

Emma had often thought about his words, long after her prom and into her college years, but whilst she had attended a local one, Killian had followed in his brother's footsteps and joined the Army. They never lost touch, sending letters to each other that mentioned everything and anything they could talk about. It was no substitution for the lilt of his accented voice, or the smile on his face that never failed to pick up her mood, but it was all she could get between his visits home.

When he was on leave, the first place he always went was her house. It was familiar to have him near her again, laughing and joking as they did silly things like play cards and swim in the lake. Emma knew he never wanted to talk about what he did in the line of duty, she could only imagine, so she never pressed him and knew that if he ever wanted to, he would tell her. Instead they spent their time poking fun at each other, acting more like a couple than most couples they knew, but with an annoyingly platonic and chaste intimacy that left Emma pining each time he deployed and left her with a seared cheek from his kiss.

But he was a gentleman, and she expected nothing less from him.

Five years went by between Killian joining the military and the day he came home. He was a ranger, the most elite sniper in his class, able to hit a target from over two thousand yards away, but his career had ended when he had been injured in the line of duty and subsequently medically discharged. Shrapnel now littered his torso, had embedded itself in his shoulder joint and had ripped through the muscles of his left upper arm like it was paper. A sniper with the inability to fire a weapon was useless, and rather than push paper for the rest of his life, Killian had come home carrying more than just physical scars and it was the wake up call Emma needed.

She had been beside herself to learn of his injuries. Her heart had skipped a beat in her chest and her blood had run cold through her entire body when she had been informed by Liam via an early morning phone call.

“He’s okay, he just wanted you to know that.”

That was the exact moment Emma Swan vowed to share her feelings that she had kept locked behind closed doors for so long. She loved him and needed to tell him lest she risk losing him with him never knowing how she felt.

The day he arrived home, waiting for him on the military airstrip in her senior prom dress was Emma, hair blowing in the warm breeze that whipped across the tarmac. There was a brief silence between them and people stared at her attire, but Emma did not care. She had finally realised what she had been fighting for so many years. Killian Jones, her best friend and confidant, was the man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. So she had told him.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“In your prom dress?”

“Shut up and listen.”

“Okay, love.”

“I love you, Killian. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and you held me at your prom. ‘Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing’ you told me…”

“Aye, Swan, I did…”

“Then I hope to God you know what you are doing because I am petrified.”

“I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Eight years later and they shared everything. The transition back into civilian life had been hard on Killian, but Emma was always there for him. She watched him cry, watched him scream and watched him fight with the demons inside of his head on a daily basis. It never went away, but it got easier, and on more than one occasion Killian had told Emma that she was his saviour. Only she knew how to help him, calm the beast and soothe his soul, but Killian’s descent into darkness had only just begun.

The day Killian’s phone rang and a police officer informed him of his brother’s demise was the day that would haunt Emma forever. Liam had been killed in a car accident on his way to visit them, the car having rolled along the highway so many times they had struggled to free his body. Emma would never forget the blood curdling sound Killian made as he screamed Liam’s name, collapsed to the floor and curled into the childlike ball of sobs. She let him cry, she let him shout and she let him smash every door in the house in his rage, and then after everything, she let him drink.

Killian Jones had lost count of the bottles he had seen the bottom of since the death of his brother. Each rum laden glass cask gradually weighed less as it emptied but the sorrow that felt like it was crushing him only got heavier. Liam had died quickly, in a car accident with no clear person to blame, and it had changed Killian forever. Whatever demons he carried from active service were amplified, the voices in his head taunting and eating away at his resolve.

There were no answers to his pleas to God at the bottom of the bottles, and even worse, there was no absolution.

Six months ago

It had been only a short time since Liam’s death, but Killian had spent every second he wasn’t at work at the local bar. He always shot Emma a text letting her know where he was for which she was thankful. His drinking was starting to spiral and it had become pretty apparent that he was drinking more and more to try and quell the voices in his brain. It was wrong, Emma knew that, but it calmed him and helped him sleep, and despite her brain telling her it was wrong to enable him, her heart ached each time he sobbed himself into a slumber, so she let him drink to forget.

Or at least she thought she was. There had been a shift in his behaviour recently and whilst Emma figured he was starting to sober up, clear the niggles in his brain and finally begin to accept his loss, Killian was in fact becoming a functioning alcoholic. His breath reeked of booze each time he returned home, sometimes with bloody knuckles and sometimes with a glassy stare, but each time he was the same. Drunk, and the more he needed to drink to forget, the more frustrated he was becoming with being without his brother.

That night he came home, stumbling through the door and groggily mumbling to himself as he toed off his shoes at the door, Emma simply greeted him as usual without judgement. She was hurting as well. Liam had been her friend too, but as much as she was hurting, she could never compare to how hard Killian had fallen into the darkness of sorrow.

“How was work?” Emma asked, the question becoming somewhat of a code between them. It was something she had devised in order to gauge his level of inebriation and also work out how bad his mentality had been compromised during the day. She shifted her weight, resting a hand to the kitchen island as she watching him struggle with the zip of his jacket.

“It was unusually dull,” Killian slurred sarcastically, his balance suddenly compromised as he tried to pull his arms free from the confines of his sleeves. He stepped sideways, foot landing heavily on the hardwood floor with a thud as he tried to keep himself upright. Finally freeing his arms he staggered backwards into the lounge and sank down onto the arm of the couch with a sigh when the back of his thighs hit the solid mass.

“And your colleagues?” Emma prodded, moving to stand before him. The voices in his head were something he dealt with every day, sometimes successfully blocking them out, but it seemed the demon of drink always gave them free reign to torment him before he had consumed enough to silence them.

Killian screwed up his features, the rosy tint in his cheeks from too much rum hidden under a swipe of his hands as he covered his face with a wavering nod. “Chatty,” he whispered into his palms, inhaling deeply and letting his body hunch over as tears sprang from his eyelids.

“Hey,” Emma soothed, stepping between his parted thighs and pulling his hands from his face. His face was warm beneath her hands as she cupped his head, tilting his head back so he was looking up at her. “I’m here,” she told him softly, searching the clouded grey hues of his eyes with her own. “I’m here.”

Killian couldn’t stop the sound he made escaping his throat as he cried, the wail cutting straight through Emma’s chest and splitting her heart in two. He buried his face in the softness of her sweater, muffling his cries against her body and wrapping his arms around her, desperate to hold onto anything. “Don’t go,” he sobbed. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” Emma repeated, her voice watery from the lump that had begun to sting the back of her throat. “I need you too,” she whimpered, pinching her eyes closed just enough to let a single tear roll from her eyelid and scorch a line down her face. It fell from her chin and down the back of Killian’s shirt, his cries subsiding as he pulled his head back to look up at her.

It had taken weeks for her own grief to manifest enough that she had cried for her friend. Emma wasn’t sure where rock bottom actually was, but she was pretty sure they were both there at this exact moment in time, the silence between them echoing with the words neither of them needed to say. Killian had cried a literal river for his brother, but this had been the first time Emma had shed a single tear, and it had somehow ignited the need within both of them to feel again.

“Emma…” He gulped after her name, his voice raspy and gritty, the emotion in his words all he needed to tell her exactly what he needed as he rested his hands to her hips and gently pushed himself to his feet.

“Killian…” Emma sighed his name, looking up at him through her eyelashes with a prickle of heat that surged over the skin of her neck and through her entire body.

“I want…” he began nervously, unable to stop the way his gaze lingered over her body and his hands toyed with the hem of her sweater. His fingertips barely brushed the surface of her exposed skin but Emma gasped audibly, her eyes fluttering closed and her hand grasping the fabric of his shirt between shaking fingers.

“I know,” Emma said softly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she watched her hand against his chest, the quickening heartbeat beneath her fingertips matching the pounding in her ears. Emma lifted her gaze, blinking away more tears. “I want to feel too.”

The first thing they both felt again was softness of lips slightly salty from tears, mouths sliding against each other haphazardly and clothes being discarded with abandon. There were no words, only the soft pants and heavy breathing that accompanied their ascent to the bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake. It was like a bright light in both of their lives, neither having made love since Liam’s death, and they savoured every second.

Even drunk, Killian knew every inch of her body, every curve, dip and patch of silky skin committed to his memory. And he knew exactly how to make Emma feel, how to excite every cell in her body the way she needed in that exact moment. Killian never stopped touching her, taking his time to make sure that every hair on Emma’s body was standing to attention for him before he dipped his head between her thighs and finally gave her what she needed.

Emma’s cries were like music to his ears and Killian lapped at her essence like he was hearing her moans for the first time. They urged him on, his own need growing hard between his legs with every gasp she emitted from her slightly parted lips. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t need to, because the sounds Emma made as she writhed beneath his assault told him everything he needed to know.

The first time she came, her body stiffening as he relentlessly flicked his tongue over her clit, Killian felt something other than his own arousal surge through him. It was like a drug, a calm washing over his woes and guiding him from the depths of pain. He needed more and when Emma’s cries subsided he surged upwards and impaled her in a single thrust of his hips, watching the way her features twisted in pleasure and loving the feeling of being whole.

“I love you,” he whispered, stilling inside of her and stroking the side of her flushed face with his fingertips.

Emma could barely focus, her eyelids rolling open and fresh tears stinging her eyes once more. She blinked them away and Killian wiped them from existence with a gentle swipe of his thumb over her cheek. “I love you,” he repeated, holding her gaze as he angled his hips a little and sank into her further. Emma’s back arched off of the bed, her body yearning to feel more of the light that only Killian could shine on her.

“Oh God, I love you so much,” she gasped huskily, finally releasing the breath she had been holding and almost losing herself once more with the barest of movements. When Killian began to move and her walls fluttered around him, Emma groaned, more symphonic tones that made him want even more than before.

Killian’s hand found hers, their fingers lacing together and their palms pressing together so firmly that Emma almost couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. He lifted their joined digits above Emma’s head, increasing his pace as he pressed the back of her hand into the bed, his grip like a vice, tethering him to her and both of them to reality.

Killian’s other hand found Emma’s hip and his fingernails dug into her skin, a sensation she didn’t find unpleasant because like the burning between her thighs and the increasing pressure in her stomach, it made her feel, and that was all she wanted. She wanted the light once more, to bathe in its glow as she lost herself and fell from grace at the hand of the man she loved, the swivel of his hips and the drag of his length along her inner walls delicious and torture at the same time.

Emma was so close it was almost painful, the room filled with the stench of sex and alcohol fading away as the pin pricks of white began to flicker behind her eyelids. She felt Killian’s forehead rest against hers and the warmth of his rum laced breath invade her nostrils as his own body shuddered, his knuckles turned white with his grip and he whimpered her name like a prayer.

“I’m here,” Emma panted hoarsely, her hand finding the side of his face and her lips ghosting over his.

It was enough to send them both into oblivion, their bodies basking in the rays of euphoria and numbing the sting of pain they both felt in the very depths of their hearts. They were lost in each other, swaying in an ocean of pleasure that they would quite happily have drowned in should the waves become tumultuous, but they didn’t, instead gently lapping at the edge of their subconscious, chasing away the agony.

For now.

Five months ago

“Hi, Emma, it’s Will.”

“Is he…?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so, lass.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t let him leave.”

Like so many phone calls before, Emma knew exactly what it meant when Will called her. He was a good friend of theirs, a military buddy of Killian’s and the manager of the local bar that just happened to be where Killian went night after night to poison himself into a stupor. Will could not turn him away whilst sober, despite knowing exactly what he was trying to achieve by drinking more than his weight in spirits, but even Will had a limit to how far he would go to help his friend.

And by Will’s tone, Emma knew Killian had reached his brand new threshold. Steadily he had become immune to the effects of prolonging drinking, becoming even more depressed as he had remained sober for longer, and to make matters even worse, Emma had let him. She felt awful, watching the man that she loved crumble each and every night he returned home in a mess of bitter tasting kisses and sloppy groping.

But she had made a choice, as selfish as it seemed, to ignore the rancid taste on Killian’s tongue night after night in favour of her own high that lie on the other side of her orgasm. They had fallen into a routine of him drinking himself stupid, his emotions getting the better of him when it was never enough, and then the both of them falling into bed and into each other to numb what they were feeling. It was wrong, and it was selfish, but Emma never wanted it to end.

What lay just beyond their grief was their hope, a guiding beacon of deliverance, and the only thing in their way was the pleasure of getting there, each losing themselves in the other and falling asleep in each other's arms. It had been enough and they had managed to function, neither saying a word of what they required because the other always knew. Except now they had become addicted to each other, with no sense of moderation, and that was why Emma found herself driving out to Will’s bar at midnight to retrieve her next fix.

Killian always drank in the same booth because that corner of the bar was dimly lit and he could hide his tears after each glass. When Emma approached it didn’t escape her notice that the table was full of empty tumblers, none with a single drop of alcohol left in the bottom, and that there were more than usual covering the wooden surface. He was slumped back in the soft, dark green leather seat, his chin on his chest and his fingers wrapped around what she assumed was his last drink, even though the glass looked as dry as a bone.

“Will cut me off,” he grumbled against his chest, not looking up to meet her gaze. Emma sighed pitifully.

“Come on, Killian, let’s get you home,” she coaxed gently as she moved some of the glasses away from the edge of the table. If he stumbled she didn’t need him breaking a glass or worse.

“I’m not…” he began, quickly blowing out his cheeks and swallowing the rise of burning bile that had crept up his throat.

“I think you’re done drinking,” Emma offered. She stepped forward and ran her hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look at her, a genuine smile that she had not seen for months plastered across his face, but as quickly as it appeared, it faded and Killian wrenched his head away from her touch.

“I’m not done drinking,” he spat, unable to stop himself when he fell sideways and out of the booth. Killian barely stopped his face colliding with the floor and quickly pushed himself to his knees. “That...That bastard said I’ve had enough!” He waved an accusing finger towards the bar, his eyes squinting at Will who simply watched with a solemn expression.

Emma gave Will a quick apologetic smile before turning back to Killian and crouching down beside him. “I think you’ve had enough,” Emma said seriously, her jaw clenching and her arms straining as she hooked her arm into his elbow and yanked Killian to his feet.

Killian shook his head from side to side, sucking on his bottom lip and closing his eyes just long enough to stop the world spinning. “I know I’ve got room for more,” he laughed maniacally, falling against Emma who struggled to hold him aloft by herself. Luckily, Will had seen the display, on more than one occasion, and was on hand to help instantly.

“Yeah? And why is that, mate?” Will lifted Killian’s arm and ducked under it, holding him with Emma who mirrored his actions on the opposite side. They shuffled towards the back door, that exit closest to Emma’s car, Killian still giggling like he had just outsmarted his biggest nemesis. They stopped briefly when Killian plastered his hand to the side of Will’s head, turning his face to his as his eyes peeled open and he looked him dead in the eye.

“Because I can still feel,” Killian said softly, his voice wavering on the last word. Will paused, the bleakness behind Killian’s eyes something he had never noticed before now. They were dull, the spark of blue he once saw from both Jones brothers now gone, replaced with a blackness that had turned them grey. Killian’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump of tears down his throat and his lips twitched into a weak smile as he patted Will’s cheek and pressed his forehead against his. “It still hurts.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Will almost whispered, grabbing the back of Killian’s head and holding him steady. “I wish I could take it away, you know that.”

“You can,” Killian whimpered. “Just one more…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupted gently and Killian looked away from his friend and back to the woman he loved with a slight sway. Will caught him and stopped him from falling backwards. “Let’s just go home.”

Her words were code, Emma knew it and Killian knew it too. Home wasn’t where they lived, parked their cars at night and watched their television. No, home was more than that. It was the place of peace they found inside of each other, the place they went to when they needed each other the most because the guilt of living was too much to bear. And above all else, home was where they could forget about the world and where the weight of misery was lifted from their shoulders.

They barely spoke on the way home, the cold night air whistling through Killian’s tousled hair as he rested his head against the doorframe, the window of the truck rolled all the way down. He sang to himself, songs from his tours of duty, songs that reminded him of his brother’s both familial and adoptive. The words were gut wrenching and Emma had no idea he even knew he was saying them aloud, but she simply drove and listened, the now familiar lump once again forming in her throat as he sobbed through each verse beside her.

“Emma?” Killian coughed her name roughly, a burn tearing through his lungs that was most likely from the cold and the alcohol. He had found the couch, his body too intoxicated to find its way to anywhere else in the house and he had collapsed back into the softness of the cushions as if they had beckoned him.

“Right here,” Emma murmured softly, tossing her car keys onto the kitchen island and moving into the lounge. “Here, drink this,” Emma commanded gently, lifting Killian’s hand and guiding it to the tall glass of water in her hand. He fumbled, barely gripping the slippery glass, so she helped him lift it to his lips and he sipped the ice cold liquid with disgust.

“Water?” Killian grimaced, turning his face away from it like a child. “Where is the rum?”

“No more rum,” Emma chastised, placing the glass on the table in front of them and settling beside him on the couch. She laid her hand down over his knee, feeling how cold he was through the fabric of his jeans.

“It’s not enough,” Killian scoffed, his words quickly turning into a sorrowful sob as they left his mouth. Emma knew what he meant and gave his knee a squeeze. The alcohol was not enough to take away the pain anymore and Emma wished she could ease his burden and carry some of his despair.

“Killian, I…” she began gently.

“You love me, right?” he blurted suddenly. Emma frowned a little as she took in his expression. It was soft, desperate and child like and his lip quivered. Killian’s cheeks flushed red and the tears in his eyes came back, the redness around his eyes reappearing as she saw the fresh wave that threatened to fall.

“Of course,” Emma slid closer to him and flattened her palm to his cheek. Killian leaned into her touch and held her hand to his face as he inhaled her scent. “I will always love you.”

“I want…” he stuttered, searching her eyes for a sign that she could understand what he wanted without him having to force the rest of the words from his mouth. Killian pulled Emma’s hand a little until she had no choice but to move with her arm and so she did, straddling his lap as he had intended.

“I know,” Emma whispered, leaning her forehead against his and cupping his face in her hands. Killian’s scruff tickled her palms but she ignored it as his tears soaked her fingers. “I want it too,” she gulped hard, her fingers sliding up and down the sides of his face, threading through his sideburns and tracing the outline of his elfen ears.

With a hefty sigh of relief, Killian’s dam broke and his audible cry of anguish rumbled from deep in his chest. “I know we shouldn’t,” he sobbed, his breath hitching in his throat and his hands finding the hem of Emma’s sweater. “But I just want to…”

“Feel free?” Emma sighed softly. Killian nodded against her and Emma pulled her face from his and moved off of his lap. He was hit with the very real panic of never letting the stabbing sensation in his chest be replaced with anything else until Emma grabbed the back of her sweater and pulled it over her head. She tossed it aside, made short work of her jeans and bra and left him stunned to silence when she stood before him as gloriously naked as the day she was born.

She was an angel, of that he was sure. She was a celestial being sent to guide him through the path of shadows and light his way to freedom. Only, Killian knew as much as Emma did, that if that was true, she was about to become one of the fallen, an angel tempted by the sins of man and never to be redeemed.

“Me too,” Emma rasped, sitting astride his lap once more and frantically tugging at the belt of his jeans. Helpless to aid her because of the heaviness of his limbs, Killian simply watched her nimble fingers work on the button of his jeans, tugging the sides apart and sending a shock wave of arousal coursing right through him.

This time was about her need, Killian knew that. She was quick, barely allowing herself to become aroused before sinking down onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn he knew she would undoubtedly feel from his girth. And there was a hurriedness in her actions, a hunter like instinct to find her own quarry that scared him a little until she found a rhythm that made her shudder and leaned forward to taste his lips.

“Make me come, Killian,” Emma gasped between bounces, planting her lips against his only long enough to feel them on her skin and not taste the sourness of rum on his breath. “Take me there.”

Killian wrapped his arms around her naked form, planting his hands firmly against her back until he felt the bumps of her spine beneath the tips of his fingers. Emma’s soft, downy body hair sprang to attention and she arched her back willingly when Killian curved her body away from his and loomed forward to capture a nipple between his lips. They were dry and cracked against her skin but Emma didn’t mind the texture. It was like a trigger, her external pain amplifying her internal struggle for release that only Killian could give her.

Nails clawed over her skin and teeth bit down on the peaks of her breasts and Emma screamed out, her orgasm ripping through her body like an exorcism, leaving its mark in the form of weak shudders and soft whimpers as the demon of desolation left her body once more. Killian followed shortly afterwards, his hips jutting into her throbbing core only a few more times before he found his own salvation and went deaf from it, the beacon of light shining through him once more.

There was a moment after they had both peaked that they felt free. They were free from pain, free to let hands roam over gentle curves and through messed up side parted hair, but it never lasted. They both knew they would wake up the next day, the high of their bliss having subsided and the demons of despair making their inevitable return, but for now all they had was this moment, and in this moment, they were alive.

Four months ago

Emma knew this day would come. Killian had left for work as normal, kissing her goodbye and acting as normal as any other person in the world. His breath was fresh and minty, a tiny remnant of toothpaste caught in the corner of his mouth that Emma had wiped away with a wet thumb pad. And there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, one that Emma had not seen for months, a smile of genuine glee on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as he let the door close behind him and waved goodbye.

It wasn’t long after home time, when she had received no messages like she usually did, that panic set in and Emma realised that what Killian had been experiencing in the morning was simply mania. Depression was an evil thing, worming itself into the lives of unsuspecting people, creeping up on them without remorse. Every once in a while, there would be a peak of happiness that professionals would call mania, the manic side of being so low that you can’t physically take it anymore.

Killian had always texted Emma to tell her he was at Will’s bar, but not tonight, and after Will had texted her to say he had confiscated Killian’s keys, she had resigned herself to the fact that he was probably not coming home for the first time since Liam had died. She felt empty and was unable to drink the cinnamon topped hot chocolate she had prepared shortly before bed, simply leaving the milky drink to go cold and lumps of melted cream to float around the surface.

Emma knew she hadn’t been asleep long when she heard the rattle of keys struggling to find the lock on the front door. There was barely even the disorientation of sleep clouding her mind or the fuzz of sleep covering the inside of her mouth before she heard the cursing coming from the kitchen and the breaking of ceramic against the floor. The cold chocolate had met its demise against the slate tiles and Killian hadn’t even lowered his voice as he swore about the mess.

“Swan!” He called out groggily, his voice booming through the silent house. A light chuckle followed his shout but Emma did not move, her limbs heavy and her mind exhausted from her worry that had now been abated. She knew he would find his way to bed, he always had before, but the tingle in her joints and the increase of her heart beat told her that her body was not as annoyed as she should be.

The bedroom door opened with a thud as it hit the wall behind, the indent from the doorknob leaving a mark in the plaster of ever increasing depth. It was fruitless trying to cover it up now because if it wasn’t one addiction making the door fly open in a sloppy maneuver, it was the desperation of the other sending the cold, round handle into the wall night after night as they tore each other’s clothes off seeking their high.

“Swan?” Killian whispered all too loudly as he stumbled over his boots midway through kicking them off. “Are you awake?” He made it to the edge of the bed, falling forward and only just stopping himself with two flat palms to the mattress.

“I am now,” Emma lied, rolling over to face him. He was merry, not doubt about it, his rosy cheeks and red tipped ears telling her exactly his poison of choice. Rum always made him blush in random places.

“I tried to be quiet,” Killian slurred, swaying side to side as he lifted his knee onto the bed in an ungainly manner. He lost his balance instantly and slammed his foot back to the floor before he toppled over. “Did you make the bed higher?” He mumbled, inspecting the edge of the mattress with a frown.

“No, Killian,” Emma sighed, sitting up and flicking her hair behind her shoulders. She never went to bed with her hair tied up anymore, not since meeting Killian, but it had been months since he had absently run his fingers through it in his sleep and inhaled the soft vanilla scent from her shampoo.

“I like your hair,” Killian grinned at her, eyelids heavy and a boyish smirk plastered across his face. Emma rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head a little. “It’s so…” He paused, trying to find the words, poking his tongue out and sucking behind his teeth until he made a squeaking noise. “...yellow.”

“Yellow?” Emma asked incredulously.

“Aye, like the bug,” Killian smiled at her and it was real, a soft curve of his lips that were slightly parted and told her that he was happy, if only for this moment. He attempted to mount the bed once again, this time victoriously, and shuffled onto his side once he had taken a good two minutes to free his arms from the confines of his leather jacket. He tossed it across the room with little effort and when he ran his hand through his hair, Emma noticed the dried blood adorning his knuckles in the light of the moon.

“You’ve cut your hand,” She said quickly, pulling his hand closer so she could inspect it. The skin on his knuckles had burst open leaving a jagged edged wound in its wake, the fresh, bright red blood still trying to escape through the dried, dark brown crust. Emma leaned over and pulled the toggle switch on one of their bedside lamps, the room erupting in a dim orange glow as soon as the clicking sound filled their ears.

“I’m fine,” Killian shrugged dismissively.

Emma looked up from his hand to meet his gaze and her eyes went wide, the light flooding into her pupils and making her eyes sting. “Killian! You’re hurt!” She shrieked, moving closer, the feather duvet ruffling around her as she did, her eyes roaming over his face. He was beat, there were no bones about that, a purple swell under his right eye keeping his eyelids together and a dried line of blood that had trickled down the side of his face.

“You should see the other guy,” Killian said joyously, giving her a wink. Emma tutted, mostly at herself because as her hand hovered over a freshly reopened wound on his right cheek, she felt a surge of want that scared her. She was fascinated by the patterns of splattered blood on his shirt collar, turning the blue material into a dark maroon colour under ear spot, and she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck.

“Killian, I’m serious,” Emma chastised, enjoying the weight of his hand in hers, even if she shouldn’t under the circumstances. Her mind wandered briefly when he turned their hands over, brushing his thumb over the backside of her knuckles in a move so gentle her heart skipped in her chest and she had to swallow hard.

“So am I,” he said softly, his good eye fluttering closed when Emma’s featherlight fingertips brushed over the split skin next to his hairline.

“Is this all your blood?” Emma asked nervously as her eyes flickered over his face more urgently. Her gaze roamed lower and took in his shirt, top buttons tore off most likely from an opponent who had grabbed at the material. He had some dark red fingerprint type smudges across his neck, half shaped moon bruises there from fingernails and his chest hair glistened with a wet look.

“I’m sure it is not all mine,” Killian announced proudly. “I gave as good as I got, love, trust me.”

Emma flattened her hands out over his shirt, dread setting into her heart when she felt the warm, wet sensation under her fingers and realised that the wet look to his chest hair was in fact blood, his blood, from a wound that had been newly inflicted or was struggling to stem itself under the friction of his shirt. Emma tore at the remainder of his buttons, ripping the edges of his shirt apart in haste.

“Oh my god,” She exclaimed breathlessly, her face turning alabaster and heat prickling her skin when she saw the damage. “Fuck, Killian, you’ve been stabbed!”

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, craning his neck to look down at where Emma was looking. Sure enough, even through blurred vision, Killian could see the irregular circular shape punched into his pec, the flaps of skin around the edges the faintest shade of white under the layer of caked on blood. He lifted his head again, the colour draining from his face in shock. “Well, bugger.”

The hospital was more than understanding and why wouldn’t they believe the word of the local sheriff when she told them her boyfriend was accidentally injured in a bar fight? It probably wasn’t a million miles from the truth, but Killian could not remember how it had happened. A quick call to Will confirmed that there had been an altercation in the bar that, but nothing more than a few pickled slurs and insults that had fizzled out towards closing time. It seemed whoever Killian had ticked off had followed him out back because Will had found a broken bottle by the dumpster, the bottom shattered, bloody fingerprints around the neck and the sharp, pointed edges covered in dried blood.

“You are lucky,” Emma snapped, tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m alright, love,” Killian said with a wince as he shrugged out of his blood stained jacket whilst being mindful of his injury.

“That’s not the point,” Emma bit out, unable to look in his direction. “Not only did you not come home when Will’s closed, but when you did finally fall through the door you were stabbed, Killian! Stabbed!”

“I’m sorry, Swan,” Killian gulped, the last few hours having sobered him up enough that he could see the pain in her posture and the hurt in her voice as it switched between anger and fear. He moved towards her, his bootless feet falling silent on the tile, sidestepping the congealed chocolate he had spilled a few hours ago.

Emma leaned forward, trembling hands clinging to the edge of the marble as the emotion of the whole evening hit her like a freight train. Killian’s hands were on her as soon as the flood gates opened, drawing slow circles over the curve of her shoulder joints with his thumbs as she cried. Emma shook, her whole body wracked with sobs she had been holding in since the moment she discovered the gaping hole in his chest.

“Damn it, Killian!” She cried, slamming a flat palm into the cold, stone surface in front of her.

“I know,” he soothed sympathetically.

“They said you were lucky!” She screeched, turning to face him. He didn’t step back and ignored the pain that shot through his wound with the twist of his arm.

“I know…,” he agreed.

“Half an inch to the right and that bottle would have pierced your heart!” Emma bellowed, her eyes falling to where the dried blood had turned his shirt a dark shade of brown. The hospital had cleaned away most of the blood that had stuck to his chest hair and he had left his shirt open on the way home, so Emma reached out and pressed her fingers against the steady beat of his heart, the skin warm and supple under her touch. She raked her nails over the patch of hair above his heart, millimeters from the tape of the bandage covering the hole in his pec and couldn’t stop the quiver in her lip as the tears tumbled from her eyes. “I could have lost you,” she whimpered, lifting her head to finally face him, the expression of a broken man staring back at her. “I can’t lose you.”

Killian fought the ache in his chest and lifted his arms, pulling her into his embrace, the bandage on his chest quickly soaked by Emma’s tears. “I know,” he sighed sadly, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

There were no words that he could say that would make her feel better. Emma had been stronger than he could have ever been but finally her integrity had shattered into a thousand pieces, all of which he held in his hands, a charge he neither felt qualified or strong enough to uphold. Emma’s fingers clutched at the edges of his shirt as she cried, holding him to her with distress in her wails that he would never forget.

She lifted her head and real fear flashed through her eyes, turning the honey hues into a murky hazel. Killian met her gaze, the silence between them saying everything that they needed to. He recognised the look in her eyes, he had seen it before when Liam had died and she had thought she would lose him to the sharp edge of a razor blade or in a bottle of prescription painkillers. It was primal, urgent and miserable want of the highest degree.

And he felt it too.

“What are we doing to each other?” Killian rasped, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes flickered between hers and her lips.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma commanded on a heaving breath, her fingers curling around the crusty edges of his shirt.

“Emma, I…” Killian began, his sobriety giving him a moment of clarity in this toxic part of their relationship he hadn’t experienced until now. Emma’s hands were on the back of his neck before any more words could escape his mouth, his body ignoring his brain’s objections as soon as their lips met. The kiss was feverish, burning them up from the inside out and making them gasp for oxygen between tastes of tongues, clashes of teeth and the biting of lips.

They had sex differently now. It wasn’t making love so much as fucking, diving into each other until they were drowning in the sounds of pleasure and the smell of their sweat sheened skin invaded their senses. It was hurried, like a race into wretchedness with no winner, a sprint for the finish line that left them elated but never sated.

Killian wanted her, and Emma wanted him. That was all they knew.

When Emma tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling in frustration, Killian growled and it set a switch off inside of Emma. Gone were her tears, gone was her worry that she might never have him again, instead the vacancy in her core replaced with desire, deep and sultry that had her tugging again at the dark locks and biting his bottom lip a little harder than he was used to. He cried out again and tore his lips from hers, dabbing his stinging bottom lip with a fingertip and inspecting it for blood. Killian looked up at her again, confused and aroused, Emma was looking up at him through her eyelashes, her body arching into his and her teeth troubling her bottom lip salaciously. He grinned, the intense throb in his jeans hurting that little bit more than before.

“There’s my pirate,” Emma cooed his nickname, wrapping her fingers around the chain that Killian wore around his neck. He never took it off because it held one of his most prized possessions, Liam’s ring, and she slid her hand down the cool metal links until she had it in her palm.

Killian surged forward, ignoring the sting of pain as he hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel his length through his jeans pressing into the thin material of the pajamas she had neglected to change out of in her panic to get him to the hospital before and it made her groan, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling his already open mouth to hers.

Their kisses were messy, wet and rushed, tongues diving deeper than they ever had before. Emma noticed the distinctly faded taste of a different brand of rum on Killian’s tongue and wondered if he had drunk through Will’s supply already that week, but it was short lived when Killian swiped an extended arm over the kitchen table, ridding it of a few magazines and candles, and them slammed her down on the hard, wooden surface with a grunt. He stood back, a dark hollowness to his stare as he grabbed the waistband of her pants and underwear at the same time and pulled them off in one motion.

“Hurry,” Emma begged wantonly, writhing on the table and watching his hands fumble with the button of his jeans. “I need you,” She purred as she traced circles over her clit, slicking her nectar from her fluttering core and using it as lubrication over the pulsating bundle of nerves. Killian was free in no time, roughly grabbing Emma’s knees as he stepped up to the edge of the table and pulling her to him, his tip stretching her entrance in just the most torturous way.

“I need you too,” Killian said firmly, his entire body shaking from holding himself back. Emma hooked her legs around his back, digging her heels into his spine and pulled him closer, impaling herself with a raging satisfaction.

“So, take me,” She challenged and it was all Killian needed to begin a rhythm with his hips that left her inner walls screaming for more and her body boneless.

He was relentless, gasping for breath and holding her to him as he thrust into her, barely leaving the comfort of her fiery centre for fear he might never find his way back. Emma yelped when he pulled her a little too harshly, hooking his hands behind her knees, his fingernails digging into her flesh so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next day. They would be a reminder, proof of their devotion and a visual description of the actions of their addiction to each other, hidden from friends but they would know they were there.

They would always know they were there.

As with any dependency, their trysts had become stale and they needed more each time in order to find the shining light within each other and feel the relief of a climax as it washed over them. Killian stopped his pounding thrusts when Emma screamed his name in such a way that meant she was close, cruelty he knew, but he wasn’t done with taking her to heaven just yet. Emma whined with a frown, but it was short lived because ignoring the searing pain from the stitches pulling against his freshly torn skin on his chest, Killian pulled her up off the table and into his arms, spinning them and stumbled into the side of the refrigerator.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, clutching the sides of his face and clawing at his cheeks. “More,” she panted, biting his chin and stiffening as he rolled his hips in that perfect way again and again.

“You’ll never lose me,” Killian panted between thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of her naked ass as he leaned his entire weight against the buzzing appliance to hold Emma up. “Never,” he affirmed with a deep, core clenching plunge into her that made Emma bury her face in his neck and squeal with her impending orgasm.

“I’m there,” Emma sighed and she felt Killian grab the top of the refrigerator, pulling himself into her even harder to prolong her pleasure. “Come with me,” she begged, her voice almost as if she was crying, ready to explode on the inside, the approaching light inside of her numbing her senses and taking away her breath as well as her pain. Killian crowed, his legs buckling and giving out from underneath him, the pair of them tumbling to the floor and rolling into the remnants of the hot chocolate long forgotten.

Their bliss wouldn’t last, they both knew that, for tomorrow they would wake up still broken and damaged.

Three months ago

“Hi, Emma. It’s…”

“I’m on my way, Will.”

The phone calls had become more frequent. Killian barely made his own way home anymore and Emma had forgot what it was like to walk or drive during the daylight. In a way she was thankful for Will because she knew he would never call the police if Killian got too much. They had served together, both seen and experienced the same awful things whilst deployed, but somehow Will had the strength inside of him to resist the voice inside of his head. Or maybe he was a ticking time bomb too, just waiting for the day when he would be detonated the way Killian had the day he heard of Liam’s demise.

Everybody had their demons, but it was only those who had been strong for too long that felt the strain.

When Emma had arrived, Killian wasn’t sitting in his usual booth, head hung low in a drunken haze and surrounded by empty glasses. Instead he was pacing the bar area, begging Will for more of the rum to burn away the pain he felt inside, unsatisfied with the glass of water he was waving around as he slurred his distaste towards his friend.

“Hey! Watch it!” A gruff voice boomed above Killian’s banter as the ice cold water spilled from the glass in his hand and instantly soaked into the shirt of the man next to him.

“Yeah? Or what?” Killian growled, slamming the half empty glass onto the highly polished bar.

The man got to his feet immediately, fuelled with rage and reeking of stale ale, and stepped into Killian’s space. Their foreheads were almost touching and in the time it took Emma to move from the entrance, fists were flying between the two men.

Killian took a clenched fist to the face, stumbling backwards only briefly before surging forward once more and grabbing the wet edges of the man’s shirt, pulling him towards him and lunging forward at the same time until he heard the crack of bone on bone and felt the man’s nose give way under his forehead. The man cried out, blood pouring from his nose like a crimson river and Killian took advantage of his dazed state to land another punch to the man’s gut.

“Guys!” Will screamed, hopping over the bar. “Not inside!” He screeched, grabbing Killian’s arm and pulling him backwards. Two other patrons joined his efforts, shoulder barging Killian’s drunken opponent and holding him back.

Killian shook Will off quickly and stumbled on heavy feet back towards the man who was snorting like a bull, droplets of blood on the floor between them and staining the front of his shirt.

“Come on, Jones!” The man encouraged with a blood stained smirk and wriggled free from the grasp of his captors. He grabbed his barstool, lifting the wooden item effortlessly and swinging it at Killian who had no time to move before it collided with his shoulder and he let out an anguished cry, pushing away the remnant of the broken wood and ignoring the sound of Will’s protests as it hit the floor.

“Hey! Hey!” Emma screamed as she stepped between the two men, her face contorting with pain as the man pushed her hard into Killian. It was sudden and Emma saw the flicker of adrenaline fuelled anger flash in Killian’s eyes as he caught her, his hollow stare something she was seeing for the very first time. He had blood smeared across his chin that darkened his stubble and a large splinter of wood had lodged itself in the skin of his cheek, but he was not there. Behind the darkness, he was someone else.

Something else.

Killian pushed Emma aside and she fell into Will’s embrace who had anticipated the outcome of her intervention. The bar erupted with patrons cheering and clapping, the scuffled on stools across the dusty wooden floor echoing in the background as every man leapt to his feet and punched the air when Killian dived for the man once more.

“Jones has to have his girlfriend fight his battles for him!” The man sneered, wiping the back of his hand under his nose and flicking the excess blood from his fingers.

“Say that again!” Killian warned, grabbing the man’s shirt once more just as a few burly men joined Will’s efforts to keep the two men apart.

“Enough!” Will roared as he squeezed between them. He almost got crushed between the bouncers as the two men desperately tried to claw at each other but managed to spin around long enough to give a nod of his head towards the door. “Get out of my bar!” He growled at the man, pushing him towards the exit and making his point with an extended finger. “Get out now!”

“She must be something really special,” he laughed, spitting a mouthful of dark brown blood to the bar floor. “Maybe she is there for the whole unit.” The man looked over Will’s shoulder to Killian who was fuming, the muscles on his jaw twitching and his fists clenched so tightly at his side that his knuckles were white. “She only fuck you military guys, or can any of us have a ride?”

The whole bar fell silent and Killian took advantage of it, slipping from the grasp of the huge balding man whose fingertips had been digging into his chest, rushing towards the foul mouthed man once more and slamming into him so hard that they both tumbled to the floor. No one had time to react and Emma watched as if in slow motion as the two men collided with the dirty floor, Killian straddling the much larger man and pummeling his face with a closed fist.

“Killian! No!” Emma cried, fighting back to tears that stung at her eyelids as she ran towards them. “He’s not worth it!” She pulled at Killian’s shoulders, fingers grabbing at tensed biceps and hanging from his arm as she desperately tried to slow down his assault. After what felt like an eternity the two men were pulled apart and Killian’s tormentor was ejected from the bar covered in his own blood and bruises appearing along the ridges of his face.

All eyes fell on Killian and Emma, both still surging with the rush of what had just happened, so Will ushered them towards the back door quickly. It only opened from the inside and lead to a secluded alleyway out back, the only entrance and exit to which was through the nearby parking lot which is where Will knew Emma would have parked her car.

“Get him home,” Will told her softly, his voice low as he tried to hide the anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Emma told him sheepishly, looking over her shoulder at Killian who had decided to expend some more of his energy kicking a rolling trash can. Will didn’t answer her and Emma completely understood why. How could he? He was put in the middle of his friend, who he owed a great debt from service, and jeopardizing his livelihood.

“Get him help,” Will said sadly, disappearing back into the bar and letting the door close behind him with a creak.

Killian was mumbling to himself when Emma approached him, her arms crossed over her chest as the chill of the night began to creep in through the thin material of her sweater. He could barely stay upright, shuffling backward and forward as he tried to pick a fight with the dumpster. Emma’s temper flared and she reached out and spun him to face her, the motion sending him into a spin and his focus drifting off to one side.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Emma pushed Killian back, flat palms hitting his chest over and over until his back made contact with the dark green dumpster.

“I had it under control!” Killian swatted her hands away and dismissed her concern with a sneer.

“Under control?” Emma laughed at him, planting her hands on her hips.

“Aye,” Killian argued cockily.

“Killian, you have just smashed a man’s face into a blood mess!” Emma screeched, pointing to the door behind them.

“In your defense!” Killian looked at her with a frown, clearly confused in his drunken state as to why she hadn’t found his actions heroic.

“Killian…” Emma began with a sigh, a trembling hand running over her brow as she looked to her feet.

“Oh, here we go,” Killian spat, stumbling sideways and steadying himself against the cold metal bin. “Here comes the great Emma Swan lecture!”

Emma’s head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at him angrily. The blood on his face had been mostly wiped away in the fight, a few specks still littering the tips of his ears and the cut on his cheek from the first blow had dried and messily sealed itself closed. They had begun to repeat this dance more often nowadays and it was starting to make Emma feel empty. They would insult each other, throw words neither of them really meant back and forth, fuelled by her tenacity and his alcoholism until they both regretted it or needed something else.

And it was always something else. Something else that Emma was fighting her own battles to avoid.

“What’s wrong, Swan, lost for words?” He grumbled at her spitefully.

“I’m not going to fight with you, Killian,” Emma said calmly, stepping away from him.

“Oh come now, love,” he chuckled darkly, holding out his hand in invitation. “You know how this ends. We might as well skip to the big finale.” He stepped forward, cupping his blood encrusted hand around Emma’s elbow.

“You are an addict,” Emma said softly, watching the scuffed toe of her boot kick at her reflection in the puddle before her. She didn’t even recognise the person staring back at her anymore.

“So are you,” Killian looked down at his own reflection joining hers in the murky water. “We are just addicted to different things.”

“Are we, though?” Emma lifted her head up to look at him. There was nothing behind his expression, his eyes void of any sign of the man that Emma had met. She knew he was in there, somewhere, but he couldn’t fight his way to the surface when it was easier to shrink away from the light. It was easier for both of them.

“I can’t quit you,” Emma said, her vice quaking. “And you know it.”

“Is that so wrong?” Killian tugged her elbow gently, pulling her towards him.

“It’s not right,” Emma moved back again but he stopped her, the grip on her elbow tightening.

“Let’s go back there,” Killian cooed, ignoring Emma’s resistance and closing the gap between them. He dipped his head a little and felt Emma’s body relax into his when he skimmed his lips over the shell of her ear. “We don’t have to feel this way. We can fix it,” he whispered into her ear, carding his fingers through the softness of her hair and cradling her head in his hand.

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and as soon as he pressed his lips to the pulse in her neck she was halfway to being lost. Her mind screamed no but her body was ignoring the protest, something she knew Killian recognised when she felt him smirk against the quickening rush of blood and her breath escaped her mouth on a betraying sigh.

“Let me take you there, Emma,” Killian rasped, his arms circling around her body and holding her to him, his mouth planting hot, wet kisses up the front of her throat when her head tilted back involuntarily and a soft whine escaped her throat.

“N...No…” Emma choked out, stiffening her arms and pushing against Killian’s chest.

“Yes,” Killian nuzzled against her face, their noses pressed side by side, his breath laden with the stench of too much booze.

“We shouldn’t…” Emma sighed breathlessly when Killian nibbled her lower lip. Her hands smoothed up his shirt, fingers curling around the disheveled material of his collar, still askew from the tussle in the bar. Her skin itched for his touch, her judgement clouded by the sweep of his strong hands over the curve of her behind.

“So, make me stop,” Killian challenged weakly when he felt Emma’s grip on his shirt relax a little and her body arch into his. He flattened his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer once more, pressing an open mouth kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“Stop,” Emma gasped, swallowing hard and feeling the prickle of his stubble against the bob in her throat. “Killian, stop.” Emma pushed once more against his chest, harder than before and Killian let his hands slip from her body as he took a few disorientated steps backwards.

“Don’t you want this?” He squeaked, his body raging with arousal and his emotions edging on the verge of anger once more. He frowned at her standing before him, staring down into the gentle ripple of the water filled pothole between them. When she didn’t respond, and the pounding of blood in his ears became too much, Killian snapped. “I want this! It’s all I have left.”

“Killian, we can’t…”

“Can’t what, Emma?” He raised his voice, her name on his lips changed from seconds ago when he was muttering it against her skin with passion. Now it was filled with a desperation that she recognised completely because she felt it too. “I want you, Emma. You can make me forget, if only for a few hours. Why won’t you do that for me?”

“Don’t,” Emma warned, the tears welling up in her eyes and burning until she blinked them away. “Don’t make this about you and what you need.”

“Why not?” Killian seethed. “I’m an addict, right? Are we not the most selfish people?”

“It’s not that,” Emma whispered, wiping away her tears with the heel of her palm.

“Then what, Emma?” Killian yelled, staggering sideways and stumbling backwards until his shoulders bumped into the cold brickwork on the opposite building. “Tell me,” he begged, his tone softening when he saw her tears spill over her cheeks.

“It’s what I want!” Emma screamed, her resolve breaking into a million tiny shards that mirrored the state of her heart. Killian was silent, his sudden intake of breath the only sound between them. “I want to get lost in you, Killian. I want to fuck you until I fall, and it scares me.”

“Why does it scare you?” He asked softly.

“Because you are already lost,” Emma sniveled. “You fell a long time ago and I am all that is tethering you to reality right now. I see it, Killian, but you don’t. And I am not sure how many more times we can chase away the darkness inside of us before I can’t get back.”

“And that scares you most?” Killian said sadly, slumping against the brickwork even harder and hanging his head limply.

“It doesn’t scare you?” Emma cried with a watery voice, small and meek from her tears.

“Of course it does,” Killian scoffed with a slight sway. He pushed himself from the wall, his head spinning a little as he struggled to stay upright. “I cannot fathom that you would think so little of me that you would believe I would chase the high of an orgasm without a single thought of what it was doing to you each time!”

Emma sniffed, pulling the material of her sweater down over her hand and swiping the rough material under her eyes and her nose. “Do you?”

“How can you ask me that? Of course I do,” Killian soothed her worries instantly without a second of hesitation. “It’s all I think about. In that moment, when the light floods in and I am at peace, I wonder if you have made it too, if you feel it too, if we are both together in the one place that finally makes us feel whole.”

“You do?” Emma said weakly. She needed to hear it again.

“I do!” Killian shouted exasperated. “Emma, I might be a drunk but I am not an utter bastard. I know you are hurting too, and you need to get there as much as I do. Why are you fighting it?”

“I’m scared,” Emma whimpered so softly Killian struggled to hear her child like voice over the roar of a car passing by the blocked off exit to the alley way. Killian looked at her, really stared into her eyes and when he offered her a feeble sideways smile she saw a glimpse of the man she had fallen in love with before he had been changed forever. She trusted that man, trusted that he would never hurt her and would make sure she was always safe. That was the Killian she wanted.

“I will bring you back,” Killian nodded slowly and took a tentative step towards her once more. “I promise, you will not get lost.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Emma’s lips were on his. She didn’t care that he was a slowly sobering drunk because in that second and with those words, he was her Killian again. And she knew, with the clashing of teeth and the surge of heat over her entire body, that he was right and he would keep his word.

“It’s bad form to lie to a lady,” Emma reminded him as she flattened her hands to his chest and pushed him hard, his feet struggling to stop his weight falling against the wall behind him with a grunt.

“I would never,” Killian shook his head and reached for her hands, holding them against his chest and pulling her with him as he fell backward. In a split second Emma’s hands were on the buckle of his belt, wrenching the leather through the metal fastening harshly as Killian dropped his sleepy gaze between them to watch her deft fingers at work on the button and fly of his jeans.

“Say it again,” Emma commanded, reaching into his boxers and gripping the hardness that had sprung to life there. Killian took a second to swallow, her actions and alcohol stealing his thought process before he finally snaked his hands between them and tugged at the fastening of her jeans.

“I promise,” he rasped, pushing the stiff material down her legs awkwardly and helping her free one leg by stepping on the material at her feet. Emma cupped his face in her hands, licking her lips and crushing them to his with a feverish intensity that had been building inside of her since she witnessed him strike another human being. It wasn’t supposed to be arousing, but damn if it hadn’t sparked a flame inside of her that had been snuffed out long ago.

Emma clawed at the back of his head, fingernails scratching through the soft hair that was standing to attention there, holding his face to hers as she kissed him eagerly. Killian parted his lips, a groan escaping from his throat, and Emma’s tongue immediately found his, brushing over the muscle and finding the ridges of his teeth with each swipe. Killian tasted so familiar in his drunken state that for a nanosecond Emma worried she might never remember what he tasted like sober ever again.

She yelped, her skin becoming tight over her bones and the pooling heat between her legs contrasting the chill of the foggy night. It was damp, the low cloud in the air surrounding them without warning, making it harder to breathe between kisses and the clashing of teeth. Charged with an urgency that made his cock twitch, Killian spun them around and back Emma towards the wall, hands roaming to the swell of her behind and lifting her into his arms before her back had even hit the bricks.

Emma’s legs wrapped around his waist, her jeans getting tangled up around her other ankle and almost tying her legs together at the base of his spine. Killian reached between them, sliding a finger through the liquid warmth that had become exposed by her opening of her legs and relished in the strangled gasp that came from deep within her when he found her clit.

“There’s my girl,” Killian rasped against her face, a playful smirk spreading across his features. Emma barely heard him, the ringing in her ears deafening as she felt his fingers toying with her nerve bundle, slicking over her juices and teasing her entrance with the tip of his solidness. He had let her slide down the rough wall, mindful not to hurt her, and slipped in just the tip of his throbbing erection.

“Don’t tease me,” Emma whimpered, clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Where is the fun in giving you what you seek immediately?” Killian teased, rocking his hips forward until he was half buried inside of her. Emma’s back arched from the wall and she ground her teeth, jaw clenching and eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

“Just fuck me, Killian,” she begged, eyes opening to meet his darkened stare. Tiny beads of sweat had formed along his brow line, even in the cold night air, and Emma licked her lips salaciously. “I know you want this as much as I do.”

“You feel amazing,” Killian breathed, rolling his forehead against hers, skin sticking to skin and the gentle throb of Emma’s muscles pulling at him, begging him to go deeper, explore the depth of her with his hardness.

A door nearby opened, yellow light spilling out into the alley way and they froze, so close and yet so far from becoming one in the shadows. Emma slipped a little, impaling herself accidentally and clenched around him involuntarily when the sadistic burn of the sudden stretch made her call out his name. Killian clamped his hand over her mouth, shushing her quiet as the tips of his ears pinked and his legs shook from the sudden sensation around his erection. After what felt like an eternity the door closed again, the light disappearing and shrouding them in darkness once more. What breath they had been holding in was expelled and Killian released his grip, sliding his fingers down the chords of Emma’s neck and enjoying the feel of her quickened pulse pounding against his fingertips.

“What?” Emma purred softly when she noticed he was staring directly at his own hand loosely gripping her throat.

“I know how to make you feel better than you ever have,” Killian growled darkly. His grip tightened around her neck and Emma suppressed a squeak when he pulled himself out of her and then thrust his hips forcefully. He did it again, and again, the rhythm of his hips matching the thumping of Emma’s life force under the clutches of his fingers as he pressed harder against her neck, closing off her windpipe and ignoring the way her voice sounded so different as she begged for more.

Unable to see properly, Emma reached out to grab whatever she could find. A handful of hair, the shape of his ear, the collar of his shirt, anything. Blurring vision was nothing new to her as her pleasure peaked, but what was new was how with the deprivation of oxygen, Emma’s brain had somehow transported her into her euphoria much earlier than before.

“Don’t stop,” she squeaked, fisting a clump of Killian’s hair between her fingers and pulling his face to hers. Killian’s lips on her were like fire, branding her subconscious with the feel of bliss only he could provide. Her body went limp, pounded against the sharp edged bricks behind her by Killian’s relentless thrusts. There was no sound when she came, only the burn of his lips on hers as he kissed her slightly open mouth and the sting of his fingernails as they dug into the delicate skin of her neck.

Her rapture was there and it lasted longer than she had ever experienced before, the blinding white light she only ever saw a flash of taking over her entire being and transporting her to another place. She was deaf and she was blind but she was warm in this place, and she felt loved. In that moment she was free once more but dependant on the journey that got her there.

Emma knew in that moment that it would be much harder to get clean.

Two months ago

There were certain times when Killian never went out to drink and those were the happier times, when Emma felt like they might be like they once were. His beloved soccer team’s semi-final match against their biggest rival was one of those times, however, he was never far from the bitterness of an alcoholic beverage. The game hadn’t even reached half time yet and he had already plowed his way through a six pack, the bottles still wet on the outside from the condensation that had not had time to evaporate.

It was a rare occurrence for both of them to be home at the same time. Killian often worked late, heading straight to Will’s bar, and if he was home early, Emma nearly always had a late shift at the precinct that meant they would not cross paths again until the next day. Knowing he would be home because of the game meant Emma could arrange this evening, spend some time together, just the two of them, and hopefully begin to mend the pieces of their relationship.

It wasn’t exactly that their relationship was completely broken, but neither could deny that it was cracking and coming apart because of their ignorance to their own destruction. But tonight, Emma had a plan, to secure the edges of their love before it split and frayed beyond salvation.

And it began with interrupting the half time interlude dressed in only lingerie.

“Oh, Killian…” Emma sang, walking down the stairs as silently as her bare feet would allow on the wooden steps.

“Hmm?” He grunted, gulping another mouthful of beer from a new bottle and frowned at some slow motion replay on the screen with a disgruntled noise.

“Are you busy?” Emma cooed sweetly, padding across the floor and letting her fingers trail along the back of the couch where he was sitting. She stepped sideways, her freshly shaved legs smooth as they rubbed against each other. It wasn’t the only thing that Emma had rid of all hair and her lips quirked up at the corners at the thought of Killian seeing her.

“No, It’s half time,” He mumbled against the cold, glass lip of the bottle in his hand. He was slouched back into the cushions, his shirt having been discarded in excitement over a goal, and his lounge pants slung low on his hips. Hair covered his entire torso, the droplets of water from the outside of his beer sitting in tiny bubbles on the thatch that poked out of his waistband, and as she walked past Emma couldn’t help but rake her nails over his shoulders.

“Oh good,” she purred, reaching the end of the couch and stepping into his peripheral . She knew he could see her. His stomach caved in from his intake of air and he almost choked on the swig of beer in his mouth, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and turning to look at her with a slack jawed expression.

“Fuck me, Swan,” he stammered, fingers gripping the bottle in his hand so tightly his fingernail beds turned pink under the hard surface.

“That’s the plan.” Emma sauntered around the couch until she was standing before him. He licked his lips and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, eyes roaming over her dressed in a brand new piece of lingerie he had never seen before. It was stunning, a blood red corset made of bone and lace that left nothing to the imagination, hidden underneath a sheer black long sleeve gown, but it’s most defining feature was a black lace halter neck choker that made Killian grin salaciously.

“Nice outfit,” he smirked, bouncing the balls of his feet on the carpet in front of him, fidgeting as blood rushed to his groin.

“Oh, this old thing?” Emma rolled her eyes, flicking her loosely curled hair over the back of her shoulder.

“That is not old,” Killian bit his bottom lip, his eyebrow bobbing up his forehead. He motioned towards her with the beer bottle, extending his arm.

“How can you be so sure?” Emma took a step forward, shrugging her shoulders and letting the gown silently flutter to the ground behind her.

Killian took another swig of his beer, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Emma the whole time. “I would have noticed,” he said smugly.

Emma tilted her head to her chin, looking down her torso, barely able to see her feet over the balconette bustier that so comfortably housed her ample breasts. “You like it?” She blinked, opening her eyes to meet his once more without lifting her head. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, turning the plump skin white as she bit down, and she swivelled her hips sideways.

Killian’s gaze drifted to the profile of her ass, the skin bare and the string of her thong disappearing between her cheeks. It took everything he had to keep his hand on the bottle and not reach for her curves, his fingers itching with the memory of how she felt under his touch. He flexed his fingers, rubbing his hand along his thigh and hating the way the cotton of his pants felt nothing like her skin. With one last chug of his beer the bottle was empty, and he swallowed hard, a tiny droplet escaping his lips and rolling down the lengthening hair of his beard. All he could do was exhale, hard and forced, his chest heaving in another breath.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Emma smirked, giving him a wink and slipping out of his view towards the stairs. He sat still, composing himself she was sure, until she heard the thud of the empty bottle against the coffee table and then silence as he switched the game off. Emma lifted her leg onto the first step, turning back to offer him a coy smile. “Are you just going to sit there all night?” She teased as she ascended the stairs.

For a man who was already half cut, Killian moved like a rocket, springing to his feet and bolting across the space between them in less than three strides. Emma squeaked, feet pounding the stairs as she ran, pulling herself on the handrail to increase her speed. When Killian stumbled she giggled and took advantage of the distance she manage to put between them, flying through their bedroom door and turning to face him just as she reached their bed. Killian made it to the door and leaned on the frame, muscles bulging at his biceps and breathing heavily, his hair flopped over his forehead, the grin he had been wearing now replaced with a feral, cat like stare.

He was stalking her like prey and Emma had never felt so exhilarated.

“You are a siren,” he said accusingly, reaching up to scratch at his almost full length beard. It sported a few grey hairs, streaks of white mixed in with his usual gingery hues that accented the silver that had formed over his pointed ears.

“And you are too slow,” Emma rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, hands on her hips. “Must be the grey,” she winked.

Killian took a step into the room, straightening up and reaching for the door. He wrapped his fingers around the hard, wooden panel and slammed it closed behind him, smirking when Emma jumped a little with anticipation. “Silver fox, right?” He whispered darkly as he approached.

Emma nodded, letting her eyes roam over his naked torso once more. Her skin hummed as he approached and a soft whimper fell from her mouth as she noticed his arousal tenting his pants. He stopped inches from her and his manly scent invaded every one of her senses immediately, making the blood pound in her ears and her core ache.

“Don’t they mate for life?” Killian purred, his breath hot on her face. He pushed his hands into the side of his loungewear, pushing the material down over his thighs and letting them pool at his feet. She swallowed hard, not caring that her plan had been turned around on her, and rubbed her thighs together to alleviate the tension between her legs.

Completely naked, Killian was exposed. It had been so long since they had played this sort of game, made love, seen each other naked even, and her eyes flitted over his scars. They were everywhere, littering his body and a constant reminder of what had happened to him overseas, and Emma had forgotten how many he actually had. She didn’t care, he was exactly how she wanted him, each divot, rippled and raised bit of flesh a trophy of how hard he had fought to get back to her.

Emma lifted her gaze, fixing her stare into the oceanic depths of Killian’s eyes. “Forever,” she whispered.

He paused, his heart stopping for a second as he comprehended her words. He looked away sheepishly and gulped. “After everything?”

“Killian, please, don’t,” Emma said softly, closing the gap between them and pressing herself against the firmness of his chest. Her fingers tangled themselves in his beard, curling into the wiry hair and gently tugging his face up to look at her once more. “Don’t. Not tonight. Let’s just…”

“I know,” He said with a weak smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re right,” Emma laughed, pushing herself from his body and watching his expression change instantly. It became more playful, his eyebrow jumping up on his face and his cock twitched back to life. “I should just…” She turned from him, still feeling his eyes burning into her back. She reached at her side and pulled down the zip of the corset agonizingly slowly, the clicking sound almost lost over Killian’s groan of frustration. “...take this off,” Emma dropped the barely there lace corset to the floor and peeked over her shoulder.

“Bloody Hell,” Killian ground out through a clenched jaw.

“And maybe this?” Emma hooked her thumbs into the waistband strap of her thong, teasing the material down over the curve of her ass and watching Killian’s resolve slowly disappear. He was so worked up she could practically see his heart thundering in his chest, vibrating his chest hair and making his skin come to life.

“Maybe I could help?” Killian growled, his feet planted to the floor, his whole body paralyzed when Emma bent over as she pushed the material to her knees, letting it go and fall the rest of the way unaided. She stretched forward over the bed and a moan tumbled from her lips when her nipples brushed the comforter and sent them into rock hard peaks. Emma slithered across the top of the sheets, careful to keep her legs closed, and gave him another sultry look over her shoulder.

“I can think of a much better way you can help me,” Emma purred, rolling over onto her back and palming her breasts. “Do you want to know how?” She cooed, beckoning him with a finger.

Killian just growled again, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he crawled up onto the bed and over her naked form. Emma sucked in a breath, carding her fingers into his beard again and leveling his gaze with hers. He hovered above her, his body not touching hers but both of them could feel the electricity radiating from their skin, shocking the others to attention. “I know exactly how,” he said teasing her bottom lip with his, offering her the softness of his lips only to tear it away at the last second.

Emma grinned, clawing the sides of his face and arching her back off of the bed, desperate to feel his thatched chest tickling her sensitive nipples. Killian moved back, denying her pleasure with a sly smirk. “Roll over,” he rasped, finally pressing his lips to hers, quickly giving her a taunting kiss that he knew would leave her wanting more. She chased his lips when he pulled away, pouting her bottom lip out with a sulk.

“You’re a bad boy,” Emma chuckled playfully as she turned, resting her body on its side. Killian moved into the space behind her, his erection rubbing the crease of her ass and his lips finding the skin of her shoulder, sucking the flesh into a purple bruise almost immediately.

“You have no idea,” Killian whispered, his nose nuzzled into the space behind her ear and making the hairs there stand to attention with his words. They were enough to send her body into a shiver that was only eased by the huge arms wrapped around her and his hands trailing down the curve of her breasts and over the jut of her hips. Resting completely in his embrace, head on his bicep and with no space between them, Emma felt more loved than she had in a long time.

“What are you going to do to me?” Emma begged, feigning innocence. She knew exactly what he was going to do, she had known from the second he pressed his body to hers and had ghosted his hand over her stomach, moving lower but never touching where she wanted him to the most. Killian inserted his hand between her clenched thighs and lifted her leg back and over his hip, the half excited half impeded moan that left Emma’s mouth instantly surging to his groin.

“I’m going to…” he began darkly against the side of her face, his breath almost louder than his words. Killian slid his fingers down her inner thigh, so close to her exposed bundle of nerves that Emma tried to clamp her thighs around his hand but Killian stopped her by pulling her leg back onto his hip.

“Killian, please,” Emma whined, moving his arm she was laying on so that he was cradling one of her breasts in his hand.

“I can smell you,” he said gruffly, kneading the flesh in his palm. “You are so wet I can practically taste you, Swan.”

“Please…” Emma writhed again, the tightness between her open thighs a cruel torture that only Killian could devise. He angled his hips and his length smoothed over her entrance, poking at her clit before he withdrew and the sensation disappeared. Emma gasped and Killian held her tighter, repeating his thrust but never entering her. The angle was perfect, the ultra responsive nerve endings just inside of her exposed to his assault every time he rolled his hips.

“What do you want, Emma?” He panted into her ear, his voice like fire, licking at her need and burning away her insides.

“You,” she almost cried, the feel on his length sliding over her entrance becoming too much too quickly. She was so close and he hadn’t even entered her yet. “I want you.”

Killian reached between her legs, enjoying the gasp from her lips as he purposely brushed the heel of his palm over her clit and helped himself in. Her warmth sucked him in, tight and slick, and it finally felt like they were on their way home. Only, as soon as he began to move, the darkness inside of Emma reared its head and her body cried out for more of the self deprecating behaviour she craved.

“Choke me,” she whimpered between his thrusts, turning her head to catch his eye. Killian slowed him movements, sweat beading his forehead under the flop of his fringe as he fought to compose himself. Even her slightest movements were sending him towards the brightness of climax and he was a little confused by her words, his brow knitting together and he shook.

“Are you sure?” He gasped, his balls tightening at the mere mention of her words.

“Do it,” Emma moved his arm from her bosom until his hand was on her throat, the relief washing over her instantly. She felt like she could finally let go, let herself bathe in the brilliance only he could bring her, and when his grip tightened, her eyes rolled back in her head and she felt her entire body go limp in his grasp. “Don’t stop until I’m there,” she told him firmly as he began to move once more.

“I won’t,” Killian promised through a grunt, hips pistoning into her. The hand around her neck grew tighter, fingertips creating a line of inevitable bruises, the pain receptors under each sparking to life. Emma’s mouth fell open even wider as she gasped, her lungs burning with every breath, the lack of oxygen sending her into a panic that translated into pleasure everywhere else in her body.

Killian doubled his efforts, muscles bulging around her shoulders as he pulled her head to his chest, eager to give her the enlightenment she desired. Emma felt faint, the edges of her vision blurring and the heaviness in her limbs disappearing. Her lips tingled and the feeling in her legs disappeared, travelling up her body until with a frown she could feel nothing else and was shrouded in black.

There was no light where she was.

No warmth or comfort, just bleakness and the cold.

The deafening sound of silence, the empty expanse of her mind engulfing her completely.

“Emma!” She heard Killian shout but his voice was distant and muffled like he was underwater. She was floating, specks of light pricking behind her eyes each time she heard her name. “Emma! Baby, wake up!” Killian’s voice grew louder and she felt herself get pulled into a different position, a huge flat palm gently tapping the side of her cheek. “Come on, Emma, come back to me.”

She gasped, like she had erupted from the surface of a lake where she was surely drowning, inhaling hard and coughing as her eyes flew open and she clawed out at nothing. She felt flesh and hair, her hand colliding with what she assumed was Killian’s face as she blinked her vision into clarity.

“Emma!” Killian screamed, his voice full of relief. He bundled her spluttering figure, somewhat tinier than before, into his arms, holding her across his lap and rocking her back and forth like he was soothing a child. “Oh my God,” he whispered, lips pressed to her hairline, the words muffled against her skin.

“What...what happened?” Emma rasped, her voice physically changed and deeper. She was confused and her head pounded with a migraine like nothing she had ever felt before. She winced, closing her eyes to block out the glow of the bedroom lamp overhead.

“I am so sorry,” Killian whimpered, almost crying.

“Killian…” Emma choked out again, ignoring the scratch in her throat as she swallowed awkwardly. “What happened?” She repeated, stilling his rocking motion when she tried to sit up out of his embrace.

“I...you…” Killian stammered, his breath hitching between words. “I…” he tried again, his face screwing up as his emotion got too much for him and his tears spilled out of his eyelids. He buried his face in his hands, the sounds he made similar to when he had found out Liam was dead, like an animal caught in a trap in the most excruciating pain.

“Hey, hey,” Emma grabbed his hands instantly, pulling them from his face and cradling his head in her hands. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her own voice catching in her throat.

Killian launched himself into her arms, pulling her to him tightly as best he could in their sitting position on the bed, and Emma felt the tension leave him on a breath. “I didn’t mean to…” he sobbed into her shoulder, licking the tears from his lips quickly and holding the back of her head like it was a precious stone. “You passed out, Emma,” he pulled back from her and wiped away his tears with the knuckle of his thumb, pushing the skin of his cheek across his face until it was dry. “What if you…What if I had...” He paused, pinching his eyes closed and chasing away the thought of losing her at his own hand. “We went too far.”

Emma sat in silence, looking at the panicked look of his confession, the searing pain of his still visible handprint branding her neck. He was right, they had taken things too far this time. They had been dancing at the edge of darkness unaffected for too long, their reward worth much more than the risks, only now they had fallen into the depths and there was no beacon to guide them home.

“I’m okay,” Emma assured him again but she knew it was a lie. Things had changed between them and she knew that they had to change.

One month ago

For the last four weeks, there had been a tension between them. Emma knew it was her fault to a degree. She had pushed Killian too far, helped him cross a line he had promised he never would, all because she selfishly wanted her escapism in the form of her high. She craved it, still, but had forced herself to quit cold turkey from that day, the thick, purple hand mark around her throat a constant reminder of why. Killian had felt the most guilt, ramping up his drinking habits almost immediately, his rage increasing overnight with his feelings of inadequacy.

Emma had gone from seducing him to turning away, shying from his affections because she was petrified of needing more. She didn’t understand her addiction and couldn’t fathom how or when she had become so dependant on the release Killian could give her. All she knew was that it was something they needed to fix together but Emma was struggling to reach Killian and make him see that they needed help. Like any dependant, he thought he could fix things himself and they did not need the intervention of an outside party.

If Emma had only known how the rest of the day was going to pan out.

That morning they had talked a little about dinner and Emma had agreed to cook some sort of slow cooked casserole as it was one of Killian's favourites. A good, hearty, warming meal was just what they needed as the bitterness in the air had begun to creep in earlier in the evenings, Killian’s late night bar antics leaving him vulnerable to the cold. Alcohol had a way of tricking the brain into thinking the body was warm, so when he promised he would make a start on their fix by arriving home before dinner, Emma threw herself into prep.

When she heard the key turn in the door before nine that night, she smiled to herself, a real joy washing over her as she idly chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Maybe they could be saved after all.

“Swan?” Killian called, like so many other nights her had returned home. It was like he needed to hear her voice, make sure he had made it home and she was still there.

“In the kitchen,” Emma called back, fixing her gaze on the vegetable she was chopping, careful not to slip and cut herself. She heard him stumble in the foyer, grumbling to himself when he struggled to toe off his boots, and she lost her smile immediately. “How was work?” She called softly.

“Same old, same old,” Killian grunted, leaning against the dining table after he had appeared in the kitchen. His shirt was dishevelled yet again, his hair and beard unruly and as he shrugged off his jacket, Emma saw the pink tinge to his knuckles.

“How are your colleagues?” Emma prompted, averting her eyes back to her chopping.

“Chatty,” Killian bit out, evidently angry about something. It took everything Emma had not to turn around and comfort him the way she had been, the way they had been comforting each other, and as if reading her mind, Killian scoffed, a sound of disgust leaving the back of his throat in a guttural tone. “You want to make them stop?”

Emma stopped her chopping, resting the knife on the countertop and turning to face him, her arms folded over her chest and her feet crossed at the ankles. She was wearing just a pair of leggings, warm but practical with a pair of thick, slipper style socks and a small plain tee. She sighed a little, looking down at her wiggling toes. “You know I can’t do that.”

“That’s right,” Killian sneered. “You got better.”

“I didn’t get better,” Emma snapped, tightening her arms across her chest defensively. “I got wise.”

“Wise?” Killian laughed maniacally. “To me?”

“To us,” Emma said firmly, staring him down.

“Oh, I see,” Killian raised his voice, stepping towards her and wobbling a little on unsteady feet. “You don’t need your fix anymore so you don’t need me anymore,” he spat, jabbing an accusing finger at her.

“That’s not it,” Emma said calmly.

“Isn’t it?” Killian arched his neck, looking down at her suspiciously. “We don’t have sex anymore,” she shrugged, waving his hands around as if an audience was listening to him. “You haven’t kissed me in days, Emma. Fuck, we don’t even talk anymore!”

“We talk,” Emma nodded but he cut her off with another disapproving scoffing noise.

“Barely!” He squeaked, his volume rising a bit more.

“Look, it’s not my fault you are drunk all of the time! How am I supposed to talk to you, Killian? Tell me that. How am I supposed to talk to you when you are so full of rum you reek of the stuff!” It was Emma’s turn to shout now, her anger rising like bile in her throat.

“Oh, right, but it was okay for you to take what you wanted, huh?” Killian took a last step in her direction, his breath sour and bitter against her face as he shouted. “You didn’t seem to mind what I smelled like as long as you got what you needed!”

Emma barely lifted her head, looking at him with just the movement of her eyes. “Don’t,” she warned him, her voice low and her jaw clenched.

“Don’t what, Emma?” Killian boomed. “Don’t tell you the truth?” He laughed, shaking his head and little. “You get angry at me because you know I am right, and you can’t get angry at yourself. You are a fucking hypocrite, and you know it.”

“So what if I am?” Emma screamed at him, her cheeks flushing with prickles of red and her ear tips burning. He was standing so close to her she could practically feel him on her skin. “At least I realised it was wrong.”

Killian laughed, throwing his head back and planting his hands on his hips. It was a fake laughter, forced and evil, and it made Emma feel so small the sting of tears pricked at her eyelids. “Emma, you were willing to almost die to get your high. Don’t lecture me about what is wrong.”

“Drinking is not the same as sex,” Killian huffed. “You used me for your own emotional gain, and for what? Did it fix any of your damn problems, huh? Did it bring Liam back? No. We are still fucked up.”

A silence fell between them, the sound of their rapid heartbeats pounding in their ears on each breath. Emma stared at her feet, gripping the counter behind her for some sort of stability, Killian’s words cutting into her deeper than he probably realised. Killian moved first, stepping to the side with a disgusted shake of his head, and pulled open the cabinet behind her.

“What are you doing?” Emma snapped spitefully.

“Getting a drink,” Killian’s hand reappeared with a half consumed bottle of dark rum clutched tightly in his fingers. He slammed the door and Emma jumped, her eyes pinching closed and a feeling of dread seeping into her chest. She swallowed hard, watching the man she no longer recognised pull the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spit it across the room. He tossed his head back as he drank hungrily, finishing the rest of the bottle before he even needed to breathe.

“Is that necessary?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him.

“With all this judgement?” Killian quipped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Absolutely!” He sang, slamming the empty bottle on the counter.

“You’re a bastard,” Emma snivelled, the lump in her throat making her voice squeak and her lip tremble.

“Finally!” He roared, again addressing his invisible audience. “I was wondering how long it would take you to cry!”

“Fuck you, Killian!” Emma shouted at him, leaning forward and smacking him hard in the chest. She knew the wounds from the bar fight were healed in the upper layers but they had taken longer in the sub layers of his skin and they were sore. He winced, rolling his shoulder backwards to absorb some of the blow, but giving her a cock sure grin that sent her into a further rage.

“You don’t like to hear the truth, do you Swan?” He jabbed. “You know I am right and it tears you up that a fucking drunk can see what you can’t!”

“You don’t know shit about the truth!” Emma screeched, fists balled at her sides.

“I know you hurt, we both did, and I know that the only way you could make it disappear was to fuck. How many times did we fuck for that reason, Emma? How many times did you use me?” Killian stepped back into her space again, eyes roaming over her tight fitting clothes that accented all of the curves of her body. He reached out his hand and let his fingers rest on her hip but Emma stepped back.

“Get off of me,” she sobbed, her voice low and full of rage, her back hitting the counter as she pulled away.

“Come on,” Killian jeered, trapping her against the counter with the weight of his body. “Don’t fight me, Swan. I know you are hurting now,” he said sickly sweet, his eyes watching his hand as he ran his knuckles down the curve of her cheek to wipe away her tears. Emma turned her face away, her nose turning up when the smell of stale smoke and ales filled her nostrils. “I can make it go away.”

“Killian, no,” Emma said firmly, planting her hands on his chest but unable to move him backward.

“Just think about how it will feel,” Killian purred against the side of her face, fingers gripping her lower jaw and turning her face back to his. The fear in her eyes set him alight and Emma felt him harden in his jeans, his erection pressing into her groin and evident through her leggings. “I know you want to feel.”

“No,” Emma said again, her resolve firm. “Not like this.”

“This is exactly how you made me feel,” Killian growled, releasing her jaw and reaching between them to fumble with the button of his jeans. Emma’s breath hitched in her throat, heat and sweat tingling at the base of her spine with panic. He grabbed her hand and shoved it into his boxers, closing her fingers around his length and giving himself a few strokes, his blunt fingers digging into her wrist so hard she cried in pain as she tried to pull away. “Used. Worthless. Like nothing,” Killian grunted, stroking himself harder with Emma’s hand.

“You are worthless!” Emma shouted at him and he paused his movements, mouth agape and glassy eyes darkened with fury. She pulled her hand free and pushed against his chest again, his body giving a little under her assault which made him take a shaky step back. “You are nothing!” Emma spat.

“You ungrateful cunt!” Killian seethed, surging forward and grabbing her by the throat with both hands. Emma screamed in fear, cowering away from his touch and raising her arms to defend herself. “I gave you everything and you won’t even give me this one little thing!” He sneered, sliding his hands to her shoulders and spinning her away from him.

“Help!” Emma called out, her cries falling on deaf ears. It was Friday night and their neighbours would be out for dinner or some other such activity. They were alone. She was alone.

Killian leaned his entire weight onto her back, pressing his elbow into the space between her shoulder blades until Emma had no choice but to lay face down on the cold countertop. Her tears pooled under her cheek, Killian’s hand holding the back of her head so tightly and making sure she was trapped. “If you won't give it to me,” he slurred darkly, grabbing the back of Emma’s leggings and pulling them and her panties down over her behind in one rough action that made her flush hot with horror. “I’ll take it!”

Emma was dreaming. She had to be. There was no way that the man she loved and had loved for over half her life would do this to her. There was no way that Killian Jones would let himself be so blinded by resentment, be so livid, that he would take it out on the woman he loved. Emma was terrified, the events unfolding in slow motion and the sounds of his hateful rant overwhelmed by the buzz in her ears.

That was when she saw her reflection, looking back at her, eyes puffy and red, from the polished steel blade of the knife. She didn’t recognise the person she had become, a meek, mousy thing without the strength to find her own light, but she would be damned if she didn’t have the strength left in her to determine her own destiny.

Emma kicked out, taking advantage of a split second in time when Killian swayed backward again, his inebriation on her side. Her foot connected with something hard and she felt him let her go as he stumbled back, doubled over in pain. She bolted upright, tears blinding her wide eyes and hands shaking as she grabbed the knife from beside the pile of freshly chopped vegetables and held it out in front of her.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” She wailed in a quivering voice, her hair messed up and only still half in a ponytail. She was trembling from head to toe, her adrenaline off the charts and she struggled to find the breath she needed to say anything else.

Killian sank to his knees with his hands covering his partly exposed member that had began to shrink back into its flaccid state. He let out a groan, eyes tightly closed and chords of his neck straining to fight away the pain that had invaded his groin area. There was sweat across his brow and his face had paled. He opened his eyes, the clear blue back once more that made Emma’s heart swell with solace, and then promptly fell forward onto his hands and threw up a foamy, dark brown liquid concoction of rum and bile.

Killian coughed, the sound hacking in the back of his throat each time he alternated between clutching his stomach and his manhood, the dull aching sensation jumping from one to the other. He finally stopped retching and sat back up on his heels, exhausted and drained, arms hanging loosely at his sides and face wet from tears. Emma tightened her grip on the knife, fingers constantly repositioning themselves over the handle to get a firmer hold, but when Killian looked up at her with nothing but remorse in his eyes, she relaxed a little and let out a tense breath she had been holding.

He was pathetic, physically drained, a mere shell of the man he portrayed to the world. Killian was broken, a million pieces of who he used to be scattered all over the world. Some he had lost abroad, flashes of horrific memories imprinted on the back of his eyelids from service and an inner voice that never let him sleep. Some he had lost more recently, buried with his brother, never to return, just like the man he had called his hero. He blinked away his tears, his heart falling to his stomach when he realised he had finally hit the bottom of the bottle, the end of the road, and was at the lowest he could ever get in his miserable life.

There would be no coming back from this, the whites of Emma’s knuckles and the whites of her eyes evidence of her distress. How could he have let the demons win? How could he have been so weak? He had broken his promise, to Liam and more importantly Emma, and he in no way deserved mercy. He was now a slave to Emma’s retribution, the glint of the knife in her hand as she towered over him all he could focus on. He would willingly accept any punishment she saw fit if it meant she would spare him the ache in his heart he knew was coming.

“Emma, I…” he whispered through his tears.

“Get out,” Emma said darkly, tossing the knife back onto the countertop and reaching for her leggings, pulling them back up her shaking legs to try and regain some sense of dignity.

Killian’s chest heaved with another sob, his emotions on full display. “But I have nowhere to go,” he pleaded weakly, his beard dripping with foamy spittle and mucus dripping from his nostrils. He had nowhere, no one but her to run to, but he had crossed a line that not even she thought they could come back from. Emma looked at him and at what he had become. What she had let him become.

“This is so hard,” Emma snivelled, wiping her nose with her forearm. She knew what she had to do, even if it meant a sacrifice neither of them would have ever made before.

“Emma, no,” Killian implored, shuffling on his knees through the patch of cold, putrid sick between them but not even caring. “It doesn’t have to be,” he panicked, reaching out for her.

“Killian…” Emma sobbed, looking away.

“Emma, please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me,” Killian cried, his words catching in his throat, watery and muffled from his sorrow. He clutched at her legs and through the fabric of her leggings he felt Emma turn rigid under his touch.

“Killian, please, this is already hard enough,” Emma pushed against his shoulders weakly, her hands moving of their own accord to lace her fingers through his ruffled hair and pull his face against the warmth of her body. She felt him sigh, his cries filling the room, the cries of a man she didn’t even recognise anymore.

“Emma…” He began but she cut him off quickly.

“Look at you,” Emma cried. “This isn’t you. I can’t watch you destroy yourself anymore,” Emma sniffed, pulling his face from her sweater and tilting his head so he was looking up at her with wide, watery, childlike eyes.

“I’ll get help. I promise, I’ll get help,” Killian nodded in desperation.

“I don’t want to give up on you…” Emma told him softly.

“So don’t,” Killian interrupted her eagerly, his chest shuddering with another rack of sobs.

“You scare me,” she cried, the honesty in her voice shocking even her. Killian looked up at her and he was small, innocent and as much a victim of his own actions as she was, but he would never change if she didn’t find the strength. “I have to go, Killian,” Emma smiled weakly down at him, her tears falling down her cheeks. This time she did not stop them, letting the salt filled droplets fall from her chin. She brushed her thumb over the apple of his cheek and wiped at the tears that had burn lines into his scruffy, unkempt stubble littered face. “You can’t mend with me here. I can’t help you anymore.”

That night Emma walked out of their home, away from the blackness in her heart and the turmoil that had torn them apart for the last seven months. She didn’t look back, taking just a few personal items and the clothes on her back. She didn’t kiss him goodbye and he didn’t try to kiss her, because they both knew that if they had the faintest of contact it would set the fires burning within them once again and they would be back where they began, scrambling for the surface under a sea of sorrow.

This wasn’t her home anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. Now New York was calling her name, a city full of lights where she could get lost and bathe in the eternal brightness of being nobody forever.

Five Years Later

Killian hated the meetings. He hated the way other people hated themselves because it felt like it belittled the way he despised himself. There were no words that he could ever have used to describe how rotten he felt, right down to the core, disgusted with his actions. He carried his shame around with him daily but he didn’t mind, because the sobriety chip he always kept in his pocket was far more important to him. It kept him grounded, reminded him of what he had lost but also somehow gained. There had only ever been one other thing as important in his life, but she had seen him for what he truly was and had left.

It was his turning point, the fork in the road, and luckily he had made the right decision and got clean. It would have been so much easier to have fallen back into a bottle, swam around in the bitterness of alcohol but he would have eventually drowned. So he went to the meetings, he told his story and the room of other addicts applauded him each and every time, and he couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t going through it alone. He wished Emma was there with him, to see how far he had come, but the guilt he carried for how he had treated her never let up and whilst he knew she was living in New York, thanks to Will, he was too contrite to find her.

Emma was adamant that he get help and despite her leaving him to do it alone, he figured it was the last thing he could have done for her to prove to her he wasn’t anything like the monster he had become.

“You come here often?” a voice said from beside him, making him jump a little. The hot coffee he was stirring with a tiny wooden stick sloshed out of the styrofoam cup and over his hand making him almost drop the cup in his haste to shake off the boiling liquid.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” The woman said hurriedly, grabbing a handful of the provided napkins and dabbing his hand without invitation. “Are you okay?”

Killian took the napkins from her and rubbed at his hand, the skin red and sore almost instantly. He stared at the mark, an oddly shaped blemish that resembled a hook, and frowned. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he said with a weak smile. “Hollye, right?” He offered her his hand after wiping the coffee from it down the leg of his jeans.

“Yeah,” she smiled back with a ruby tint to her cheeks. “Killian, right?” She pretended she didn’t know, letting her hand linger in his a little longer than intended.

“I am, thank you” he nodded, slipping his fingers from hers and returning to his half spilled coffee. “I’m not very good at making these, but would you like a coffee?”

“Please,” she smiled again, leaning on the table and cocking her head to one side. She was dressed to impress it seemed, her very low cut top exposing more than enough cleavage to make any man blush or salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs. She glanced behind her to make sure the other attendees were helping to clear the chairs before sucking in a breath. “I’m sorry. I know we are not supposed to form relationships outside of these things…”

“Relationships?” Killian visibly winced at her words, squinting an eye closed as he offered her the coffee cup. It was only half full lest they experience any more accidents, with a little wooden stirring stick poking out of the plastic sip lid. She took the coffee, clutching it with both hands and looked down at the wispy steam escaping from the lid clearly embarrassed. “Look, I’m sure you are a very nice lass,” he offered her quickly, dipping his head to catch her gaze and giving her a smile. “I’m just not…”

“Oh, of course,” Hollye shrugged, straightening herself up and pulling at her top, trying to cover up a little.

“I mean you no offense,” Killian said softly.

“She must be a very lucky woman,” Hollye said with a forced smile, trying not to sound too jealous over a woman she didn’t even know existed.

Killian laughed, the sarcastic chortle making him shake his head. “It was I who was the lucky one,” he said sadly. He shifted his weight, looking down at his own coffee which he swore bore Emma’s resemblance in the honey coloured crema.

“Was?” Hollye prodded with a frown. “I’ve heard your story. Was that her?”

Killian nodded. “Aye,” he blushed with a sigh. He had lost count of the times he had relived what had happened that night, in his nightmares and in the meetings. Each time things got easier to talk about, but it still shocked him to the core when a new member would gasp at his revelation, unable to hold their judgement.

“You still love her, don’t you?” Hollye smiled knowingly. Killian looked up and met her gaze, the upturned corners of her lips reminding him a little of the way Emma used to smile.

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “I always will.”

“Have you asked for forgiveness?” Hollye’s words hung on Killian’s mind. One of the first stages of recovery from any addiction was asking for forgiveness from the ones you had wronged. They didn’t have to absolve you, that was their choice, but there would be no progression in your recovery if you didn’t ask. Hollye took in Killian’s million mile stare. “I think you should.”

“It’s not exactly as easy as that,” Killian looked down again, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a sip of the foul tasting bitterness the meeting organisers tried to pass for coffee. “I’ve only seen her twice since she left.”

“And what did she say?” Hollye prompted with a sip of her own cup, the sour liquid burning her tongue.

“Why am I even telling you this?” Killian chuckled, suddenly embarrassed. “We don't even know each other’s surnames.”

“And yet, you know how I walked the streets giving out hand jobs for a twenty and I know how you nearly raped your girlfriend because you were drangry,” she said with a ‘so there’ look.

“Drangry?” Killian cringed as he said the word. It sounded wrong in his mouth, clearly not recognised by any officiating language body. Hollye had seemingly made it up on the stop.

“Drunk angry. So drunk you are angry about everything. Drangry,” she clarified like it was obvious and took another sip of the coffee. “So tell me, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Killian looked away sheepishly, the prick of red covering the tips of her ears. “I said I’ve only seen her twice, as in seen her. From afar.”

“Oh, you mean like a stalker,” Hollye teased and his head snapped up to give her a confused look. “Was you hiding in the shadows? Maybe nearby whilst she visited the grave of a loved one?” Hollye laughed but Killian did not join her, because by some miserable coincidence, she was right.

The first time he had seen Emma, he had thought he was imagining things. It was a year after she had left and when he had visited Liam’s grave on his birthday, there were fresh yellow flowers laid over the ground in front of the headstone with a small note that read, ‘See you tomorrow’ on it. The groundskeeper had described Emma exactly how he had remembered her and when he had returned the next day, skulking in the shadow of a nearby tree, she had appeared like a daydream come to life.

The next year he expected her return and sure enough, right on time on what would have been Liam’s birthday, she appeared again with a bunch of yellow flowers and sat at the grave for hours. She talked about a man named Graham, about how he made her happy and even though he wasn’t exactly the person she imagined spending the rest of her life with, she thought Liam would approve of him. That was the last time Killian saw her and he told himself that he was still new to the recovery process and he should stay away, all the while seething with jealousy and hatred for a man he had never met who had given her happiness when all he could have given her was more pain.

“Oh Lord, you did, didn’t you?” Hollye giggled, half scandalized by his silent admission. “You stalked her over the grave of a loved one!”

“My loved one,” Killian huffed. “My brother.”

“Oh,” Hollye lost her smile, her joviality fading immediately. She had been listening to Killian’s story for long enough to know that losing his brother was the start of his decline. “I’m sorry.”

Killian gave her a quick sideways smile. “You didn’t know,” he said quietly. “No harm done.”

“Isn’t it your brother’s birthday next month?” Hollye nudged his hand with hers, bringing him back to reality. She lifted her cup to her mouth, closing her lips over the warmed styrofoam and blowing gently over the surface of the coffee. It rippled and bobbed against the side of the cup, threatening to splash her face. When Killian gave her a strange look she just shrugged. “Do you even listen to anyone else’s story at these things, or do I have to do all the hard work for both of us?”

“I listen,” Killian pouted.

“Then you will also know it is Liam’s birthday next month,” Hollye emphasized his brother’s name and Killian staved off tears at the upcoming event. It was hard, it always had been, but even more so since he had been sober. There was temptation everywhere he looked, obvious and subliminal, but what really gave him the most turmoil was fighting the urge to see Emma again. In a way it was a welcome distraction, only it was becoming more and more difficult knowing she was in the same town at the same time every year and he hadn’t seen her for three.

“You should ask for forgiveness,” Hollye repeated, interrupting his thoughts.

“You’re a good person, Hollye,” Killian smiled, offering her his hand. She took it, shaking their joined hands up and down between them with a smirk.

“I’ve been called worse,” she winked.

One month later

Emma came home every year for exactly two reasons.

Her adoptive parents still lived in the town so she used the time to visit them, making sure that they were doing well and managing in their increasingly elderly state. They were older when they adopted her, having already had children of their own, but never being the sort of people to turn away a stray. Emma’s adoptive brother David tried to find the time to meet her at home, but he was busy and often it was just her. Not that the Nolans minded, because Emma was happy and that was all they had ever wanted her to be.

Secondly, Emma had never found peace at the passing of her friend, Liam Jones. He was taken from her life too soon, cruelly, and she had struggled with his loss for many years. When she had moved away she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling deep within her that meant she missed him terribly. New York felt like half a world away so to relieve the build up of anxiety, each year she would return home and visit his grave.

She tended the site, weeding and making sure that it was kept spic and span. Liam was a military man and so would never have wanted anything so messy representing the man he once was. Emma bought him flowers, always the same sunshine yellow Chrysanthemums because Liam always used to say that they reminded him of her. They were a happy flower, despite their association with mourning, and Emma always smiled when she saw them.

So far, each visit had gone without a hiccup. Until today.

When she approached Liam’s grave, there was already a huge bunch of bright, yellow chrysanthemums piled on top of the freshly weeded patch of grass in front of his headstone. The flowers were fresh, each petal tightly fixed in place, the crimped edges of each to tight to blow in the slight breeze. Emma frowned and looked around, but the graveyard was deserted, no other visitors catching her eye. She looked back to the flowers and noticed a card. Her brow knitted together in a quizzical expression as she knelt down and plucked it from the still tied bunch.

“Granny’s. 7pm.”

Emma’s breath left her and the hair on the back of her neck prickled to life, straining against her skin. It had been five years without a single word, but she would never forget the slightly italic, old world handwriting of Killian Jones.

In the time it had taken her to regain her composure she had returned back to the Nolans humble home and was greeted at the door by the enthusiastic Will. Will was almost five years old, not planned but not loved any less, and ran at her with an excited squeal as he called her name. His hair flopped over his eyes as her ran, feet pounding the hardwood floor of the hallway and almost jumped into her arms as she crouched to greet him.

“Mommy!” Will sang, leaping before he even reached her with utter faith that she would catch him.

“Hey lightning bug,” Emma chimed, setting him on her hip and brushing the lightly curled hair from his face. When she did, the blue of his eyes shone through his smile, his cheeks flushed and his words catching on his breath as he tried to tell her all about his day.

“We were playing pirates!” Will said, wide eyed and excited. “I was the Captain! And we walked the plank! And there were sharks if we fell into the lava!” He squeaked rapidly, his tiny lungs filling up between each sentence.

“Lava?” Emma quirked her brow, looked at him and trying to hide her smile. He nodded, a big grin on his face.

“But I didn’t fall in, did I?” Will almost arched his entire body towards the man approaching them, leaning out of Emma’s embrace with outstretched arms and a cocky grin on his face.

Graham was tall, broad and had the most amazing demeanor Emma had even known. She smiled as he walked towards them in jeans and a causal tee, his hair the same floppy brown style as Will’s and a warming smile that made her feel at ease. They even shared little habits. Will’s face when he was in trouble mirrored Graham’s when he was in her bad books and they both pulled the same face when they tried to bend the truth.

“No you did not, Captain,” Graham shook his head, saluting and going along with the boy’s story. “There was that time you pushed me in though,” he grunted, pulling Will into his arms.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” Will gasped, giggling when Graham jabbed his fingers into his sides and wiggled them, instantly causing Will to almost bend in half and wriggle in his arms.

“So you had fun without me?” Emma asked softly, her heart swelling with joy as her son hit the ground running, calling out for Papa Nolan as he tore off along the hallway and ignored her question. Emma watched him go, only looked back to Graham as he rounded the corner and bounded out of sight, the Nolans cat fleeing under a nearby armchair just like she always had when they visited.

“Not intentionally,” Graham beamed, touching her elbow as he leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, his hand slipping down her forearm and gripping her fingers. “How was it?” He knew that she visited Liam every year and that she always had to do it alone. He just wished sometimes that she would let him in as much as the dead man.

Emma shrugged, her smile fading with the reminder. “The same. I talked, he listened,” she said sadly.

“Did you tell him everything?” Graham asked her, his features suddenly flashing with a sense of nervousness, his voice lowering slightly as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “About us?”

Emma looked up at him and slipped her hand from his. “I did,” she said solemnly and Graham offered her a weak twitch of a smile. “It won’t be long,” she promised him, flattening her hand to his cheek and rubbing her thumb over his skin there. “I promise.”

“I don’t like lying,” Graham whispered, leaning closer to her. “The Nolans are good people. I feel like a fraud.”

“You are not,” Emma told him firmly. “I am the one lying to myself, and you, and I promised, the day I found out I was pregnant, that I would never be that person again.” Despite his best efforts, Graham would never be the man Emma yearned for him to be and whilst she never regretted a single moment with him, and loved each and every memory they had made together as a family, she had vowed to never settle for enough.

She and Graham had spoken at great length about their imploding relationship and they had decided to part on good terms, share custody of Will and work at being the best parent figures they could be. They would always be there for him, in any capacity, but they also had another hurdle to leap. The Nolans. Emma’s adoptive parents loved Graham like a son and after so long they had almost adopted him as their own, so they both knew that telling them would crush them completely. They had agreed to both come home, visit family of all kinds and then tell everyone later on.

“It’s still hard, you know?” Graham told her in a hushed voice. “Pretending,” he clarified.

“I know,” she said apologetically. “But Will doesn’t know yet, and I haven’t told my parents,” Emma sighed. “I can almost hear Mamma Nolan’s voice now. “What did you do? He was a good man!” She imitated her adoptive mother’s voice so closely that Graham laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“I am a good man,” he grinned boyishly.

“Yes you are,” Emma told him firmly just like she had done a thousand times before. “It’s just…”

“I know,” Graham told her softly. “I understand, I really do. I’m just going to really miss Will, you know?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Emma smiled reassuringly. “I would never keep him from you, you know that.”

“Thank you,” Graham just about had time to say out loud before said child came running through the house again, Papa Nolan in tow, a feather sticking from his silvery hair and a little plastic archery set in his hands dwarfed by his size.

“Indians!” Will yelled, a high pitched scream following as he tore past them and out the back door into the yard.

“Okay,” Emma laughed, watching her adoptive father sneak past them emitting his own high pitched noise and patting his palm over an open mouth. “You boys have fun!” Emma called after them.

“Are you going somewhere?” Graham frowned at her words and fiddled nervously with the belt loop of his jeans. Emma blushed a little, looking down at her feet before diving her hand into her pocket and pulling out the card. She looked at it one more time before handing it to Graham.

“This was on Liam’s grave,” she said gently. “For me.”

“Is this from him?” Graham said with a little too much resentment, the tone in his voice one he couldn’t hide. Emma had never lied to him about her past, any part of it, and she knew that one day this moment would come. They had both expected it a lot sooner. “Are you going?”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma reassured him quickly, taking the card from his hand before he set it on fire with his angry stare. She took his hand in hers and when he looked up at her she gave him a small smile. “It will be okay. He just wants to talk.”

Graham blinked at her with a twisted smirk. “How do you know that?”

“I know him,” Emma nodded firmly. “Tell Will I have gone to see Belle, okay?” She smiled quickly, checking her watch and realising that if she didn’t leave now she would be late for her impromptu meeting. When she looked back up, Graham’s face was etched with agony. “Words are all he has left. I have to go and talk to him.”

“Be careful,” Graham warned but his worries were extinguished when Emma cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I worry.”

“Don’t.” Emma reached for the door behind her and pulled it open, mindful to be gone before Will came back through from the yard. “I’ll call Will at eight to say goodnight.”

When she reached Granny’s Diner, the hub of their hometown, far earlier than the card had invited her to meet, Killian was sitting in their usual little booth already. He was sitting browsing the menu, a fruitless task seeing as they had spent most of their teens memorizing the items word for word, but it seemed he welcomed the distraction. His leg bounced up and down under the table and he wiped at his brow, checking his watch every few seconds just in case it had decided to run slow.

He looked good from what Emma could see from the doorway, having snuck in behind another patron to avoid the ringing bell alerting him to her early presence. She felt like a stalker, watching him from the shadows of a doorside booth, staring at the back of his head as she worked up the courage to approach. He had cut his hair and shaved, leaving his trademark length of stubble that was a little more silver than she remembered now he was approaching his forties. The hair on his sideburns was more white than black now and a sparse peppering of black littering his hairline.

Emma wasn’t going to lie, he was hot. He had put on a little weight, his cheeks filled out when she saw his profile turn to check the clock above Granny’s bar area. Maybe it was the parent in her that found his new look so appealing, the classic dad style of his casual black sweater tight over his muscles making her swoon a little, or maybe it was just seeing him after five years telling her what she had always known.

Killian Jones was, and always would be, the man that made her tingle, set her skin ablaze with passion and she missed him like the deserts miss the rain. It was wrong, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop loving him, even after everything that had happened. After everything that was said, he still knew her better than she knew herself, and was the only man who could ever show her the light.

“Are you going to stare into the back of my head all night, Swan?” he called out to her over the almost deserted diner as he kept his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him. He smirked to himself when he heard her get up and make her way to him, the hot chocolate in front of him topped with cream and cinnamon. Emma slid into the booth opposite him, a fixed stare on her face as he slid the mug towards her.

Emma looked down at the beverage and reached for it instinctively. “How did you…”

“You were always early,” he interrupted her with a smirk. “I assume you still like hot chocolate with cinnamon on top?” He arched an eyebrow at her, his boyish smile sending a shiver straight to her gut.

“You look good,” Emma mentioned nonchalantly and took a sip of her cocoa, licking her lips and wiping the smudge of cream from her nose.

“So do you,” Killian smiled, ignoring the fact she had dodged his question. Maybe she didn’t want to make small talk and that was fine with him, because he just needed to hear her voice to know that she was okay, and when her cheeks flushed with pink at his words, he knew she was.

“How was work?” Emma watched him over the rim of her mug, the slightly cooled liquid level reduced enough from her sipping to be able to see him over the cream now. It was a loaded question and she knew it.

Killian took a sharp breath, not expecting her to dive straight in with the hard questions, but he gave her a genuine smile that finally felt natural. He lifted his hand and lightly scratched the skin behind his ear, a habit he had always had. “Work was good. Has been for about three years now,” he said softly, his fingers picking at the dog eared menu in front of him.

“And your colleagues?” Emma pushed, setting the mug back down in front of her. Maybe it was cruel to ask him such a question before other pleasantries but she needed to know that she hadn’t sacrificed her happiness for nothing.

Killian simply smiled and it was serene. “Gone,” he told her proudly. Killian had managed to get help and medication to quell the voices in his head and therapy had helped him understand how to deal with how he was feeling. The more he understood about why he had been on such a self destructive path, the less they said to him and the more they faded away into the background. “I’ve been off my meds for six months now. Certified as normal as can be.”

Emma coughed at a sip of her drink, almost spitting it back into the cup. “I bet you still stir your tea clockwise though,” she teased, her lips finally spreading into the kind of coy smirk he had missed so much.

“I do,” Killian blushed, his British accent somehow as prevalent as ever in those two words. His family has migrated for work, but both him and Liam has never lost the accent of their mother tongue. It had always fascinated Emma to no end how certain things that he had done whilst they were together were so quintessentially British, but above all else, the insistence that tea be stirred clockwise had sealed the notion that he was certifiably insane firmly in her mind forever.

“So normal,” she mocked once more like they had never been apart. A silence fell between them, the clinking of mugs from the washing up area not even enough of a distraction. Killian twisted his lips into a sideways pout and fiddled with the menu some more, crossing and uncrossing his legs under the table, mindful not to bump Emma’s knees. Emma looked around, taking in the decor of the diner that hadn’t changed in at least twenty years.

“Liam loved yellow chrysanths, you know,” Killian said suddenly, breaking the silence with a common ground. “He always said they reminded him of you.”

“The flowers?” Emma frowned at another of his Britishisms.

Killian chuckled lightly. “Yeah, the flowers,” he blushed.

“I bring them every year,” Emma told him, tilting her cup and noticing the mixture of melted cream and cinnamon powder lurking in the bottom. “But you know that.” She looked right at him, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug idly as she stared into the hue of his eyes. She had missed it, the darker circle around the blue that shone like the brightest sapphire when he was happy and was as dark as the depths of the ocean when he was aroused. He didn’t look away, holding her gaze unashamedly.

“I missed you the first year you came and the groundskeeper described someone who can have only been you, so the year after I came back.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Emma pried softly, prompting him to continue.

“I couldn’t,” Killian admitted shyly. “I was still such a mess, I just hid in the shadows after…” he paused, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“After?” Emma cocked her head to the side.

Killian let out a breath with exasperation. “Graham,” he said with a spiteful tone and Emma looked away. “I heard you talking about Graham and how happy you were and I was nowhere near mended. I couldn’t talk to you. I would have just made you regret coming back, and I would never do that to you. Liam meant as much to you as he did to me so I couldn't give you a reason to stop coming to visit him.”

“I would never…” Emma began but Killian interrupted her with a little more force than he intended.

“I would have probably said something I would have regretted, and it would have been selfish of me to put that sort of pressure on you,” he gulped, swallowing the distaste of compunction down his throat. “Again.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma said softly, reaching across the table between them and clutching his hand in hers. He stilled at her touch, something he had missed like oxygen once it had been denied him for so long, and stared at their hands. His heart took off in his chest, banging against the curve of his ribcage and made the base of his spine tingle with delight. Emma offered him a comforting smile but he quickly tore his hand from hers.

Killian froze, palms flattened to the table in front of him as images of him assaulting Emma flickered behind his eyes. He pinched his eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow, and tiny beads of sweat oozing from his brow. It was a panic attack, plain and simple, and he had encountered enough to know that it would pass, but he couldn’t help his bodies reaction to Emma’s touch. He felt like he didn’t deserve her compassion, in any form, and the tiniest touch had sent his body into an episode.

“Killian?” Emma asked mildly, confused by his sudden reaction. She had encountered her own fair share of attacks to know what he was going through and immediately moved around to sit at his side, shielding him from view of the other diner goers and laying her hand over his. “Killian, come back to me,” she whispered, her body pressed against his and her mouth so close to his ear that her voice was all he could hear. “Shhh, breathe.”

Her voice was faint but Killian heard her as clear as day through the fog in his mind. He felt the warmth of her hands on his, the softness of her lips against his ear and her breath on his neck, and a relief washed over him immediately, his lungs filling with cool air as he deepened his breathing the way his therapist had instructed. When he was finally able to move, Killian clutched her fingers, lacing them with his as he resumed his steadying breaths. Emma rubbed her thumb over his, watching the profile of his face as his brow relaxed and he peeled his eyes open once more.

“I’m sorry,” Killian whimpered, his body relaxing back in the seat.

“Don’t apologize,” Emma said firmly. “You are still clearly working through some things.”

“Just one,” Killian laughed nervously, the adrenaline from his attack making him shake a little. He turned to her and swallowed hard, looking down at the rip in the green leather between them. “Would you…” he began, fidgeting.

“Go on,” Emma nudged him with her elbow and he looked up at her shyly.

“Part of the...process...is asking for forgiveness,” he began, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “And I know I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a single thing, not after what I did to you…”

“Killian,” Emma stopped him, grabbing his forearm and flattening her palm to his cheek. He gasped at her touch again but this time he felt a warming calm flood over his entire body, the anxiety chased away by a new kind of light that he had never seen or felt before. It was heavenly.

“Hmm?” he grunted sheepishly.

“I forgive you,” Emma smiled warmly. Her thumb brushed the apple of his cheek and his lips twitched, mirroring her smile back. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she repeated, sliding her hand behind his head and pulling his head towards her until their foreheads touched. It was as intimate as they had ever been, honest and raw and Killian’s hand flew up to cup her cheek in his hand. He felt Emma relax, his anticipation of her fleeing long gone.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed. “Thank you,” he whispered and he meant it with all his heart.

One Month Later

Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to this. Maybe there was some divinity to the whole process, but it wasn’t just Killian who had been addicted, and when he had asked her if she wanted to go to a meeting with him, she had said yes. Graham had returned to New York, leaving Emma and Will another month at the Nolans, but tomorrow they were flying home and the thought of not being able to say goodbye because Killian had gone to a meeting was selfish. So Emma had agreed to go with him when he had suggested it, both of them knowing it was going to be some of the last moments they would spend together for a while.

The room was just like her own meetings, a church hall rented out to the organisers for a small donation that probably wouldn’t go very far. It wasn’t a sit in a circle type meeting because everyone in this one was a veteran addict, mostly around the same age who had all fallen into some sort of crisis. For some it was drugs, for most it was alcohol and as they skimmed over their introductions, Emma felt like she might have been the only person there addicted to sex.

As she had explained a thousand times before in her story that it wasn’t about the act itself. It was always about finding the numbness of climax, the light beyond the shadows, where she had felt safe and free. But as everyone in front of her nodded in agreement with her statements like a faithful congregation, she couldn’t help but feel Killian’s eyes transfixed onto her and burning into her flesh. Meetings were a place of brutal honesty and she never divulged his name, but that didn’t stop the tuts and head shakes of disgust.

If only they knew the villain of her story was sitting within their flock, a wolf amongst lambs. Emma wondered how they would have reacted to realise that their judgement was actually hypocrisy, and the very same repugnant responses to Killian’s story were about her and how she had dragged him into the light with her. She was happy now, and Killian’s smile told her he was too. But then Emma mentioned she had a son, the new light in her life, a welcomed addiction that she never wanted to quit, and the whole room smiled with her.

Except for Killian. His face paled and he shifted in his seat, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed almost audible. As she caught his eye, the anguish plastered across his face at the new knowledge that Graham had given her yet another thing he never could, she knew she had given him hope and then snatched it away again, but there were no secrets at these things. And it was something that she couldn’t hide anymore.

“A son?” Killian said from behind her as she wrinkled her nose at the pitiful array of donuts on offer. The coffee was bad enough, but why they insisted on plain, unsugared rings of dough was beyond her.

“Are we all addicted to sugar too?” She scoffed, poking one of the offending treats and avoiding his question entirely.

“We can’t have nice things,” Killian laughed, wrapping his fingers around the coffee cup in his hands.

“Clearly,” Emma frowned, selecting the biggest donut from the half empty box. It was cold, heavy and when she bit into it, there was no familiar crunch of sugar on her teeth or dusting on her lips, but she licked at them anyway.

“How is it?” Killian teased, sipping his coffee and trying to hide his smirk.

“You know it's disgusting,” Emma said quietly and grabbing a napkin to spit the almost undercooked dough into. It was bland, tasted like flour and water on her tongue and she had to get rid of it immediately, wiping the napkin down her tongue, balling it up in another and tossing it into the provided trash can next to the table.

“Try the coffee,” Killian suggested with a restrained chuckle. “It’s...just as bad,” he sighed.

“Thanks,” Emma retorted sarcastically.

“So, a son? Why didn’t you tell me?” Killian asked softly, his words genuinely intrigued and not laced with the anger Emma had expected. She finally looked up at him and he smiled back at her, head tilted to the side and an expectant look in his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to?” Emma asked, questioning her own words.

“I mean, I have no right to expect anything from you,” Killian clarified quickly when he sensed he had made her a little uneasy. “Least of all to wait for me.”

“You wanted me to wait for you?” Emma asked gently.

“Selfishly, yes, at first,” Killian revealed with a nod. “But then I realised that you were right. I needed to mend, we both did, and our grief for Liam was something we had to do alone.”

“Becoming a mother changed me overnight,” Emma said with a happy grin. “He’s amazing and I followed the path laid out in front of me because of him.”

Killian shifted his weight, inhaling hard and peering down into his half filled coffee cup. “Do you think…” Killian paused, eyebrows knitting together on his face. “...In another life, you would have waited?” He asked awkwardly.

Emma paused, her cheeks prickling with the heat of a blush.

“Never mind,” Killian shook his head, dismissing his words. “It’s selfish of me to ask that.”

“In another life,” Emma said firmly, sucking in a shaking breath. She reached between them, brushing her fingers over his, the most intimate they could be in a public meeting that discouraged relationships between attendees. Killian watched her fingers with a stilled breath, his entire body buzzing, his skin tightening over his bones and his mouth going dry. “Maybe in this one.”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet her gaze, the tears behind his eyes threatening to soothe the sting along his eyelids. His eyes searched hers, flickering over the leafy green hues that were accented by the crinkles in her skin at their corners from her soft smile. He didn’t know what to say, struck silent with her admission that could mean any one of a thousand things. The one he hoped for lingered on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask her for another chance, but the sobriety chip in his pocket burned into his skin through the cotton and told him he didn’t deserve her.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Emma asked gently, rousing him from his thoughts. “I know a place that serves real donuts,” she joked, shooting one last disgusted look at the flimsy white box beside her. “And coffee,” she said quickly. “Real coffee,” she hummed, almost able to taste the smoothness of citrus notes on her tongue.

Killian grinned at her, a boyish, wide open mouthed grin that was accompanied with a sound from his throat like laughter. “Alright,” he agreed, tossing his coffee into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

The roadside diner was just outside of town, away from the familiar prying eyes they never could seem to escape by coming home. It was nice to see everyone, but sometimes they were just too invested in other people’s lives and Emma had discovered this diner as a means of escape. It was close enough that if she got called back for Will she was near but far enough out that she felt separated from the constant questions and stares. And they served donuts to die for.

It was like any other diner, like they were all set out in a generic way that made Emma think they were all owned by a single person. The countertop was black marble and even so late in the day it consistently clinked with the contact of plate after plate as orders flooded out of the kitchen. The floor was a green tile, speckled with white and with an orange pattern in the center that resembled a color blindness test card, and was polished so much Emma could see her reflection. The walls were the same shade of green and the leatherette sofas in the booths and on the bar stools matched the orange tone of the floor pattern, two huge ceiling fans whirling around above the walkway to keep the place cooled.

Spotlights lit the bar area, a constant drip of coffee from the machine next to the cash register cathartic to watch. Emma had spent many hours on one of these stools, timing the drips of coffee in her mind and awaiting a refill from the server as she contemplated her life. Graham had come into her life in a moment of great need, but he had been different from Killian, and she had warmed up to him as a friend before anything else. She tested him, made sure that she was what he wanted, and gave him the chance to escape on more than one occasion, but he had stayed, resolute and steadfast when she had tried to push him away.

“Just go. I can’t give you what you want.”

“I just want you. All of you.”

“How am I ever going to be enough? You know what I am about, what I have been through. How can you expect to love me when I can’t love you back?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

In a way, Emma regretted letting him stay. She had been nothing but honest, telling him that he was never going to be the man that she loved, and for that she was sorry. She didn’t regret their relationship, because it was built on a mutual respect, and he did love her, but it wasn’t fair that she let him carry the weight of their relationship alone. It had taken him nearly five years of never hearing her say ‘I love you’ before Graham had finally snapped, deciding that she was right and he couldn’t pretend anymore.

They hadn’t fought, not in front of Will anyway, and were separating on good terms. They had agreed that he would go home to New York ahead of her and Will, packing up his stuff and moving out of their house and their lives. They would explain things to Will another time, but they both had faith that he would be okay with it as much as they were, and they would both still love him just the same. Now that Graham was officially moved out, Emma felt like she could breathe again, a strange sensation that she hadn’t felt since leaving Killian, but one that she had missed every single day.

They sat down to order, sitting opposite each other in one of the way back booths so they could talk a bit more privately. Killian looked around the diner as they sat, taking in the photographs of local heroes and aged newspaper clippings that were framed on every available wall surface. Clearly the place saw a lot of celebrities and the owner seemed to be a little bit of a cinephile, old movie posters and signed memorabilia scattered all around the place.

“You come here a lot?” Killian asked Emma as a waitress took their order of two coffees.

“Sometimes I come here to think,” Emma shrugged, arching her back into the leather bench and letting out a groan.

It hadn’t escaped Killian’s notice that the waiting staff knew her by name and they knew how she took her coffee too. “Sometimes?” He quipped, arching his eyebrow at her.

“Okay, so I think a lot,” Emma grinned, glaring at him playfully.

“About Graham?” Killian prompted selfishly. He hated the man, his name on his tongue like a poison in his mouth, but he respected that Emma was satisfied.

“Sometimes,” she whispered noncommittally.

“Does he make you happy?” Kilian couldn't stop the words as they fell from his lips, screwing his face up and expecting an earful of abuse for his cheek. Emma looked up at him aghast and he quickly shook off the feeling of dread he had because he had to know. “It’s all I have ever wanted for you, Swan.”

“He did,” Emma stared into his eyes, readying herself for her confession. “We are seperated.” Killian frowned, confusion etched across his face. He knew she had come to their hometown with Graham, but it did explain how she had managed to get away to meet with him so often in the last eight weeks. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sorry,” he lied.

“Liar,” Emma smirked. “It’s okay, really. You know you have to be happy to move on, and I was for a time. Now I am not. It’s really that simple.” Emma shrugged a sigh and brushed a stray hair from her face, letting the rest tumble over her shoulders. She had decided to wear her hair down for the meeting, maybe subconsciously because she knew Killian had always liked it that way, which was confirmed when his eye flickered to watch her hand toy with the golden tresses.

“As long as you are okay,” he smiled warmly. “So why New York?” Killian asked her, changing the subject to something he had always wondered. New York wasn’t a million miles away, so he knew she wasn’t running away from anything, and it always left the door open for him to visit, something he had resisted for so long.

“Who said I lived in New York?” Emma narrowed her gaze at him, wondering if she had inadvertently mentioned something in the meeting. She didn’t remember telling him, or even letting it slip over Liam’s grave, but then she was hit with a realisation that made her sigh and Killian laugh.

“Will,” she said with a groan.

“Will fucking Scarlett,” Killian said with a nod. “Can’t keep his mouth shut that lad. Never could,” he laughed.

“And what were you doing in Will’s bar, huh?” Emma accused, thanking the small, blonde haired waitress who had poured their coffees.

“Drinking water,” Killian told her with a knowing look. “Which is boring, by the way.”

Emma giggled, reaching for her mug. The coffee was boiling hot, the ceramic burning her fingers as she pulled it towards her without a visible wince of pain. “But I bet your breath smells fresher,” she mocked.

“Indeed,” Killian blushed a little, lifting his coffee to his lips.

“New York was just somewhere I could be nobody for a while,” Emma admitted. “I needed to heal as much as you but I suppose, if I am being honest with myself, I didn’t want to move too far away. I couldn’t...” She looked down into her lap. Honesty was the best policy, or so they said. “I needed to still be close to you.”

She looked up at her admission and Killian felt the pang of guilt in his heart. “Because of...you know?” He asked gently, not wanting to mention her dependency too much. It was good to talk about things, they had both learned that the hard way, but old wounds didn’t need to be reopened unnecessarily. Emma was an addict too, and he was her drug of choice. She nodded sadly. “And now?” He pushed, watching her shift in the seat.

“Now I just…” Emma lost her words, sitting forward in the booth and pushing her arms across the table until their fingers were almost touching. She could swear there were sparks between them when Killian didn’t move away but instead mirrored her movements and sat forward in his own seat, the leather groaning under his weight.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” Killian finished for her, reading her mind and almost whispering the words. He pushed his coffee mug aside with the back of his hand and reached for hers, sliding it out of their way. He bunched her hands up in his, lifting them to his lips and planting a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles, letting his lips linger as he inhaled her scent.

“I shouldn’t,” Emma told herself out loud but her words didn’t match her actions when she kept her hands exactly where they were, savouring the feel of his mouth of her skin after so long. She felt a tickle in her stomach, the dropping sensation followed by a welcome feeling of delight that was so familiar and yet different. It wasn’t like before, when they were both slaves to each other’s mercy.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Killian began, but as he tried to pull his hands away, Emma stopped him, fingernails digging into his flesh that made him stare in her direction dumbfounded. Her face had changed, softness appearing around her eyes as the barriers she was holding up melted away and there was something else behind her eyes that he had never seen before. It was understanding and unselfishness and before he had time to ask her what it meant, Emma was pushing herself to her feet, grabbing his soft, woolen sweater and pulling him to her across the wooden surface of the table.

Her lips crashed into his and Killian’s mind exploded, eyebrows jumping up his face with surprise and his entire body paralyzed to respond. She paused, her lips on his, waiting for him to react, the grip loosening on the material of his sweater when she thought he wouldn’t, but when she heard the soft moan come from way down deep in his chest, she smirked coyly against his mouth and slid her tongue over his lips as they parted.

“Come to New York,” she whispered, their noses pressed side by side, her hand jumping to trace the silver of his sideburn with a single finger. Her eyes fluttered open and met his, the longing reflected in both of their stares.

There was nothing Killian could do but nod, a steady bob of his head that earned him another chaste kiss. Emma knew it wouldn’t be easy, they would have to contend with a long distance thing for a while, but she had faith they could make it work. There was just one more tiny detail she had to iron out, but that would have to wait until she was home.

One Month Later

“Where are you going?” Will asked in a sing song voice, his legs bumping the edge of Emma’s bed as he swung them against the divan base. He fiddled with one of his cars on his lap, his focus on the wheels and how fast they could spin rather than the frantic way his mother was trying to desperately pick an outfit.

“I told you, baby, Mommy has a date,” Emma said nervously. She hadn’t said the words out loud yet, especially not to her son, and as she pulled hanger after hanger from her wardrobe, she felt a little bit hopeless.

“What are you doing?” Will asked innocently, switching his position and rolling the car along the edge of the duvet.

“Trying to pick an outfit,” Emma frowned to herself, discarding yet another on of her dresses aside. She didn’t want to wear anything that would give off the wrong sort of information. She and Killian had met up twice since she had come home four weeks ago, him travelling to New York both times, but they had only been to dinner and a movie, holding hands and agreeing to take it slow. They wanted to start fresh, as odd as it seemed, because they both felt like brand new people with a new outlook on life that they both respected about each other.

“Why?” Will sang, extending the syllable out with a cheeky grin. Emma turned and looked at him, the small child hiding his cherub like smile behind a clenched fist. She pointed an accusing finger his way and narrowed her eyes.

“So I can look good for my date, lightning bug,” she approached him and held out two of the dresses in her hands, laying them over the front of her body one after the other. “Which one looks good? This one? Or this one?” Emma flicked the dresses one after the other, pulling a funny face and twisting her body dramatically until Will was in fits of infectious giggles.

“I don’t know!” He laughed, falling back on the bed and then wiggling upright almost instantly.

“Well, you have to help me pick! How will I know I look pretty if my favourite guy can’t help me decide?” Emma teased playfully.

“You always look pretty,” Will beamed, his rosy cheeks squishing up his eyes as he grinned at her. Emma softened and hugged the dresses to her body, an audible squeak escaping her mouth as she made a cooing noise. She closed the distance between them and sat beside him on the bed, ruffling his hair and brushing his wayward curls from in front of his eyes.

Those eyes. They were the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen with a sea green tint when the light hit them from any angle. They were not like hers, or like his father’s, but instead a whole new shade of azure that she could get lost in for hours, full of kindness and love that she knew would never leave him. He tilted his head back and let her fiddle with his hair, the car on his lap clutched in his hands as he gave her a angelic smile. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“Yeah, lightning bug,” Emma nodded sweetly, wrapping her arm around his skinny frame and pulling him to her. “I’m perfect.”

“Mommy?” Will asked her, his voice muffled and a little strangled from how hard she was hugging him.

“Yes, baby?” Emma let him right himself, tugging his shirt back into place for him.

“What’s a date?” Will frowned.

“Oh, well…” Emma began but the sound of the doorbell made them both look towards the doorway at the shrill sound echoing through the house.

“I’ll get it!” Will screeched, hopping from the bed and pounding his rubber soled shoes on the hardwood floors as he made his way to the top of the stairs.

“Be careful!” Emma warned him, racing after him and making sure he was grabbing the spindles of the staircase banister with every step. She knew who it was at the door, so she wasn’t worried about Will answering it. She knew he would stop if she had told him to, but she also knew he would be so excited to see who was on the other side she let him go.

“Hey, buddy!” Graham fell into a crouch, arms wide open at the doorway ready to receive a hug.

“Grah-Grah!” Will screamed, the old mispronunciation still sticking with them both and a kind of in joke that only they understood. Will had never called him dad, daddy or dadda, but through listening to his mom he had managed to form the sound of a ‘G’ and, ever the genius, put his own juvenile twist on it. The kid was smart, and sometimes it was scary.

Will threw himself into Graham’s arms and he picked him up with a growl, rubbing the stubble of his beard into the soft skin of Will’s neck and making him laugh. Will stiffened in his arms, struggling to escape as Graham tickled at his side at the same time, the boy finally turning floppy and dangling upside down.

“What are you doing upside down?” Emma teased him, turning her head half sideways to ask the question when she had finally caught up with them at the bottom of the staircase. Will just laughed, clutching Graham’s hands, his face turning bright red. “Thank you for doing this,” Emma told Graham sincerely, straightening herself back up and pushing her hair from her face.

Graham let Will slip from his grasp and watched him run off, his little legs stumbling over his feet more than once as he giggled and dove onto the couch. “No problem,” Graham smiled at her, pulling his shirt back into position and sucking in a breath. “We are going to have fun,” he announced a little louder so that Will peeked at him over the back of an overly large cushion.

“Really,” Emma reiterated. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just promise me you won’t bring anyone back here,” Graham said quickly, his voice a little darker. He looked away from Will for a second to meet her gaze and sighed. “I don’t want random men around Will.”

Emma stepped back from him and swallowed hard. “What business is that of yours?” She snipped, folding her arms over her chest and straightening her back until she seemed taller.

“Do I know him?” Graham prodded, ignoring her question.

“Again, what business is that of yours,” Emma repeated with a sarcastic tone, her eyes flitting to the twitch of the muscle in his jaw.

“It’s Killian, isn’t it?” Graham sighed, looking down at his feet and planting his hands on his hips. “You wouldn’t be this defensive over anyone else.”

Graham was right and Emma hated that he knew her better than she gave him credit for. Emma looked over her shoulder to make sure Will was not listening but when she was intent he was otherwise occupied with something on the television, she whipped her head back to Graham with a rage she hadn’t known she was holding in.

“How dare you,” she barked, her voice so low only they could hear it.

“So it is him,” Graham smirked triumphantly. “I knew it.”

“What gives you the right to tell me who I can go on a date with, huh?” Emma poked him hard in the chest until he looked back up to meet her eyes. “We are not together anymore, Graham, you know that. Will knows that. I thought we were past this.”

At the mere mention of Will’s name, Graham ground his teeth and held back the words he really wanted to say. He leaned forward and extended an arm towards the lounge, pointing at the small boy sitting on the couch, eyes transfixed on the TV in front of him. “That boy in there gives me the right, Emma. I’ve been there for him, for you, and I’m sorry that was never enough for you but I love Will and he deserves to know...”

“He knows,” Emma spat, interrupting him and making Graham move back in surprise. She knew exactly what Graham thought he could use as some sort of leverage, but it wasn’t going to work. The second she had found out she was pregnant Emma had vowed to never lie to the life growing inside of her about anything and he might be young, but Will was smart. He understood more than Graham gave him credit for.

“Forget it,” Graham shook his head and held up his hand dismissively. “I tried to be understanding about this. I tried to be the bigger man, for Will, but there has always been this disconnect between us, Emma. I will never understand why, after everything he did to you, you love him so much.”

“No, you won’t,” Emma said stiffly, her entire body rigid with determination. “Now go. If you can’t handle this, then walk away,” Emma told him calmly. She reached behind him and yanked the door open, the wooden door jumping free from the frame with a squeak she had never fixed.

“Fine,” Graham growled. “I hope you enjoy your life, Emma. I won’t be around to pick up the pieces this time.”

When he slipped out of the door, Emma knew it was for the final time. She had expected too much of him for too long, and just like any normal human being, Graham had not been able to handle the friendship that followed a failed relationship. They thought they could be friends, for Will, but it seemed Graham was of the jealous ilk and would never change, only hold a grudge. That wasn’t the sort of person Emma needed in her life, and it was not the sort of role model Will needed.

“Mommy? Where did Grah-Grah go?” Will looked confused, his tiny frame standing in the doorway of the lounge with sadness plastered on his face. Emma pushed the door closed and sighed, turning to face him with a forced smile.

“Grah-Grah had to go,” Emma told him softly, moving to scoop him up in her arms. She held him tightly, kissing his temple and inhaling the scent of his children’s body wash that made him smell like candy.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Will pouted sadly. Emma hugged him tighter shaking her head with a sigh.

“It’s just me and you now, lightning bug. Me and you.”

Without a sitter, Emma was stuck. Graham was her last chance to actually go on a date tonight, and since he had decided he couldn’t handle seeing her with another man, she had no choice but to call Killian and cancel. Unfortunately for her, Killian had taken an earlier flight to New York and was already in town, so instead they had decided to spend the evening in and order a pizza.

He had arrived earlier than expected and she was just putting Will to bed. After agreeing to give her a few minutes, Killian had perused the lounge, taking in the decor and looking at the photos that Emma had adorning the mantlepiece. Most were of Will, a small wisp of a boy with barely any body fat who had a brown surfer style hairdo that sat in a heap of curls on his head. His eyes were almost emerald blue in colour, darker than Emma’s but not quite as green as hers and Killian figured he must have inherited them from his father.

As he moved along the photos, there were a few of a trio that caught his attentions. Emma was cuddling Will on her lap as a toddler, his hair much blonder back then, and a tall, handsome man had his arm around the two of them. He had a short, cropped hairstyle but his mousy brown locks were unmistakably curly and his eyes a deep blue. Killian felt a pang of jealousy invade his heart, the happy family photograph something he had always dreamed he would have with Emma.

“That’s Will,” Emma said from behind him and Killian jumped a little, mouth open like he was about to say something. “And Graham,” she said a little more darkly.

“I was just looking,” Killian defended his snooping immediately, the warmth of a blush creeping up the skin of his neck.

“I should take them down,” Emma said idly, moving through to the kitchen and pulling a drawer open to fish out a few takeaway menus.

“Did you get Will to bed okay?” Killian offered a change in subject and moved to the couch. He heard Emma clattering around in the fridge, jars and bottles clinking together in the door as she pushed the door close with a click. He heard the twist of a bottle and as she appeared with two beer bottles in her hand, he stared at her in shock.

“Don’t worry,” Emma assured him with a grin. “They are alcohol-free.”

Killian grinned at her, taking the bottle, the outside wet in his palm. He scooted sideways on the couch and Emma dropped into the space beside him with one leg tucked under herself. “And Will went off without a hitch, thanks for asking.”

Killian took a swig of the non-alcoholic beer and savoured the taste on his tongue, the familiar bitterness of hops and bubbles coating his mouth and offering him instant refreshment. He hadn’t had a drink since Emma had left, alcoholic or not, but he had learnt that it was never the taste he had been addicted to in the first place but the freedom to get lost in the effects of being drunk. He didn’t ask why Emma had non-alcoholic beers in her fridge but he figured it was just to avoid the constant reminder of their past from her life.

“We can go out another time,” Killian suggested softly, turning his body sideways so he was facing her. His elbow dug into the back cushions of the couch and he rested his hand to her hand, smiling at her sweetly. “This is nice actually,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Just the two of us.”

“You forget the little person upstairs,” Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and pointed to the floor above them, earning her a chuckle from Killian who couldn’t stop his hand tangling in her hair. Their little touches had become more frequent and left her with a greater yearning each time that grew stronger and stronger each time he was in town. Emma nuzzled her face into his hand and turned her face until she kissed his palm.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked her gently.

“Just tired,” Emma assured him. “It’s been a long week.” Killian arched his eyebrows at her in agreement, holding out his bottle until she bumped hers against it. They both took a sip of the ice cold beer and smacked their lips together afterwards.

“It’s over now,” Killian told her in case she had missed the start of the weekend. “And I’m here now, so you know, it’s a million times better.” He grinned boyishly and gave her a wink, earning him a pathetic slap to the chest.

“My hero,” Emma mocked, instinctively leaning into him like old times. He felt softer than she remembered, his chest aged and changed with a weight gain that she didn’t find unattractive at all, and she moved her hand until it was resting against the edge of his open collar. She spied his chest hair jutting out from his shirt and couldn’t stop a giggle as it tumbled from her lips.

“What’s so funny?” Killian wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him and letting his thumb stroke the side of her arm. It was nice to hold her again, her skin so familiar under his touch and yet so different, changed by years of hardship and courage. He tried to look down at what she was seeing, but he couldn’t look past the jut of his chin.

“You’ve gone grey,” Emma teased, plucking at the white hairs erupting from his shirt.

“Not only there,” Killian laughed. “Things are a bit snowy down south too.”

“Oh my god,” Emma cackled, burying her face in his shirt to hide her amusement. Killian laughed with her, unashamed by his admission because it put a smile on her face which was what he pretty much lived for nowadays.

The last three months had been a lot of long distance texting and phone calls late at night, a lot of flirting and even more innuendo that when they were together got pushed aside for a more subtle and intimate time together. They held hands and they snuggled, enjoying the warmth and security of each other’s embrace, something they had never had before. They had agreed to take things slow, much to Emma’s aggravation, but she respected his reasoning and reluctance to make love to her again so quickly.

However, she felt like she was drowning on dry land and if the rains didn’t come soon, she would most certainly would do something drastic.

“I’m scared I am going to end up looking like a polar bear,” Killian said, his thumb poking into the top of his beer bottle.

“Want me to do a quick recon of the situation?” Emma cooed sweetly, lifting herself out of his embrace and taking stock of his almost school boy look of panic. “Purely professionally,” Emma shrugged with a wink.

“But you are the sheriff,” Killian narrowed his eyes at her and tried to force himself not to smirk too excitedly.

“I’ve had special training,” Emma purred, pushing herself up onto her knees and moving to straddle his lap. Killian reached beside them and set his beer bottle on the table beside the couch before planting his cool hands onto her hips and holding her in place across his lap. They had already got to this stage last time, stopping themselves from going all the way like some horny teenagers abstaining from each other, but this time she was ready.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked her softly, resting his head back on the back of the couch.

“I’m ready,” Emma whispered against his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her hands and smirking against his parted lips. They were so close, breathing the same air and she felt the heat on the tips of his elfen ears under her fingertips.

“You are?” Killian gulped, his cheeks turning crimson and his hands increasing their grip on her hips as his eyes flitted between hers and her mouth. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and he sucked in a breath when he felt Emma grind down onto his lap.

“I am,” Emma nodded, rolling her forehead against his. Her voice was deep and scratchy like she had been shouting all day, and she let her hands slip from his face and began to unbutton her blouse.

Killian shivered, his stare glued to her hands as they nimbly worked the buttons through their holes. His heart took off in his chest, racing to keep the blood flowing to his extremities. He flexed his fingers against her hips, thumbs rubbing over the jut of the bone and felt himself get hard as he watched Emma undress. She was going so slowly that Killian had to shift his weight to relieve some pressure in his pants, her weight rubbing the solid length of him through his jeans and making him groan low in his throat.

Emma kissed his mouth, lips sliding sideways across his face and over the apple of his cheek. Killian’s head lolled backwards, his eyes fluttering closed as Emma’s kisses were seared into his flesh, the skin under her lips igniting with every touch. She kissed his ear, nuzzling the skin behind it with her nose and then trailed her tongue down his neck, kissing back over the same area to wipe away the wetness she had left. Emma sat back a little, tugging her arms out of her blouse and Killian gasped, sucking in a quick breath that made Emma stop suddenly and pull back.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked him gently, her finger hooking under his chin and lifting his eyes to hers once she had discarded her blouse. Killian was almost despondent at losing the sight of her ample cleavage, but he did not resist her, nodding with a warm smile.

“Aye,” he croaked.

“We can stop at any time,” Emma told him, her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. She pulled and twisted the buttons through the holes until she was at the bottom, pulling the edges apart and gasping at the sight she had missed so much. He was just as hairy as she recalled, scattered white hairs intermingling with the black just like on his head, and she felt her core clench at the sight. Killian sat forward and helped pull his arms free from his sleeves, both of them settling back into their original position sans their shirts and hands brushing against bare skin that had been calling out for the other for years.

“I just want us to be happy,” Killian whispered against her lips, their faces almost touching once more.

“I’m happy,” Emma smirked flirtatiously, arching her back so that her breasts were cradled at his eye level once more, the flesh heaving in her bra with each ragged breath she took.

Killian shot a glance down between them to where his jeans were painfully tighter and he chuckled shyly. “So am I,” he growled.

Emma surged forward, grabbing his face and pulling his lips to hers. The kiss was slower than before, soft lips and languid tongues massaging each other as they groaned into each others mouth and hands roamed over every patch of exposed skin they could find. Killian pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, the vibrations from her groan sending a shiver down his spine and causing his stomach to fall away from him.

“Bedroom,” Emma mumbled and looped her arms around Killian’s neck as he grabbed her ass and lifted her up into his arms as he stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her body into his, the planes of his chest and the tickle of his chest hair just as delectable as Emma remembered.

“Which way?” Killian stumbled towards the stairs, almost falling over when he tripped on some discarded toys at the the side of the couch. Emma laughed in his arms, shaking her loosely curled golden locks over her shoulder and sucking on her bottom lip. Killian looked at her, flushed and wanton and knew he needed to hurry before he came from her sultry teasing alone. “Which way, Swan?” He demanded with more haste, his fingers snapping her bra open and pulling the material down her shoulders.

“End of the hall,” Emma panted, holding on to him for dear life as he ascended the staircase, cursing under his breath when he stood on a squeaky floorboard and Emma hushed him midway along the landing. “Careful!” she giggled, burying her face in his neck to try and stifle her laugh.

“Shhh!” Killian paused outside of her bedroom door, slamming her into the wall with a force that made her squeak in pleasure. He dipped his head, kissing the underside of her jaw and leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake as he travelled lower, tongue darting out to taste the swell of her breasts.

“Mommy?” Will called out groggily from his room and they froze. Killian had managed to shake his jeans half way down his thighs and his erection was poking Emma in the inner thigh, the adrenaline rushing through both of them with the fear that Will’s bedroom door was about to open. Emma grabbed Killian’s shoulders and made him stop moving, pressing her finger to his lips as he gave her a wide eyed stare.

“It’s okay, L-Bug,” Emma called out in a soft whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

They paused, waiting for the sound of a small child walking across the bedroom but no sounds came from Will’s room. Killian’s arm muscles burned with the burden of holding Emma aloft, but he couldn’t help himself and pulled one of her nipples into his mouth. The nub pebbled instantly against his tongue like it had never been anywhere else, the taste of Emma’s skin making Killian growl.

“God, Killian…” Emma whimpered, eyes fluttering closed.

“I think he’s asleep,” Killian whispered into the valley of her bosom, sliding his tongue over the plump mounds as he moved for the other nipple. Emma pushed her back off the wall and encouraged him to suck harder, fingers carding in his hair and gently tugging on the soft, dark mass between her fingers.

“One more second,” Emma pleaded, her body betraying her words.

“I don’t think I have a second,” Killian laughed, his voice hoarse and his legs shaking from staving off his release. “I need you. Now,” he grunted into her ear, rolling his hips against hers and pinning her to the wall.

Emma knew as soon as they crossed into her bedroom things would change. They were no strangers to each other’s bodies, knowing each other more intimately and emotionally than anyone could ever have known. They had been through so much, shown each other the worst that they could be and driven each other into the lowest depth of despair, but that would never happen again.

Killian was falling in love with her all over again. The way that she moaned under his kisses, the shiver in her muscles and the breathless way she called his name like only he could make her. They fell into each other, hardness and softness combining in the sweetest ecstasy, their bodies pressed together so closely that Killian wasn’t sure where he ended and Emma began. He would never forget the sounds she made as she came, her fingers clutching the comforter above her head and the gentle waves of contracting muscles rippling up and down his length sending him into the light directly after her.

They were giving each other a second chance to right their wrongs, starting with tonight.

Killian stayed the night, which was odd, waking up with Emma asleep across his arm again. At first he thought he was dreaming and last night hadn’t happened, but then she stirred and raked her fingernails down the expanse of his chest hair, her toes curling over the shape of his calf, and he smirked to himself. There had been no frenzy to the way they made love, each savouring the other like a fine wine or a culinary delicacy that they would only experience once, and with a content sigh, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

“What time is it?” Emma mumbled against his chest, her eyes rolling around behind her eyelids.

Killian smiled at her groggy state, craning his neck to press his lips to her hairline. “It’s just after six,” Killian said, whispering because of the early morning. Emma’s eyes flew open in a panic and she scrambled to the edge of the bed, leaning over the edge with a grunt and grabbing his shirt. She pulled herself back onto the bed and tossed the material at him, brushing the hair from her eyes with a heaving breath.

“Get dressed!” Emma screeched in a hushed tone, clutching the comforter to her chest and covering herself up. “Quick!” She urged him with wide eyes, waving a hand towards the en suite.

Killian frowned at her and his hand jumped to the patch of skin behind his ear. He was blushing and he couldn’t hide that it was because she was naked, even more glorious in the rising light of day than he had remembered. “Why? What’s wrong?” He fretted, pulling his shirt on hurriedly and searching the floor for his boxers. They had been discarded in a hurry last night and he wasn’t exactly sure where they had ended up.

“Will!” Emma said quickly, locating his boxers and tossing them across the bed towards him.

“Will?” Killian caught his underwear and hopped from one foot to the other as he put them on. “What does your son…” Killian began but just as he had managed to pull on his boxers, the door flew open and a rather sleepy child barrelled into the room. He was dishevelled from sleep, one of his pant legs caught up around his knee, and he was missing one of his socks. He rubbed his eye with one hand and dragged his bear with the other seeming to ignore Killian altogether as he clambered onto the bed.

“Hey, L-Bug,” Emma chimed nervously, pulling on an old t-shirt she had found in one of her drawers. Killian looked at it hard, recognising it as one of his old college tees that he had lost a long time ago but Emma brushed off his puzzled expression with a nudge of her head towards the door. “Did you sleep well, sweetie?”

The only sound Will made was a grumble, the sleep unsuccessfully rubbed from his eyes as he crawled into Emma’s bed and snuggled down into the duvet. He nodded into her pillow, clutching it in his tiny fingers as he sighed. Killian padded barefoot from the room, mouthing the word ‘coffee’ to her with a smirk. Emma nodded thankfully and perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Will’s hair as he snoozed.

“So, Will sleepwalks?” Killian smirked, fully dressed now and pouring the steaming hot coffees into two mugs he had found in one of Emma’s cupboards. “Right into your bedroom.” Emma let out a breath, settling at the dining table and hanging her head in her hands with a giggle. She was still wearing his college shirt, her pajamas pants hanging low on her hips and exposing a tiny bit of the flesh of her stomach. Her body had changed with pregnancy, her hips a little fuller and her skin a little loser, but Killian found it endearing, like he was getting to know a whole new Emma.

“Every day at six,” Emma nodded once in agreement. “Every day since he was three.”

Killian made a sound in his throat and handed her her coffee, cream and two sugars, just the way she liked it. He stood beside her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing the curve of the bone through the tee. “I thought I’d lost this,” he said idly, plucking at the grey fabric.

Emma turned and smiled at him sweetly, her eyes still heavy from their lack of sleep and her hair a mess. She looks beautiful, even more than before they broke up, her cheeks still the same rosy softness and her lips still the same, perfectly curved and kissable. Killian matched her smile, his lips turning up on one side before he bent over and gave her a sideways kiss. It was soft and gentle and so slow that Emma couldn’t ignore the ache low in her stomach and the hum of content on his lips.

“What are you doing to me?” She sighed happily, wrapping her hand around his arm and tracing the outline of his bicep with her fingers. Killian simply quirked a brow, a modest smirk on his face. “I mean it, Jones. I’m so confused right now.”

Killian grabbed the chair beside him and slid it across the tiled floor until he could sit closer to her, his coffee sitting next to hers on top of the wooden surface between them. “What do you mean?” He asked her with a frown. “Do you regret last night?”

“God, no!” Emma said with a smirk, recalling the way she had felt with his head between her legs. Killian caught her reminiscing and poked his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip agonizingly slowly, the taste of her still lingering on his lips, his eyebrow jumping up on his face once more. “No,” Emma said firmly when she caught him watching her. “It’s just…”

“Talk to me,” Killian pleaded gently, leaning forward and pulling her hands into his. “We can’t do this again if we are not honest with each other.” His fingers were hot on hers and her palms a little sweaty from clutching the steaming hot coffee mug for so long. His fingers danced up and down her forearms, his touch almost soothing her and chasing away her worries. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can…”

“Mommy?” Will’s voice interrupted them and Killian jumped back, sitting back up in his chair and clearing his throat.

“Hey, baby,” Emma cooed, twisting her frame in her seat and reaching with open arms for her son.

“What are you guys doing?” Will looked between them, eyeing Killian suspiciously. He had only met him briefly before now and Emma wasn’t completely enthused by the idea of him knowing too much at the moment.

“Well,” Emma started, looking to Killian and extending the syllable to give her a little more time to come up with an answer.

“We were talking about breakfast,” Killian offered casually, giving Will a small smile. “What does a growing lad like yourself eat for breakfast?” Killian took a sip of his coffee and awaited Will’s reply.

“Pop tarts!” Will declared with a squeak.

“You do not,” Emma declared, aghast. Will looked at her and hunched his shoulders, hiding his face in his hands as he giggled nervously. Emma jabbed her fingers into his side and he wiggled on her lap as she tickled him. “Nice try though.”

“Oh, you are a scoundrel,” Killian noted, pointing a finger at Will who just gave him a grin. Killian winked at her knowingly. “How about pancakes?” He offered and Emma looked at him surprised.

“Can we have bananas on top?” Will asked excitedly. “And chocolate sauce?” His voice jumped and he almost fell from Emma’s grip when he shuffled to the edge of her knees in his eagerness. Killian looked at Emma who nodded at him, but when he looked back to Will he gave a look of feigned disgust.

“If you must,” he sighed with a dramatic eye roll. “You ever made pancakes before?” Killian asked him and Will shook his head shyly. “Well, in that case, how about I show you?”

“Can he, Mom? Can he show me?” Will screeched excitedly, bouncing up and down in her arms.

“Okay, okay,” Emma conceded and Will shouted gleefully, slapping his hands on the tabletop. Killian leaned forward on his elbow and held out his hand, his palm flat and open. Will grinned cheekily and slapped Killian’s hand with his own followed by a bout of his infectious laughing.

In the time it had taken Killian to rise, Will was at the other side of the kitchen and dragging his stepping stool towards the counter so he could be the right height. Killian gathered the ingredients, some he had discovered earlier whilst looking for the coffee mugs, and some with Emma’s help. Will awkwardly pulled up his sleeves and bobbed up and down on the stool. “Yay!” He sang like he had never been so happy.

“You don’t have to do this,” Emma told Killian on a whisper, snaking her hand around his waist and pressing her body into his side.

“I want to,” Killian beamed at her, cracking an egg into a plastic bowl. No sooner had the yolk settled in the curve of the bowl, Emma’s phone rang and she sighed with a groan. It was her work phone, likely something important even if it was the weekend, so she had no choice but to answer it.

“Do you mind?” Emma asked sorrowfully, nudging her head towards Will. The youngster was watching Killian with a fascinated stare, tilting his head like a puppy at the way the eggs sat side by side in the bowl but did not mix.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Killian nodded reassuringly and Emma gave him a little wink.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised, walking backwards from the kitchen and turning at the last second to answer her call. Killian turned back to Will, handing him a sieve. Will took it, twisting it in his hands and inspecting it with a frown.

“What’s this?” Will asked innocently.

“That’s a sieve,” Killian said with a smile.

“What’s it for?” Will looked up to Killian hopefully, genuinely intrigued.

“Ah, well,” Killian began, moving the bowl of eggs in front of Will and helping him to rest the sieve across the top of the bowl. He reached for the bag of flour and shook some of the fine, white dust into the curved sifter, watching intently until he was sure he had emptied enough flour into it. Killian and Liam always made pancakes and he rarely needed scales to make sure his amounts were spot on, instead using his eye and a confidence in cooking he had learned from his brother. Once satisfied with the amount, Killian rolled the top of the bag down and set it aside, giving Will a wooden spoon and pointing to the bowl. “Tap the side of the bowl,” Killian instructed with an encouraging smile.

Will look confused for a second but when he hit the spoon on the side of the plastic and a layer of flour drifted through the sieve onto the eggs below, he shrieked in delight. He tapped again, and again, until the entire amount of flour had fallen through, looking up at Killian with a proud boyish grin. “I did it!” He declared, clutching the spoon in his hands tightly.

“Good lad,” Killian nodded, giving Will a thumbs up.

“What next?” Will asked excitedly, peering into the bowl.

Killian added a pinch of salt, a glug of milk and then he began whisking the mixture, making sure to beat the lumps out with the most effort. Half way he stopped and offered the bowl over to Will, helping him grip the whisk properly and showing him how to hit the side of the bowl repetitively to create a light, fluffy mixture. Will’s tongue poked out as he worked, his little arm tiring quickly and his whole body sagging with effort.

“Come on,” Killian encouraged with a laugh. “I thought you were strong?”

“I am!” Will laughed back, his shoulders sagging as he gave Killian a pleading glance and pushed the bowl towards him. “But you are stronger,” he noted. “You should do the most work.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh again, the feeling of genuine innocence at Will’s words doing something inside of his heart that he had never felt before. There was a short pause with him just looking at the boy and seeing Emma’s cherub cheeks and her wonderful smile duplicated on the face of her son, the gleeful glint in his eyes the same one his mother had when she was a teenager. “You are a clever lad,” Killian told Will softly, resuming his whisking, checking the batter for lumps periodically.

Will leaned forward on the counter, head propped up on his elbow as he watched the bubbles in the batter pop. “Are you my new daddy?” He asked sweetly, not looking up as he did.

Killian’s face paled instantly and he swallowed a hard lump down his throat. It must have been hard on the boy to see Emma and Graham separate. He remembered how confusing it was for him when his parents decided to divorce, and how he had his older brother to see him through, guide him into adulthood without his father figure. Will didn’t have that, being an only child, and Killian stopped his whisking to turn and face him.

“I’m afraid not,” he told him sadly. “Do you miss your daddy?” Killian asked him softly, dipping his head to catch his eye.

Will nodded without taking his hand away from his face. “Mommy said he had to go away.”

Killian’s heart decided in that moment to split in two, the sadness laced in Will’s tiny voice, not yet old enough to realise how much of an effect what he was saying could have on anyone. “We can be friends, if you’d like?” Killian offered, letting the whisk roll against the side of the bowl and extending his hand out to Will. “I’m Killian,” he smiled with a nod.

“That’s a funny name!” Will chortled, covering his mouth with chubby fingers.

“Well, what’s your name?” Killian looked at Will with narrowed eyes.

“I’m Will,” the boy chirped, taking Killian’s hand and giving it an exaggerated shake. “Nice to meet you!” His antics made Killian chuckle inside and he suppressed a giggle.

“That’s a great name,” Killian told him. “I have a friend called Will. Good people are called Will.” Killian let his mind wander to the number of times Will Scarlett had been there for him. If it wasn’t for Scarlett and his friendship, Killian may never have come home from service, and he would certainly have drunk himself to death by now.

“Thanks,” Will sang, poking at the whisk like he wasn’t supposed to touch it. “It’s short for William, but Mommy never calls me that.” Will picked up the whisk again, poking it through the thickening batter. “I was named after my uncle. Mommy says he was a good person too, like my daddy, but Daddy is away right now because he was sad about Uncle Liam going to live with the angels.”

There were no words to describe the feeling of when the world falls out from under you and envelopes you at the same time, but Killian was pretty sure he had just felt it.

He felt the blood drain from his face, a slight dizziness washing over him as he felt his heart rate pick up in his chest. His breathing became laboured, his armpits turning suddenly hot and damp and every hair on his body standing on end at the same time.

Will was oblivious to how his words had struck him, the finality of what his brother’s death really meant to him hitting home once and for all, and the boy continued to prod the batter in the bowl. Killian frowned at the boy, watching the profile of his face, flashes of Graham from the photographs playing over in his mind. Graham had a round face whilst Will’s was much thinner, and his nose was different, curved rather than pointed. His lips were Emma’s and his cheeks were hers too, but his eyes were a sea green that he knew ran in his lineage. Killian reached out and brushed his hand through Will’s hair, parting the curly brown locks and revealing the soft point of an elven ear, the boy unaware to what he was searching for.

“Uncle Liam?” Killian croaked, his voice breaking a little, his fingers lingering over the back of the boys head tenderly.

“Yep,” Will said with a nod, standing up and turning to rest his behind against the counter. He fidgeted his feet, bumping them together. “William is like Liam, but not the Irish version.”

“How old are you, Will?” Killian asked, forcing a smile. “Do you know?”

Will gave him a wide, toothy grin and nodded confidently. “I am four and a half years old,” he declared happily, holding up four fingers and pinning half of his pinky finger back down. “That’s this many!”

“Okay, boys, I’m done,” Emma called out as she walked back into the kitchen, head down and fingers tapping at the screen of her phone as she set it back to the menu screen. She looked up, Will giving her his best boyish smile that reminded her so much of someone else she knew, but the contrast in his rosy cheeks to the panic and paleness in Killian’s made her freeze. She didn’t have to ask, she knew.

He knew.

“Will, honey, why don’t you go and play with your dinosaurs?” Emma encouraged him, not taking her eyes from Killian’s who was staring at her scandalized. He tore his gaze away the second Will jumped from the stool obediently and ran to his mother, hugging her legs and looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Can I help Killian flip the pancakes later?” He pouted, looking back at the man behind him who had turned his back on them both and was hunched over the bowl of batter once more.

“Sure, L-Bug,” Emma ruffled his hair, watching the ripple of muscles in Killian’s back flex each time he clenched his fists and then stretched out his fingers on the countertop. Will ran off, thanking Killian for teaching him how to make pancakes as he thundered up the stairs one step at a time, all the while singing to himself about his dinosaurs.

“Killian,” Emma said softly, his name on her lips full of silent apologies.

“It’s okay,” Killian turned to look at her, his mind reeling. “I mean, I think it’s okay,” he shrugged, moving to sit at the table once more and burying his face in his hands.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Emma joined him, grabbing his hand as she sat down beside him. He was in shock, she knew that, staring blankly at nowhere and the muscles of his face twitching with thought. “I wasn’t sure how you would react, if you would even want a baby,” Emma said, the back of her throat swelling a little with emotion. He didn’t answer her, mouth agape and eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

“Did you know?” Killian said, his voice breaking a little as his own tears threatened to put a crack in his voice. “When you left, did you know?”

Emma looked down at her lap and sighed. “I was eight weeks pregnant that night,” Emma swallowed hard, her voice echoing with the hurt she felt that night. Killian pinched his eyes closed, a tear finally rolling from his eyelids. He was ashamed beyond comprehension. Not only had he attempted to take Emma’s dignity by force, but he was absolutely sure that back then, the life growing inside of her would not have stopped him even if she had said.

“You did the right thing,” he gulped, finally turning his head to look at her with a nod.

“I wasn’t going to raise a child in that toxic, destructive environment,” Emma justified with a squeeze of his hand. “I wanted to change, being pregnant made me see that, but I wasn’t convinced that you could put a child above everything else.” Her voice broke, the tears finally spilling from her eyelids and the tingle in her nose starting as her sinuses become inflamed.

“I wouldn’t have,” Killian agreed. “I was selfish and despicable,” Killian spat, his words so full of venom for his former self that he could hardly believe how far he had come. “I didn’t even recognise that thing I was, Emma. I don’t hate you for leaving, and I don’t hate you for not telling me about Will. You did what was right by our son, and that is all that matters.”

Emma sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “Our son?” She beamed at him with watery eyes, her fingers gripping his harder.

“I wasn’t ready to be a father,” Killian shook his head, reaching out to cup her face in his hand, his thumb tracing over the curve of her chin and wiping away her tears.

“How about now?” Emma asked hopefully.

Killian’s breath hitched with a nervous laugh before he moved forward to kiss her, lips shaking against each other, their faces so close that their tears mingled together against their skin. Emma shuffled forward on her chair, her knees bumping his and Killian tangled his hands through her hair, the softness caressing his fingertips and making him feel warm once more.

“Pick a partner who knows what she is doing,” Killian whispered against her lips as he broke the kiss and nudged her nose with his.

“What?” Emma chuckled, stroking the side of his face tenderly, still in a little daze from his kiss.

“Parenting,” Killian clarified, sitting back in his seat. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“I’d like to think so,” Emma smiled sweetly.

“Then I choose you. I pick you. And if we falter, I’m sure we can work it out.” Killian gave her a happy grin, winking when she playfully tapped his hand with hers. They were the same words he had used when she told him she loved him over a decade ago, but now they were very different people and so much had happened between them. And they had a son, who needed them both to be the best people they could be and make sure he did not stray from the path, like they had.

Emma’s lips twitched into a small smile, the image of Killian in his prom tuxedo still fresh in her mind. He was just as handsome, if not more now, with a silvery edge to all his body hair that she absolutely loved. “Together?” She teased, echoing her teenage words.

“Together,” Killian nodded, squeezing her hand in his. It was the second time he would make the promise, but it would be the last time. Nothing could tear him away from his family now that he knew he had one, and as if on cue, the sound of Will’s footsteps hammering down the wooden staircase roused them both from their loving stares.

“Mommy!” Will called out as he ran into the kitchen. He was waving a piece of paper that depicted some figures drawn in front of a house, one with yellow hair and green eyes, one with black hair and blue eyes and between them a shorter figure who had brown hair and darker blue eyes. “Look!” Will chimed, slapping the paper to the table between them.

“Oh, you drew a picture,” Killian observed with a tilt of his head and a squint. “Of…” He began, struggling to see what he was actually looking at.

Will looked up at him with a frown. “It’s us!”

“Of course it is!” Killian declared, just as jovially and Emma smirked at him over Will’s head.

“That’s Mommy,” Will continued on, pointing to the yellow haired figure who was wearing blue pants and a red sweater or jacket of some kind.

“So pretty,” Killian whispered, keeping Emma’s gaze.

“And this is me.” Will didn’t even stop between breaths, or notice Killian’s attention had changed from his drawing to his mother.

“I thought you were taller,” Killian teased, tearing his eyes from Emma long enough to cock his head to one side and make Will laugh hysterically. “And who is this handsome fellow?” Killian tapped a finger to the tallest figure with blue eyes, black hair and what looked to be cocktail sticks shooting out of the bottom of his oval shaped face.

“That’s you!” Will told him proudly and before Killian had time to question his appearance, Will clarified his thought. “With your spiky beard!”

Emma couldn’t hold her laughter anymore and when Killian screwed up his face, clearly uneducated in the ways of children and how they had no filter, the sound sprang from her mouth making them all jump.

“You did a great job, L-Bug,” Emma said politely, covering her mouth as more giggles threatened to escape.

Killian smoothed his hand over the drawing, the crayon waxy under his touch, until he reached the bottom corner where there was a name. His brow knitted together. It looked familiar, an initial and a surname that made Killian’s lips spread into another smile and his heart swell with pride. “W Jones,” he breathed, not even realising his words were out loud.

“Yup!” Will shifted closer and his tiny body pressed into Killian’s knee, his warmth like a calm that Killian had never felt before. “William Jones,” he smiled up at Killian, both of them looking almost identical with their wide, boyish grins and slightly rosy cheeks. “I can’t write William yet though, so I just draw a ‘W’.”

“L-Bug, do you remember when I told you your daddy went away for a while?” Emma leaned forward, grabbing Will’s shoulders and pulling him into her embrace, hunching over and resting her chin over his shoulder. Will nodded, staring at Killian. “And do you remember how mommy told you that your surname was Jones, just like your daddy’s?”

Will nodded. “That’s why yours is different,” he said confidently.

“That’s right,” Emma said proudly. She kissed the side of his cheek, much to his disgust and then pointed over at Killian who was fidgeting nervously. “Why don’t you ask Killian what his last name is?”

Will paused, looking over the man in front of him. His fingers twisted together, not through nerves, because he was the most confident child Emma had ever met, but because he wasn’t sure how to say what she was sure he had already worked out. “Is your last name Jones too?” He asked softly, hand reaching up to scratch the patch of skin behind his ear.

“Aye,” Killian nodded.

“That means yes,” Emma whispered in Will’s ear. “Killian is your daddy,” she told him softly, the redness around Killian’s eyes unmistakable when Will’s face erupted in the largest of smiles.

“Daddy!” Will screamed, pulling free of Emma’s embrace and rushing forward. Killian was ready, arms open in a second and he pulled the boy into his embrace, holding on like he would never let go. Emma had never lied to Will about his father, skipping over details that a child didn’t need to know, but she had always encouraged him to love his father and if she was completely honest, she had hoped this day would come. “You came home!” Will cried into Killian’s sweater, his voice breaking as his emotions overtook him.

“I’m home,” Killian sobbed, his breath hitching a little as he held his son, tiny arms grabbing onto the material of his sweater and holding on for dear life. “I promise I am not going anywhere ever again.”

There was nothing else left to say that hadn’t already been said. There were no more tears left to cry after that day, only bridges to build and hearts to mend in the only way having a child could. Killian doted on Will and made sure that he felt loved more than anything in the world, giving him everything he could possibly afford and then some. Will returned the favour ten-fold, even if he had no idea how simply being himself had such an effect on his father.

Their journey had been long and the road laid out in front of them had no clear end, but two years later when Killian cradled their newborn son in his arms, he had a different story to tell when he attended each meeting, and he would make sure this one had a happy ending.