#this turned very captain cobra swan real quick

[welllpthisishappening]

All Was Golden in the Sky (21/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Hey, thanks for reading this. For realz.

“Wait, wait, wait, where are we going?” Emma can’t move her feet quickly enough, far too many vines and low-hanging branches, but this kid –  Henry, he said his name is Henry – appears to be picking up speed the more they walk. He doesn’t actually answer her, just nods his head and flashes a smile that’s probably supposed to be comforting. 

She kind of feels like her eyes are going to fall out of her head. 

And neither Killian nor Kristoff have sheathed their swords. “Is this a good idea?” Ariel asks, clearly trying to keep her voice low, but it comes out like a hiss and the whole jungle is making enough noise that Emma swears she can feel it reverberating in her. As if the whole jungle is entirely pissed off by what they’re doing.

She shrugs. “Do we have another choice? I mean, if there’s another person on this island--” “--Anna,” Kristoff cuts in, and Emma doesn’t have the heart to correct him. She’s doing her best to temper her own expectations, mostly because she’s a little worried that she’s going to break her ankle if they keep moving at this pace, but her eyes keep flitting towards Killian anyway and every bit of hope Emma swears is coursing through her system is reflected back on his face. 

“We don’t know that,” she mutters. A branch nearly slams into her face. “Ah, fucking--ok, let’s just…” 

She can’t see Henry anymore. 

The birds are definitely getting louder, caws and cries and several different varieties of squawks, like they’re communicating or sending out warnings and Killian’s eyes widen when Emma glances his direction again. 

“I don’t know,” he says, answering a question she hasn’t bothered to ask. 

Kristoff practically growls. “Communicating silently is not helpful. And where in all hells did that kid go now?” “You’ve got to stop using that,” Killian mutters. “The all hells. It’s just...it doesn’t make any sense at all.” “And you’ve got a lot of experience with hell, do you, Captain?”

Killian’s eyes go impossibly narrow, all threat and a rather jarring lack of hope. “Stop talking.” Emma can’t help the sigh that falls out of her. It’s a strange sound, not entirely disappointment or anything except complete exhaustion, the magic in her turning to a low simmer or some other cooking pun that’s entirely out of place in the middle of goddamn Neverland. She feels like her skin is bubbling, steady ripples of power and emotion, a muddled mix of want and desire, a frustration she hasn’t been able to shake for what’s felt like years because those same years have been filled with curses and misunderstanding and she just wants to sit down. 

She wants to sit and sleep and be, for just a few moments. 

It’s not an option. 

Her option is Savior. And prophecy. Her option is magic and control and repenting for every single mistake she’s ever made. 

Apparently. 

A never-ending stream. 

Apparently. 

“Swan,” Killian murmurs, and she doesn’t remember him turning in front of her. His gaze has shifted again, soft in a way that only really happens when he’s looking at her and whatever sound she makes when he brushes his finger across her cheek is as far removed from hero as it is possible to be. 

“I’m ok.” “No, try that again.” “Fine.” “Emma.” “Fine,” she snaps, and it’s not fair. It’s the audible sound of all those emotions, sharp and abrasive and a dozen other decidedly negative adjectives that would also be appropriate when describing kitchen utensils. 

She licks her lips when Killian blinks, a heavy silence that isn’t right either. The birds are far too loud for anything to be silent. His thumb is still on her cheek, a light pressure against her skin that Emma tries to focus on because everything else seems to be spinning and twisting, her eyes unable to fully adjust to the sky and the stars. 

He smiles at her. 

Not much, not really, just one side of his mouth tugging up, but it’s there and Emma sighs again. Her head falls forward slightly, the soft brush of Killian’s lips ghosting over her hair, trying to occupy the same few inches of space he is. She squirms against his chest, like that will let her move into him or something equally absurd, but Emma wants, wants, wants and she always has. Probably more than she should. 

“Talk to me,” Killian says softly, and she nearly laughs. It comes out far more strangled than she’d like it to. 

“That’s not fair at all.” “Desperate times and all that.”

“Have we reached that point?” “Eh. You’re avoiding, love.” “I’m fine,” Emma promises, and it’s only kind of a lie that’s only kind of obvious because he clicks his tongue in something resembling reproach. She tilts her head up, chin jutting out.”Not good, huh?” “Really, really bad.” “Exceptionally bad, honestly,” Ariel agrees. She’s leaning back against a tree, one leg pulled up slightly, and Kristoff only looks a little put-out by the whole scene. “Still crazy impressive magic, though. Are we trusting the kid, then?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat – neither an agreement nor otherwise. It hurts. Of course it does. And she glances towards Kristoff, his face going slack, disappointment wrapping around both his shoulders like it’s a visible thing. 

Killian kisses her hair again. 

She’s lost track of that particular number. 

“I don’t know why I know,” Kristoff whispers. “And it’s--it’s crazy to think that it could be her, but--” “--When you love someone, you know,” Killian says, and Emma’s magic jumps. It makes her eyes fall shut, a blast of adrenaline to every single nerve ending she’s got, and her muscles feel like they’re never going to recover, but the whole thing is kind of romantic and maybe they can win on the power of positive thinking alone. 

Mary Margaret’s going to be very disappointed she missed all of this. 

Kristoff nods. “Yeah, exactly that.” “Oh, that was nice, Hook,” Ariel adds, and the words only sound a little teasing. “Tink? Anything to add?” Emma’s head jerks up at the inclusion of Tink, who’s barely strung two words together since they got her out of the trap. She’s staring at her shoes, fingers wringing together with enough nervous energy that it could probably do serious damage. 

“This is the part where you’re supposed to answer,” Emma says. Nothing. Tink doesn’t lift her gaze or untangle her fingers, just keeps looking down, shoulders shaking when her breathing turns slightly erratic. 

And Emma’s drifting very close to the precipice of furiously annoyed when she hears the crash behind her, hands flying up and swords moving on the edge of her vision, Ariel scrambling to get back on her feet with a distinct lack of grace. 

Henry blinks. “What’s taking you guys so long?” “Gods,” Emma grumbles, hand flying to her chest and the ring hanging there. “Ok, kid, first rule of this--” “--Operation?” “What?” “Any good journey should have a name,” Henry says reasonably, and whatever noise Killian and Ariel make is oddly similar. “That’s how all the stories go.” Her magic does something. Emma has no idea what it does, but it leaves goosebumps on her skin and prickles of feeling in the tips of her fingers, an understanding she can’t place because she absolutely does not understand what the hell is going on. 

Killian shrugs. “I’ve got no bloody idea.” “The mind reading thing,” Emma mutters, but she’s still kind of charmed by it. Always. Indefinitely. Forever. 

Henry’s mouth twists when it’s clear they aren’t paying explicit attention to him, Emma mumbling a quiet apology, when she reaches a hand out towards him. He flinches. And, she supposes, that’s understandable. He’s been on that island for the Gods know how long, for reasons she hasn’t gotten around to asking about yet and whatever tears dot her vision are not for her. 

They’re for this place. 

And this magic.

And another group of people she has to save. 

“What should we call this, Henry?” Ariel asks, doing her best to redirect the conversation with forced lightness. 

He brightens immediately, a flash of smile that’s far more child than anything else and Emma is going to do something exceptionally royal to pay Ariel back for all of this. “Oh, that’s easy,” Henry says. “Operation: save Joan.” Kristoff is going to do permanent damage to his sword if he keeps dropping it like that. 

“What did you say?” he rasps, trying, without much success, to wrap his fingers back around the dirt-covered hilt. 

Henry furrows his brows. That’s fair. They’re not doing a very good job of presenting themselves as competent adults. “Joan,” he says slowly. “That’s her name.” “Where do we go, Henry? How far away are we?’ Can we get there now?” “Not that far. But, um---” He shakes his head, limbs flailing slightly when Ariel mutters another fish-related curse under her breath. “There’s some stuff.” “Stuff. What kind of stuff?” “Neverland stuff.” “So not good stuff,” Killian suggests, Henry humming in agreement. “Lady Bell,” he continues. “Did you have some kind of idea about this not so good stuff that we’re about to encounter?” Tinker Bell tenses. It’s, hands down, the strangest sentence Emma has ever thought. 

Which is really saying something at this point. 

“Oh, that’s not an immediate answer either,” Ariel points out. “Should we guess? Would that make it more fun, then?” Kristoff groans. “Can we not guess? Do we have to fight something? Destroy it? Slaughter things? I’ll be honest, I’m prepared to slaughter more than a few things.”

Killian scoffs at that, but Emma doesn’t look away from Tink – she’s still not breathing evenly, inhales that are far too large and exhales that seem to rattle their way out of her. She keeps chewing on her lower lip, alternating between twisting her fingers together and tugging on the side of her dress.

“It’s not a something, is it?” Emma asks, and Tink’s eyebrows jump. “You said it already. The island makes you relive your worst memories. So what do we have to do now? Watch it, instead of smell it?” Tink shakes her head. “No. And we haven’t timed it exactly right.” “That’s not my fault,” Henry grumbles, digging the toe of his shoe into the dirt. Emma’s heart lurches. “And we’re pretty close, Tink! It’s almost midnight.” “How can you tell?” Ariel mutters. 

Henry’s whole body shifts. He looks taller, suddenly, shoulders rolling back and it is a genuine miracle Emma’s heart manages to stay in her body. Because she knows that look. She knows every single one of the emotions that play across his face, has lived them, memories that have been knocking on the back of her consciousness since they’d gotten close enough to this infernal island for its magic to reach her. 

Alone. Shivering. Without a second glance or an understanding look. 

Lost. 

A lost boy who’s been in Neverland far longer than he should. 

She takes a step forward, slow and as unthreatening as she can make it, both hands held up like she’s approaching a frightened animal instead of a ten-year-old kid. His eyes widen, body tensing and mouth parting with a soft gasp as soon as Emma’s fingers curl around his shoulder. 

“How long have you been here, Henry?” 

He shakes his head, barely enough movement to even shift the far-too-long strands of hair near his brows. “I don’t know.” “But you’re not...you want to help us. What about Blackbeard?” “Him?” Henry squawks, and that head shake is a little more confident. Emma can feel Killian shift behind her, a heat that’s probably not actually there reaching out and brushing against the back of her neck. It takes her a second to realize it’s magic. Again, or whatever. “Nah. He wasn’t good. He was like the other one.” “Rumplestiltskin?” Henry hums, and Emma knows she doesn’t imagine the way he twists into her hand. “He wasn’t here long. He brought Joan and he--” His whole body shakes when he shivers. “He had other people with him. Bad people.” “And you can just tell who’s good and who’s bad, huh?” Killian asks. His hook finds the small of Emma’s back again, a slight press into her skin that might be a question or more misplaced hope. She leans back. 

“Sometimes,” Henry shrugs. “Mostly I’m just really good at figuring out where people fit in.” “Into what?” “The story.” Emma is thankful for the hook. She’s fairly positive it’s the only thing that’s keeping her upright, resting most of her weight on it and the arm that wraps around her suddenly, Killian’s chest shifting against her back as soon as she stumbles backwards. 

“What do you mean, Henry?” she asks, only a little guilty when she ignores Kristoff’s cries of protest. She knows this is important. 

It’s definitely getting brighter out. And later. This island makes absolutely no sense. 

Henry makes a wholly child-like sound, lips curling and hands waving through the air. “I’m good at telling stories,” he says, and Emma has to look down to make sure her magic hasn’t turned her phosphorescent. She’s only glowing slightly. So, that’s a win. “Ms. Joan likes them.” “You talked to her a lot?” Kristoff croaks, another shrug and Henry’s starting to look almost comfortable around them. “What did you talk about?” “Oh, loads of stuff. She told me about the trees where she was from. How different they were from here. The leaves don’t hang like ours, you know?” 

Kristoff nods, a quiet hum that’s more hope and Tink’s eyes are starting to resemble pinball machines. Something about this is wrong. 

Emma wishes that would stop happening. 

“She’d tell me things and I’d put them in my story,” Henry continues. “It doesn’t always work though. That’s what Rumplestiltskin said when he found me. He said I wasn’t ready.” “Ready for what?” Killian asks, and there’s no mistaking the venom in his voice. 

“He never really explained it. But I think it’s what I can do.” “And that is?” “Tell things,” Henry answers simply. “Some of the other boys like it. When they’re not--well, can you hear them?” Killian nods. “They’re sad and lonely and that makes it difficult for them to believe sometimes. They forget.” “Forget,” Ariel echoes. “Forget what?” “Home. Everybody should have a home, don’t you think?” “I do.” “And what about you, Henry?” Emma asks. “You never forgot home?” He shakes his head. “Ms. Joan helped. She’d tell me about her home and it--it sounded like the place I was from. So I’d put it in the story. Mixed our homes and I tried to get us there sometimes, but I don’t think Neverland really liked it much. It always hurt when I couldn’t do it the right way.” “Wait, wait, I’m confused,” Ariel says, Kristoff muttering that makes two of us behind her. “Henry, do you have magic?” That makes him freeze again, an obvious surprise and possible overstep because he kind of looks freaked out. “No,” he says quickly. “I just--it doesn’t work. Not always. I couldn’t get Ms. Joan back home.” “What did you try to do?” Kristoff asks. His voice isn’t quite as gruff as it’s been, a quiet entreaty to it that makes Emma wonder how her heart is going to survive this entire trip. 

“She told me about the trees.” “Yeah, we get that, kid,” Emma mutters. “But you said you could take what people told you and put it in your story. Does your story---is it alive?” Henry’s lips press together tightly, the clench of his teeth obvious and no one has ever blinked that much in the history of any realm, magic or otherwise. “Ok, ok,” Emma presses, trying to figure out what question to ask next, but none of this makes much sense and--”When the Dark--” She nearly bites her tongue in half, a grunt and gasp, the press of Killian’s hook cold when it finds its way under her shirt. “When Rumpelstiltskin was here, did he say anything about you having magic?” “No.” Emma narrows her eyes, the skin on her cheek tingling like the lie has reached out and slapped her. “Let’s do that one more time, huh? When you tell these stories, can you feel something? Like--like it’s warm?” Henry stares at her like she’s crazy. That’s fair. Emma feels a little crazy.

“I just talk,” Henry sputters, voice rising until it cracks on the final few letters. “I--I listen to Ms. Joan when I can get in and---that Rumplestiltskin he didn’t like her. He said she had to stay here so no one would know the truth and the man that was with him--” “--Just one man? “I didn’t like him.” “Neither did we,” Killian mumbles. “He wrote her--Ms. Joan, I mean, did he write her into wherever you’re leading us?” Henry blinks. And looks a little impressed. Killian may actually be blushing. “Yeah,” Henry breathes. “He--he had this pen and he didn’t like me. Rumplestiltskin thought I was interesting, but that other man. He looked at me like I was wrong.” “Not wrong, kid,” Emma promises. “Just better than him.” Ariel sighs. “Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” “That’s how he got to the Land Without Magic,” Killian explains. “Rumplestiltskin. He found this man--Isaac, who could write people into situations. The kind of magic that could change everything, cross realms and land right inside the Storybrooke town line. That’s how it worked, isn’t it, Swan?” “He was very dramatic though,” Emma grouses. “Lots of rolling fog and bright lights to make it look like Rumplestiltskin was more powerful than he was.” “Hold on, hold on,” Kristoff stammers. “You’re telling me this Isaac idiot is the one who brought Anna here? Why?” “That’s probably a question she could answer,” Emma says, expecting the glare she gets for her bit of misplaced sarcasm. 

She exhales, mind still racing and jumping from point to point and she can’t quite figure out what Henry is. So, naturally, Killian asks about it. 

“Henry,” he says slowly, and she can practically hear the metaphorical gears creaking when his tongue swipes the front of his teeth, “where did you come from? It wasn’t this realm, was it?” Emma’s left leg buckles. Just her left leg. It is absurd. 

And Henry looks torn somewhere between dazed and astounded, mouth hanging open and face turning as hopeful as anything Emma has ever seen. He’s practically radiating with it, a low thrum of noise that makes the birds shift above them and the leaves flutter around them and it clicks. Quickly. Suddenly. Obviously. 

“He believes in what he’s saying,” Emma whispers, Killian’s quiet hum of agreement barely audible over the rush of her own magic and the continued twist of her left knee. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” “It’s an educated guess on my part, Swan, but, uh--aye, I think that’s what it is.” “You’re all magical jerks who communicate in code,” Ariel shouts. “What does believing in things have to do with anything? And where is Henry from?” Henry shuffles again, rocking his weight between his feet. “I hadn’t been there long,” he says. “There were a lot of houses and I was--I was tired of it. I wanted a family. I wanted...I wanted someone to want me, but this place it wasn’t that. It was bad. It was dark and cold and the grown-ups there didn’t seem to really care what happened. So, um---” “--Did you run?” Emma asks, already knowing the answer. Henry nods. “Where?” “As far as I could go. But it was cold and I was hungry and I--I heard something.”

“What kind of something?” “I don’t know,” Henry admits. “But it was loud and it was...it scared me. I didn’t really know where I was anymore and I wanted to figure out what was happening.” “Brave lad,” Killian mutters, drawing a loud scoff out of Ariel. Tink is staring at the sky now – like she’s waiting for something to happen. “What did you see?” “A giant circle. Right in the middle of the ground. And I--I thought I saw someone walking away, thought they might be able to help me, so I kept walking and I just...got yanked back.” Emma wants to say something other than what. She really does, but that seems impossible and her lips are already parting to form the word again. The word never makes it out of her throat. 

Killian’s whole body sags, the burst of air that flies out of his chest practically dripping with regret and it clicks. Again. And even worse. 

“That’s not possible,” he argues, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself. “That’s not how portals work. I’m not--” “That’s not your fault, babe,” Emma says. She knows the sentiment falls on deaf ears, can see the way his face crumples as soon as she turns towards him, a hand on his chest and the other hanging in the air just above his jaw. 

“It was always dicey magic, Hook,” Ariel reasons. Killian doesn’t move. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing. “What about Ursula, though?” Emma blinks her. “What about her?” “Well, she’s able to control the water, right? That’s why I knew she’d be able to find Lake Nostos and make sure it got the bean back, but what if she did something else?” “Aside from cursing me?” Killian growls, and Ariel does not look impressed. “Yes, Hook, aside from that. Nostos brings things back to life, makes them powerful again. What if that did something else to the bean, something even Ursula didn’t expect?” “Like keeping a portal open longer than usual?” Emma ventures. “That seems like kind of a reach, doesn’t it?” “I’m trying to find some bright spots here.” Emma sighs, her own brand of regret in the sound. “Yeah, I know. I just--oh damn.” “That sounds promising.” “Henry, how soon after you got here did Ms. Joan show up?

“Not long,” Henry says, screwing one eye shut when he tries to remember. “It’s tough to keep track of time here, though.” “Right, right, ok, so, bright spot? I think the portal stayed open for Henry.” Killian makes a contrary noise, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek when he shakes his head. “Swan, that doesn’t--” “--Ok, if you're going to do this whole blaming yourself thing for the rest of the day, I’m going to get really annoyed.” His tongue moves. It’s distracting. “He just told us he was looking for a way out of the piece of garbage situation he was in. You gave him that, babe.” “And sent him to Neverland!”

“But that didn’t stop him believing,” Emma argues, and she can feel it, the certainty that she’s right surging through every single organ she has. Her fingers brush across Killian’s cheek. “And I think Ariel’s on the right track. Nostos brings things back, makes them strong and--” She twists, smiling at Henry. “It made your ability to believe even stronger, kid. So strong that you could bring it to life, visualize that and keep the other people here believing too. And, I think, help us all get out of here.”

Emma’s smile is wide enough that it hurts her cheeks, a quick nod like that’s proven her point and no one says anything. Not a single word. That, admittedly, kind of sucks. 

“You think I’ve got magic?” Henry whispers, barely mumbling the words out. 

Emma blinks back more tears that aren’t for her, far too much prophecy and fate and everything falling into place because she’s fairly certain this kid has been waiting for them. She breathes deeply, doing her best to look comforting when she moves forward again, dropping to her knees and ignoring how quickly the mud moves through the fabric of her pants. 

Henry licks his lips, refusing to meet her gaze, until––Emma exhales, measured and, at least, four seconds long, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. And that’s all it takes. His legs give up and his body shakes, soft sobs because no one should be on this island and she probably doesn't have any right to be as proud of him as she is. 

She manages to keep her balance when Henry falls forward, head burrowing into the side of her neck when Emma wraps both her arms around his middle. She’s never been particularly good at this – comfort or support, but the words fall out of her with relative ease, the hand that brushes across the back of her hair making it a little easier. 

“It’s ok,” Emma promises, letting her fingers drag up Henry’s back until she can cup his head, holding her against him like that’ll prove how much she means it. “It’s going to be ok. Nothing is going to happen to you anymore.”

“We won’t let it,” Killian adds. He has to shift his coat slightly to move down to their level, and it shouldn’t make Emma’s magic leap the way it does. That’s never really mattered though. “I’m so sorry, my boy.”

Her magic is a goddamn symphony – soft light at the end of her hair and the tips of her fingers, circling around her wrist and ghosting over the lapels of a coat she may actually be starting to like again. Time is cyclical like that, she supposes, but Emma’s mostly focused on possessive pronouns and possibilities and she’s apparently thinking in alliteration now. 

“Ok,” Henry nods against Emma’s collarbone, leaving damp marks on her shirt and her skin. She doesn’t let go of him. “But---” “But?” 

“Even if what you think is right and I can--” He waves his hands over Emma’s head, nearly elbowing her in the process. “The stories didn’t always work. It’d be kind of...half there. I could never actually get anyone out of here.” “Did you try?” Kristoff asks archly, Emma twisting to glare at him. He blinks. 

“Sometimes,” Henry says. “But it’s hard. It’s--” “--Everyone needs to believe him,” Emma whispers, wonder clouding her voice when she realizes what she’s got to do. “And he just needs a little spark.” Kristoff kicks something. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” “Swan--” Killian starts, but she shakes her head deftly. The exhaustion is still clinging to her, trying to pull on her and douse the bits of light she’s created, a mix of her own fear and worry and whatever this goddamn island is capable of. She tugs Henry back against her side. 

“No, no, this is part of the gig, right?” “It’s not exactly top-billing.” “That was funny.” “Aye, it happens.” He sighs, fingers tugging on the back of his hair, and Emma knows he wants to argue more. He doesn’t. So, more points.  

Kristoff is going to single-handedly destroy the Neverland ecosystem. He lands another pretty impressive kick to the nearest tree trunk, staring at them with barely filtered anger. “Ok, now that we know the kid isn’t actually going to turn on us and will, maybe--” “--Definitely,” Emma interrupts sharply. “Can we go save my fiancé now?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry cries, trying to use Emma as leverage and Killian has to catch him around the waist to keep him from running forward. “Are you the one Ms. Joan talked about?” He pauses mid-kick, Ariel’s laugh ringing out around them. “Oh, this is actually very romantic.”

“I hope so,” Kristoff breathes. “I--” Henry grins, nodding back towards the jungle he’s already ventured into. “It’s not that much farther and we’re running out of time.” And Emma is almost confident until she hears those words, a flutter of dread in several different pulse points. Killian snaps his head towards her. “Menacing, huh?” he mutters, lacing his fingers through hers as they follow behind Henry. 

“A requirement it seems. Tinker Bell,” she adds, and the fairy nearly flies through the air. That’s probably an insensitive thing to think, really. “Why were you so worried all of this?” “I’m not.” “Oh, real bad. Definitely the worst lie we’ve heard so far today.” “By a rather large margin,” Killian chips in, lifting a branch up so Emma can duck underneath it without threat to any part of her face. “Your highness.” “Gods, the flirting has got to stop,” Ariel yells. She’s more than a few feet behind them, fingers curled around the back of Kristoff’s sword belt so she can keep her footing. 

“It really is kind of ridiculous,” Kristoff says. “And you’re giving Tinker Bell an opportunity to keep deflecting her answer.” He turns on Tink, several inches and muscle, Ariel still clinging to his back with an expectant look on her face. “I hate to suggest that your current record is not very good, ma’am, but--well, you did wind up in a net earlier today.” “I’m not leading you into a trap if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Tink sneers. “Strange, is that what it sounded like?”

“This is worse than their flirting,” Ariel mutters, an impatient-sounding Henry standing at the mouth of a cave that absolutely was not there two seconds earlier. “Holy seashells.” “Fisk, that doesn’t make sense,” Killian says. She snarls at him. 

“C’mon,” Henry yells, bobbing on the balls of his feet. “We don’t have a lot of time. The Echo Cave only opens when the stars are in the right spot.” Emma lifts her eyebrows, gaze darting back towards Tinker Bell. “And that position is midnight? Honestly?” “I didn’t make the rules.” “Just don’t like explaining them.” “Let’s get inside first.”

Emma grumbles, but she doesn’t actually object, following Henry and his shouts and she can’t help but let her shoulders sag when she takes in the scene around them. It is, in fact, a cave, high walls that shimmer slightly from residual condensation, stalagmites or the other ones, Emma’s not all that concerned with proper names, hanging from the ceiling and rising up from the ground. A ground that is very far beneath them. 

She can’t decide what to look at. Every thing appears worse than the last, a vast expanse of nothing stretching out between the lot of them and the tiny pillar of rock in the middle of it all. There’s a cage sitting on top, a shadow that Emma can barely make out because the air is doing that thing again and she’s having a difficult time staying focused. 

“Anna,” Kristoff cries, lunging forward and both Henry and Tink make matching sounds. She steps into his space, clearly mismatched, but that same determination from earlier is back in her gaze and his chest heaves against her palms. 

The cave walls shake. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Killian mumbles, reaching for Emma. She squeezes his hand tight enough she’s likely leaving nail-shaped marks on his skin, but he doesn’t tell her to stop. 

“What is happening?” she asks. “How the hell are we supposed to get to her? Is that even actually Anna?”

“Kristoff?!” The voice isn’t loud – scratchy at best, but there’s enough emotion there that it’s obvious who’s fingers are wrapped around the rung of that cage. “Anna,” Kristoff shouts, another leap forward and he nearly steps on Tink in the process.

“You can’t do that,” she scolds, pressing up on her toes. So she can slap him. 

“Holy shit,” Emma gaps. “Alright, can we not resort to attacking each other?” “He can’t keep moving like that. The cave is going to react.” “The menacing has really got to stop. What does that mean?” “The cave,” Tink repeats, waving her free through the air. “Can you not feel that? “ Emma opens her mouth – an undeniably snarky and less-than-thought-out retort on the tip of her tongue, but Killian answers before she can actually begin to formulate words. “I’ve heard of magic like that,” he mutters, a note of something in his voice that makes her shiver. “Eye for an eye. Tit for tat.” “Wait, wait,” Emma stammers. “You think we have to give something up? Like what?”

Tink hisses. “A piece of yourself.” “I’m sorry, what?” “How do you do that?” Ariel asks, the question shaking its way out of her. It’s getting darker in that cave. And they’re running out of midnight. “This place doesn’t expect us to chop off our own limbs, does it?” “No, no, nothing that archaic.” “Small miracles,” Emma grumbles. She doesn’t remember moving, standing perpendicular to Killian with her shoulder pressing into his chest and his cheek resting on the side of her head. Her arms wrap around her middle, trying to contain the magic roaring in the very center of her, but that’s a fool’s errand and she understands. Again. It’s the worst. “It is like before, isn’t it? Reliving our worst memories?” “Like that,” Tink agrees. “It wants a secret. Your darkest secret, words and thoughts you’d never admit out loud.” “Fuck, that’s the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard. Deepest secrets though? That seems a little--” “--I’ll go,” Ariel says, squaring her shoulders and Emma’s not entirely surprised. She takes a deep breath when she stops, pressing her arms into her side and nodding once. “I knew Hook was back. The entire royal family of Misthaven had returned and I--I thought about finding him, but it wasn’t until there was this,” she glances over her shoulder, flashing a tremulous smile, “another quest, right? And, I--I missed that. The danger and the darkness and all of it. I know I shouldn’t and you’re so much better now than you were, Hook. Gods, the way you look at her. It’s--but I thought maybe it could be like it had been. Adventure at our feet.”

The cave shakes again, but, this time, instead of sounding like it’s falling down on top of them, the ground stretches out, several feet of stone. It’s not nearly enough to get to Anna, but it’s proof positive that they’re on the right track. 

Kristoff curses quietly, pulling Ariel back away from the edge. “I want to save Arendelle,” he murmurs, “get rid of Hans and help Elsa reclaim her throne, but I’d give up all of that to keep Anna safe. I’d--the people in Arendelle couldn’t fight. Not after Elsa was gone and I think most of them just chose to believe she was dead. It was easier that way. I’d--I wouldn’t mind a little easy at this point.”

Another shake, more stone and there are tears on his face when he lifts his head, the weight of his admission leaving him gasping for air. 

“I hated her,” Tink says suddenly, an unexpected addition to whatever twisted honesty hour they’re staging. Emma’s eyes bug, a quick swallow and Killian gasps when her nails break the skin on his hand. “The blue fairy,” Tink continues. “She was--maybe still is, in charge of the fairies and I--I knew I was breaking the rules, but I didn’t care. I wanted to help and she wouldn’t let me. Now, I--” She pauses to drag the back of her knuckle under her eye. “Oh, I’ve been here too long,” she whispers. “I’d rip her wings off If I could and I’d enjoy it.”

The stone gets longer – nearly enough to reach Anna, but there’s still far too much open space and none of them do, actually, have wings. Emma’s mouth goes dry. “I don’t--” she starts, but Killian spins her back towards him, eyes impossibly blue and-- “We didn’t have to break to it,” he says. “The curse. We could have stayed. In that realm and that city. Gone on that date. Ignored Times Square completely. I--almost wish we hadn’t. That it could just be that simple, two people who are--” “--Aren’t we?” Emma asks, not sure what her interruption will do to the magic or the goddamn cave, but she can’t quite cope with the way he’s staring at her, like this is the worst thing he’s ever thought. It may be the worst thing she’s ever thought. Her willingness to want it, to miss the jacket and the library chairs and cinnamon in her coffee. 

“I wasn’t here for the magic, Swan, but sometimes I wish the magic wasn’t here at all either.” His teeth find his lower lip as soon as the words are out of him, letters and syllables that stretch out that final bit of stone. Emma closes her eyes, letting go of a breath when her head drops forward, and for a moment they’re nothing more that that – tangled limbs and magic that was and wasn’t and won’t ever go away, her heart thumping in her chest hard enough that it feels like it’s bruising her rib cage. 

And that might not be wrong. 

“Ah,” Emma groans, hand flying towards her chest. “What the--” Her knees buckle with the flash of pain that sparks in her, another cry that sounds far too shrill to have actually come out of her.

Killian’s hand and hook move quickly, trying to pull her up or, at least, keep her steady, the fear that laces his voice sounding impossibly far away. “Swan, Emma, love, what--” “--The island doesn’t want her here,” Tink says simply. “And it will demand more than a simple statement from her to get across that bridge.” “Like hell, she’s crossing that bridge!” “Yes, not until she concedes to what the magic demands.” Killian gapes at her, unsteady breathing and anxious hands. The bridge shakes precariously, as if it’s trying to prove its under a time limit, and Henry groans softly behind them. “I think it’s almost over,” he warns. “Ms. Joan, can you get the door open?” Anna ignores the question. “Get out of here! All of you! If you get stuck in here--” “--I’m not leaving without you,” Kristoff objects. “That’s not an option!” He tries to run forward, but the first step on the bridge sends him flying back, a burst of magic that Emma swears she can hear and she can’t seem to do much more than claw at the sides of Killian’s jacket. “No, no,” she mumbles. “It’s got to be me.”

“Emma, no, we’re not doing this again,” Killian says. “You said you wouldn’t. No more sacrifices or danger and--” “--That’s not really how it works, babe. Part and parcel of the whole Savior thing.” “Fuck that, I’m not letting you go.” He says it with such conviction that, for a moment, Emma allows herself to believe it. She revels in it, the way he looks at her and that one piece of hair hanging across his forehead, still there, probably, just to torment her and make her pulse sputter. 

She tries to smile. It doesn’t feel like it works. 

“I love you.” “Swan, that’s--” She cuts him off, a quick press of her lips against his that leaves Killian half-chasing after her and Emma tries to focus on that when she turns back towards Tink. “What do you think I have to do, then?” “You’re stronger than the island,” Tink answers. “It doesn’t appreciate being challenged like that. So--” She nods towards the hand that has, somehow, wrapped around her ring. “You have to give up your biggest strength. And that’s how much you love, Emma.” The blood rushes from her face. She can feel it. It makes her vision swim and her head feel light, as if she’s running out of oxygen and that might not be all that far off, honestly, depending on what time it is and what kind of schedule this cave sticks to. 

Emma’s dimly aware of Killian objecting – voice rising and Ariel trying to calm him down, but the walls are starting to shake again and Henry’s looking more than a little anxious and she’s not entirely sure how to do this. So she acts on instinct. 

Again. And always. 

She takes a deep breath and plunges her own hand into her chest. 

It’s surprisingly not uncomfortable. 

Mostly there just doesn’t seem to be enough room for all the things Emma’s body is now trying to hold and the addition of her fist makes it difficult to actually take a deep breath, but all in all, it’s not the worst thing she’s ever done. 

Emma grits her teeth, twisting her hand and trying to find the right organ and she can’t help but gasp when something squishes in her grip. “Oh shit, that’s gross,” she mumbles, drawing an absurd sound out of Killian. 

“Are you kidding me, right now?” She clicks her tongue – mostly to focus on that instead of the far-too-familiar sound of a heart being yanked out of a human being. Henry runs forward, slamming into Killian’s side with a trust that’s incredibly new, but also not entirely uncomfortable. 

Killian wraps his arm around his shoulders. 

And Emma barely notices, eyes falling towards the still-beating heart in her palm. It’s red, a brightness to it that gives her a questionable amount of confidence, but there are a few dots of darkness, a swirl in what may be the left ventricle that gives her pause and--

“You’ve got to go Savior,” Tink says, furtive glances towards the barely-open cave mouth. Anna is still trying to get them to leave. 

“Right, right,” Emma nods. She thrusts her hand forward, Killian’s eyes widening and brows jumping. “Here,” she says, well aware that the whole thing is kind of maudlin. “It’s always been yours anyway.”

Killian chokes out a laugh that’s more like another exhale, gaze going glossy. He holds his hand out anyway. “This better work.” “I’ll be right back.” And really they don’t have time. Her heart is in his hand. But Emma feels his hook catch her around the wrist, pulling her up short before she’s even gotten a step closer to the bridge and it’s a very strange thing. She tilts her head up, knowing that the kiss is inevitable and it’ll be good and comforting and a slew of other very positive and decidedly romantic adjectives. 

She doesn’t really feel them, though. 

She feels the brush of his lips, the quick swipe of his tongue, all desperate and terrified because this has to all end eventually, they’ll get to be two people and their own people and each other’s people, but that’s obviously not now and Emma has to think about how to respond. 

She pulls away, can see the flicker of disappointment in Killian’s gaze and her smile isn’t right. 

“Go,” Killian mutters. “I’ll--”

The rest of the sentence gets caught in another tremor, more than a few pieces of stone falling into the chasm underneath the bridge and Emma runs. She tries to keep her weight on her toes, darting forward quick enough that her calves ache and her lungs burn, skidding to a stop in front of a woman with dark bags under her eyes and dirt caked under her nails. 

Her hair still manages to catch a bit of light though. 

And some of that light is coming from between Emma’s fingers. 

“Are you Anna?” she asks, a silly question that warrants an even sillier laugh. 

“Was that not obvious?” “It’s been a very long--I don’t know, life. I just..I just want to make sure we’re not bringing back the wrong person or evil in disguise or something.” “My name is Anna, my parent’s name were Gerda and Agnarr. My sister is Elsa. She was with your--what is George to you?” “A nightmare that gets dimmer the longer I’m awake.” Anna blinks, eyeing Emma like she’s looking for the lie and is only a little pleased to never find it. “Here,” she adds, tugging on a chain around her neck. She brandishes the snowflake that hangs there, an unspoken challenge to Emma that she doesn’t have any interest in. “My sister. She’s got a very similar one, doesn’t she?” Emma nods. “Yeah, she does.” “I want to find my sister. That’s how I ended up here.”

“I don’t--”

Anna huffs, tongue darting between her lips as Emma tries to figure out the the door to this cage. “Henry must have told you. I--the Dark One brought me here. Or, at least the man I thought was the Dark One.”

Emma freezes. “You didn’t know?” “Not until it was too late. The meeting with Blackbeard was a trap. I was no closer to finding Elsa and then I heard rumors that there’d been a curse and Misthaven was gone and I was running out of options. So I decided to try and find the Dark One. I’d found my parent’s old notes and they’d been looking for him before.” “What?” “To try and figure out what was wrong with Elsa.” “There’s nothing wrong with Elsa,” Emma snaps, Tink yelling something about time and a distinct lack of it. 

“I know that. And you know that. But my parents were--they were scared. No one’s ever had magic like that in Arendelle. They went to the Rock Trolls for help, but they couldn’t do anything and then--” She has to catch her breath. “I didn’t know,” Anna whispers. “I was young and our parents left. They got on a ship and they were gone and then they never came back, but I found the notebook and I think--well, I think that’s why Elsa never tried to get back.” “You think she found out,” Emma breathes. “About your parents and the Dark One. That’s why she went to George? To try and fight him?”

“I do. I--she never trusted her magic, did her best to hide it because my parents thought it was dangerous. I think she was looking for answers.” “But you still sought him out? Even after all that?” “You were gone,” Anna shouts. “Kristoff was bound to a pirate ship. I didn’t have a lot of other options. I thought he might know where she was. Only I finally found him and the Dark One wasn’t that, was just a man without any magic and the certainty that I needed to be taken care of and the next thing I knew I was here.” “I’m sorry.” Anna scoffs. “You’re sorry? What happened in Misthaven?” “George was working with the Dark One,” Emma says, a lack of emotion in her voice she’ll probably blame on her heart eventually. “The whole time. He was...we were all being lied to.” “Shit.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up. So, uh...well, we’re here to save you. We’ve got some magic and a pirate ship in a bottle and--”

She cuts herself off when Henry yells her name, a shrill cry that makes her spin on the spot and Emma has to admit she’s not entirely prepared for what she sees. Because they’ve clearly run out of time. 

There’s no opening at the end of the cave anymore, half a dozen shadows moving towards them, but her eyes barely linger there before she’s yanking on the front of the cage, a burst of strength that’s nothing more than adrenaline at this point. She tosses the stupid thing over the side of the bridge and her footsteps aren’t quite as light this time, pounding down stone like she’s going downhill. 

Anna collides with Kristoff almost immediately, arms wrapped around her middle and toes dragging across the ground because she wasn’t wearing any shoes. “I’m alright, I’m alright,” she chants, grunting softly when he tightens his hold. “Gods, you’re really here, right?” “Here, I’m here,” Kristoff says.

It’s nice enough that Emma almost forgets, but then the whole world appears to shake under them and--”Killian,” she yells, falling to her knees, more pain than she’s entirely ready for. It explodes out of the center of her, directly where her heart should be. 

“Emma!” He dodges forward, handing her heart to Henry and trying to move into her space, but that only makes everything hurt more, “No, no, bloody hell. None of it worked.” “Just get my heart back. It’s--” Whatever else she’s about to say dissolves into a scream, barely able to keep her head upright and she can just make out Killian’s left boot move. That’s as far as he gets. There are flames around him, a circle of fire and flicker of heat, lapping at the side of his legs and the ends of his coat. “Killian!”

“Get your heart,” he bites out. “Now, Swan.” Emma shakes her head, not sure if it’s a disagreement or general disbelief. She’s breathing heavily, every soft whimper Killian makes leaving her gasping and Ariel has both her eyes closed. There’s smoke in the air now. 

She really has no idea how she stands up. It takes every ounce of everything she’s got in her – which is saying quite a lot since there doesn’t appear to be much of a pulse without her heart, legs that feel like they’re also made of stone, but Emma gets to her feet and she will eventually wish she was more graceful about the whole thing. 

She shoves him. 

Hard. 

It works, though. And Killian brings her with him, falling out of the flames and huffing as soon as Emma’s entire body weight lands on his chest, hair in his face and fingers finding their way under her shirt. 

The door to the cave opens. 

“What the hell is that?” Emma demands. 

“Magic for magic,” Killian whispers, and she can’t hear anything except wonder in his voice. It’s nice, after all this time. “True Love, Swan. Emma, you chose me, that was the test. The island can’t object to that.” “God, fuck this place.” He laughs, pulling her closer to him and dragging his mouth against her jaw. It will probably feel better once she’s got a heart again, but it still manages to feel pretty nice and they’re not done yet. “Aye, love, that’s exactly it.”

“So, uh,” Anna starts. “What happens now?”

Emma lifts her head, letting her chin rest on Killian’s shoulder and Henry flashes her a nervous smile. “I don’t know if it’ll work,” he mutters. “You can do it,” Emma promises. “You’ve just got to believe and you’ve got that in spades.” “Misplaced reference,” Killian whispers in her ear. He hisses when she shakes on top of him. 

And Henry still looks worried, but then then Anna’s moving, a soft tut as soon as Kristoff tries to follow. She smiles, a bit of her own belief in the movement and Henry gasps as soon as her fingers find his. “When I was little,” she says, “my sister and I used to sneak into the forest. The trees were so tall there, like they were their own castle. And the air was always so crisp. It would hurt at first, cold enough to make goosebumps pop on your skin, but then it was almost nice, a stillness that made us feel like we were the only people in the world.” Henry’s eyes have fallen closed, lips moving with unspoken words. Anna keeps going. “The snow drifts always seemed enormous. Getting to the top was our favorite game, sliding down and--” She sniffles, lips tugged behind her teeth and it isn’t easy for Emma to get back to her feet again. She reaches her hand towards Anna’s free one, her other fingers curled around Killian’s hook until they’re a string of limbs and stories, memories and moments. “Sometimes Elsa would freeze them, make them into slides so we could get down quicker and oh, I bet you could hear our laughter for miles.” “Elsa?” Henry asks, one eye cracking open. 

“That’s my sister. I--my name isn’t Joan, Henry. I’m...I’m Anna and I’m from Arendelle.” The light that flares around them is as blinding as it is warm, a sudden rush that’s the exact opposite of any of the oppressive heat they’ve felt in Neverland. It’s like early-morning sun and the kind of comfort from a good night’s rest and blankets that are soft as silk. It’s home and safety and belief. 

In its purest form. 

The cave walls start to disappear, the light growing and both Anna and Henry are talking now, Emma doing her best to focus her magic. She whispers her own words under her breath, promises and her hopes, and the air around them smells different. 

Like pine trees. 

There are pine trees around them and a silhouette in the distance that’s larger than anything they saw in Neverland. 

“Is that a castle?” Ariel asks, Anna letting out a whoop of triumph. Henry sways on his feet, both Emma and Killian moving in tandem. He falls into Killian’s arms, not objecting to being lifted up, while Emma’s hand presses into his back. 

“You’re alright, my boy, you’re alright,” Killian mutters. “It’s ok. You did it.” Ariel scoffs. “Where are we?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Anna asks. “Arendelle. We’re home.”

[shireness-says]

Playing the Part ch. 3: Closer to Her

Summary:  Summary:  As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3.  Prologue  Ch. 1  Ch. 2

A/N: Still with me after last week? Good. You’ve got some Captain Cobra to look forward to this chapter, as well as more Emma & Robin friendship moments (is there a name for that?), which is basically my new favorite thing. Chapter title taken from “Big Fish: the Musical”, which is a thing, if you didn’t know that.

Thanks as always to @snidgetsafan, the best beta ever, who manages to squeeze in time for me despite her very busy school schedule. Honestly, A Champ.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happened.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Killian couldn’t tell you when, or why, or how it happens - it just somehow does over the month of September. He hadn’t started helping Emma because he fancied her, or because he was looking for some reward or professional favor; he just happens to think Swan is a lovely, impressive woman who deserves to have her life made a little easier. There’s something about seeing an irritated woman at the bar that just does something to his heart, apparently, something that makes him gallant and gentlemanly. So he brings her cups of her favorite hot chocolate and does all he can to keep rehearsals moving so she can go home and see her son. Lately, this means distracting the ever-complaining and unpleasant Zelena Mills, the production’s Caroline Bingley. It’s the least Killian can do, especially if it means making things smoother for Emma. But somewhere between “fancy meeting you here” and now, his desire to make her life easier evolves into a desire to know everything about her life and just maybe share it. Killian Jones is left to suddenly face the facts.

He likes Emma Swan. Like, like likes her, to borrow that juvenile mindset sometimes encouraged by the theater environment.

Really, it’d be hard not to develop a crush on her - Swan, in his humble opinion, is a wonder of a woman. She’s got a talent of exuding an undeniable authority when she needs to while still blending into the background and directing attention elsewhere. Beyond that, she’s possibly the most capable person he knows - seemingly everywhere she’s needed all at once, her head a well-organized file system of every detail of the show, ready to be whipped out to answer questions from the most obvious to the most obscure at any moment. Swan is amazing, and more often than not, Killian finds himself just watching her in her element with her mysterious system of legal pads.

(Even if it is entirely reasonable to be impressed by such a woman, as Killian dissects those thoughts, it only becomes more starkly apparent that oh, he’s got it bad.)

Liam laughs and laughs at him, of course, when Killian calls in a mild panic to dissect his emotional crisis.

“It’s such a mess,” Killian all but moans in consternation.

“Oh, you’re telling me,” his brother chuckles, apparently deeply amused by the pickle Killian has found himself in. Which is not helpful. Not in the least.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he whines, eliciting yet another bark of laughter from Liam.

“I did try to warn you. Unless, of course, you were too drunk to remember that conversation.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Killian mutters somewhat petulantly. He remembers that conversation perfectly well, thank you very much, and does remember how Liam advised against him pursuing the Lady Swan. And Killian hears that - agrees, really, that it would be a terrible idea to romantically pursue a coworker - but the heart wants what it wants, and he reserves the right to gripe and whine and play the pitiful victim if he so pleases. “But what am I supposed to do, Liam? I can’t ask her out, right?”

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do, little brother,” Liam replies, continuing before Killian even has a chance to muster the prerequisite correction that’s it’s actually younger, “but I’d certainly caution against it. I know that right now you’re in the midst of a fresh new crush, but stop and think about what could happen if you did pursue a relationship with this woman, and it ended badly. You’re the one who’s carried on and on about how important cast dynamics are in a live theatre show; you’ll have to consider the worst case scenario and how that dynamic could be affected in that case.” After a pause for thought, Liam chuckles, some new amusement apparently striking. “You know, you haven’t even told me if the lady in question feels the same. For all I know, this conversation is entirely pointless and she’s only been standing the sight of you out of some professional civility.”

“Oh, lay off, you arse,” Killian all but snaps. “I’m trying to get some advice - something you’ve always claimed to be your job as ‘big brother’, mind you - and you’re treating this all like some big joke. I don’t even know why I called —”

“Calm down, Killy,” Liam interrupts in a more soothing tone. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with my teasing. Honestly, I’m not sure what advice I can give, except to make sure you know exactly what you’re contemplating before you jump right in. Only your own heart can tell you whether this is a risk worth taking.”

It’s not the advice Killian was hoping for, if he’s being very honest. When all is said and done, he knows his brother is right - this is a matter only he can decide upon. But Killian is stumped, and he had really truly hoped that Liam would swoop in with words of wisdom to make everything make sense and tell Killian what would be the smart thing to do - what he should do.

“I know,” he eventually sighs in mild defeat. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t try to get you to fix it.”

“Ah, well, it was an excellent effort. After all, I do know everything, as you’re well aware.”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Killian affectionately grumbles. “I’ll talk to you later, you old bastard.”

“Aye, talk later. And let me know what happens with the lady!”

———

Walking into the theater feels like coming home, regardless of the fact that Emma’s never worked from this location before. She always gets this feeling whenever she walks into a new space - that feeling of belonging, of rightness that she’s only ever felt with Henry.

Emma’s not alone in the space by any means, faint shouts and harsh noises of tools echoing through the space, but the cast isn’t here, which provides its own kind of peace. She loves her cast, she really does - well, for the most part, certain supporting actresses being a notable exception- but actors bring their own variety of chaos, one born of high-strung emotions and everyone giving everything all the time. It’s easier to appreciate the way the show is physically coming together without them present, see the beauty of the set’s construction for what it is without the distraction of loud voices and louder personalities. It’s still a bit of a scattered mess right now - a grand staircase she knows will be used in the Netherfield and Pemberley sets contrasting sharply with a pair of fake hedges in the process of being painted to created the illusion of receding depth - but Emma’s been around this process long enough on all sides to see the potential, to know that even if things still look rough, in truth, they’re down to just the details.

“I really think it’s going to be something,” comes a soft-spoken voice from her side, and Emma startles out of her thoughts, turning to see Merlin to her right. “Sorry,” he chuckles, “I suppose I should have recognized the look of someone who’s taking all of this in.”

Emma waves his apology off. In truth, she had been a bit lost in the visions in her head of how the show would look opening night with everything perfected, but she’ll have time for daydreaming later. There’s more important things to think about - namely, the production meeting she’d been called to the theatre for. Things have been going well on the techie front - Emma’s been in contact with everyone often enough to know that everything is on track - like with the set, the framework and bulk of the major work is done, everything now down to details.

“I love this part,” she says quietly, flashing a quick smile at Merlin. “Right now, when you can see everything really start to come together… I don’t know, it’s like I can really start to put the pieces together in my mind and see all the potential.” It’s not exactly what she means - she can see the potential everyday, watching her cast - but seeing things now makes it feel real and impending and inevitable.

“I know what you mean,” the director murmurs back, eyes fixed on the half-completed set, before turning back to Emma with a grin. “Make sure you enjoy it while it lasts, the peace ends next week.”

Next week, Emma contemplates as Merlin walks away to set up their meeting on what remains of the stage. Consciously, she knows that the cast is moving out of the rehearsal space and into the theater next Wednesday, but the reality of that slams into her all of a sudden. The steamroller that is this show keeps rolling forward, gathering momentum, and even through Emma knows they’re perfectly on schedule, it’s still surprising, how fast time is moving. It’ll be opening night before she knows it.

It’s a nice change, being able to devote her entire attention to the technical crew. All the designers have been around, stopping by rehearsals at various points in the process to see what they’ve got to work with and around, with Emma acting as a communication hub of sorts between them all. However, at rehearsals, there’s always twenty other things she needs to worry about, most of those caused by her cast. It’s a welcome change to be able to focus on the production crew without any interruption.

Things go as well as anticipated - everyone’s on track, as Emma already knew, so this is more of a check in, a chance to double check in person that their coordination has been followed and paid off. As always, the meeting only creates more for Emma to do - Robin had presented her with a list of all kinds of bulbs and gels that still need ordering that she’ll need to double check the budget for, and she needs to schedule time for Kristoff and the orchestra to meet next month and confirm when Robin, Ms. Blue, and select cast members can meet next week to check how the costumes will look under the lights - but that’s not unexpected. Emma’s sitting in the audience, creating yet another list of things that need doing and checking - the top of which is confirming her stage crew - when the seat next to her creaks and shifts. A quick glance reveals the culprit to be Robin, clearly making himself comfortable as he props his feet on the row in front of them.

“Don’t get used to that,” Emma mutters, absent-mindedly nodding towards the man’s boots where they’re propped on blue velvet. When it’s just the two of them, she can let it slide, but she really doesn’t need the house manager on her ass - or worse, cast members seeing him at a later date and getting ideas.

Robin only chuckles in response, leaning over to see what Emma’s currently meticulously listing out. “‘Finalize crew’?” he reads off. “Who are you thinking of?”

“I’ve already got Dorothy Gale and Mulan Fa for deputy stage managers, and they’ve given me a shortlist of people they’ve worked with before and recommend. Still looking for a deck captain, though, if you’ve got any recommendations. Had a guy lined up, but he took another job.”

Robin crosses his arms and furrows his brow in thought, considering the question. “It’s been a few years, and I don’t know what he’s up to now,” he cautions, “but first guy that comes to mind is Will Scarlet. He can be kind of an ass, but he’s good at thinking on his feet and finding unconventional solutions when you need them. Back in the day, I’d trust him to do just about any errand or favor I needed, because I knew that one way or another, he’d get it done.”

Emma’s never worked with the man before - or heard of him, for that matter - but Robin’s opinion means a lot, both personally and in this business in general. Plus, it sounds like Will Scarlet might have the mindset she’s looking for in her deck captain - not afraid to do whatever is needed to keep the show moving forward, no matter how outside the box those methods are.

“His background actually reminds me of yours a bit,” Robin is saying, which sounds like only another reason to give the man a call. “He’s done a little bit of everything just for the sake of learning it, though he was mostly doing stage crew when I knew him. I could give him a call tonight, if you like, see if he’s interested. I know I’ve got his number around here somewhere.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks. If he seems interested, let me know, and I’ll give him a call myself tomorrow.” That’s one thing off her list at least. “Do you have any lighting guys I need to talk with and get contracts for?”

Sighing heavily, Robin nods. “Yeah, you’ll have to talk to the followspot operator, if I ever find one.” He chuckles before continuing. “I might need to borrow one of those legal pads and make my own to-do list.”

“And mess up my careful system? Never,” Emma teases right back. “Do you have a short list of candidates, at least?”

“No,” groans Robin, dropping his head back. “I mean, my four year old has decided that he’s the man for the job, but that won’t work for obvious reasons. Labor laws and whatnot.”

Emma chuckles in response, flashes of Henry at that age flitting through her mind. “Oh, I remember that stage. Have fun with that.”

“Yeah, I know. The thing is, he’s got the right instincts and reflexes for it, courtesy of the nature/nurture thing, he’s just not tall enough or strong enough to operate the lantern yet.” He grins roguishly before standing up, as if to leave. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plans for him yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Emma laughs in return.

“Anything I can grab for you before I head out? I need to make a couple calls about supplies before I pick Roland up from pre-K.”

“Go,” she waves him off. “I just want to walk a few things here, nothing I can’t do on my own. Let me know about Will Scarlet if you talk to him later.”

“Will do.” Robin waves a jaunty farewell, and then Emma’s left to her own thoughts again.

Fresh off the production meeting, she can picture in vibrant technicolor how everything is going to look. Merlin had been right, earlier; this production was really going to be something. Climbing over set pieces, examining the booth, hunting down each dressing room to assign space to everyone, Emma feels a routine beginning to form, one in which this theatre is her domain, and where she’s responsible for everything that happens in it.

An hour and a half later, Emma finally leaves to return home, where undoubtedly Henry is waiting (and hopefully working on his homework), having made excellent progress on her to-do list and with a new confidence in the feat they’re all trying to undertake.

It’s going to be something.

———

Of course, that confidence can only last so long. By the time rehearsals finally permanently shift to the theater a week later, a wide variety of problems have arisen, all of which Emma’s left to deal with and all of which leave her with a god-awful headache.

It had been with no small amount of relief that Emma had offered employment as deck captain to one Will Scarlet on Robin’s recommendation, but she’s not sure after meeting him that the man isn’t contributing to the headache. Will Scarlet has proved to be quick on the uptake and certainly skilled at his job, but he’s a chatterbox, too, with a deep love for sarcasm that Emma doesn’t always have the time, energy, or brainpower to process. Thankfully, whatever past history he and Robin share seems to make the former defer to the latter, and a well-placed look of disapproval from the older lighting designer does wonders to shut Scarlet up and preserve Emma’s peace of mind.

Of course, the odd hours aren’t helping either. The standard 9:30 to 4:30 rehearsal schedule is still in place, granting Emma one facet of much-needed routine. There’s still so much work to be done, however, much of which can’t be done with the cast still milling about, so Emma ends up staying late most evenings with Scarlet and her deputy stage managers, Mulan and Dorothy, setting positions for each set piece, usually only to adjust them the very next day. The file box is carrying a lot more now: five colors of spike tape and a roll of glow tape and more small tab post-its than any other person who doesn’t need to mark individual light cues should ever need, as well as all the myriad other things the cast need and somehow never remember to bring for themselves. The worst part of all of this is that Emma barely sees her kid anymore - sure, she sees him off to school in the morning, and sure, he comes by after school for a few hours before Elsa takes him home, but that’s so little time in the day, and Emma worries about how much she’s missing. While right now Henry is ecstatic to come to the theater and see everything that’s going on, seeming to take his mother’s weird schedule in stride, will he one day come to resent the time she spent at the theater instead of helping him with his homework or spending time with him? It’s a massive burden placed on her shoulders, only alleviated by hugging her kid as tightly as she can when they do see one another.

The greatest stress, however, comes from dealing with the actors. As always. God, when isn’t that the biggest stress in her life? In reality, she should just say actor, singular. Most of her cast, while constantly creating or stumbling across new problems like it’s some kind of competition, are generally pleasant and respectful and enthusiastic about the production they’re undertaking. It’s just one actor that’s the problem - Zelena Mills. Always Zelena Mills. While Miss Mills was hired for embodying exactly the traits they were seeking for their envisioned Caroline Bingley, she’s proved to be a constant pain in everyone’s neck. Emma prides herself on being a consummate professional, regardless of her personal feelings about her cast and their inevitable drama, but there’s just something about that woman that sets her teeth on edge and tests her patience more than usual. Zelena’s latest kick has been fancying herself some kind of genius director, questioning Merlin’s direction at every turn and playing Caroline larger and larger, despite specific instructions to the contrary. She’s already been talked to, both by Emma and by Merlin, but those conversations brought only temporary improvement. Personally, Emma thinks Merlin is being too nice; left up to her, Zelena would be long gone. The headache of dealing with her is not nearly worth the results she’s displaying. Emma has a hard time believing there isn’t anyone else out there who could do the job, even if they are creeping closer and closer to previews and then opening night. But Merlin keeps carrying on about potential, and how he thinks she can really add something to their interpretation of the work. It’s his show, but God, Emma wishes he would just say enough is enough.

Jones’ efforts to ease her load don’t go unnoticed, a gesture Emma appreciates. Unfortunately, there’s only so much he can do, most of which involves attempting to direct people’s questions elsewhere or answer them himself when he can. He even attempts to engage Zelena sometimes, though those efforts are even less successful - every time he tries to calmly remind the redhead of why Merlin’s direction makes sense or why particular decisions are made, she just fixes him with an impatient, condescending look, as if he’s the most simple creature Zelena has ever had the displeasure of interacting with. Frankly, Emma isn’t sure how Killian can stand it - she’s about ready to throttle Zelena just witnessing that glare, and she’s sure it’s infinitely worse on the receiving end. Despite the fact that his efforts aren’t particularly working, Emma’s still touched that he’s trying to lighten her load - something she’s not remotely used to.

In the meantime, Emma’s left with the headache from hell, running around like a madwoman trying to address questions from the cast (most of them inane) while trying to fix the positioning of the set, all the while trying to keep an eye out for Henry. He’s supposed to arrive from school at any minute now, and Emma vainly hopes she’ll be able to carve out a few minutes with her son before Elsa comes to pick him up.

At this rate, though, with all the things she’s having to address? To borrow a phrase from Jones, not bloody likely.

———-

Technically, Killian could go home. It’s just past five now, and rehearsal had let out for the day at 4:30. He could leave, go back to his apartment for a beer and a slice, have a relaxing night in.

But he’s not. Killian could play dumb about why he’s still here at the theater, but honestly, what would it accomplish? Emma’s still here, still trying to put out various proverbial fires, so Killian stays too, in a vain hope that he can help in some way.

God, he’s got it bad.

It was probably inevitable that she’d spot him, even through her many distractions - he’s not exactly subtle, hanging out where he has no need to be. Still, it’s a little comical, the way she stops abruptly upon noticing his unexpected presence, brow crinkled in confusion.

“What are you still doing here?” she asks, her tone brisk but puzzled.

That’s an excellent question, because Killian knows damn well he doesn’t have any real excuse for sticking around. “Uh, well, you know, just… getting a feel for the space,” he stumbles out, barely resisting the urge to tack on “or something” to the end of his sentence. It’s such a blatant, obvious lie, and Emma knows it too, if the unimpressed look on her face is anything to go by.

“Sure, of course,” she deadpans. “Well, I’m having Scarlet fly in one of the suspended pieces in a bit, so maybe try to avoid the stage while you’re getting a feel for the space.” Emma doesn’t make finger quotes around her last words, but Killian can sense them there all the same.

“Aye, I think I can manage that,” he responds, starting to beat a sheepish retreat. He’s made enough of a fool of himself for one day, most likely. “Let me know if you need anything else of me,” he adds at the last minute, more on instinct than logic.

Oddly, however, it seems to be those thrown-away words that most capture her attention. “I don’t suppose you’d want to keep my kid company,” Emma tosses back, tone teasing but eyes serious.

It’s the last thing Killian expects her to say, and his face must show it, because she hurries to backtrack and brush her previous words away. “You don’t have to, obviously, I was mostly kidding —”

“I’d be happy to, Swan,” Killian interrupts, stopping her stream of unnecessary protests. “Anything to help you. That is, of course, if you’re sure.” He carefully offers an out at the end. Emma needn’t worry about retracting her request on account of his own non-existent hesitance, but he imagines it must be a nerve-wracking thing to entrust your child into someone else’s care - especially someone you don’t know particularly well outside of a professional setting - and it would be bad form not to offer her the opportunity to change her mind.

Emma studies him carefully for a few moments, that adorable little crease in her brow deepening as she seemingly sizes him up, before her body abruptly releases its tension and she nods. “Yeah. I mean, he’s ten, so it’s not like you need to watch him too closely or anything, but he’s been hanging out waiting for me to get a break for the last forty minutes, and I figure you’ll be more entertaining than just sitting around twiddling his thumbs or - god forbid - homework. C’mon, I’ll take you over there now.”

Killian is left to mutely follow behind as Emma sets off for the other side of the theater at a brisk pace, presumedly to wherever her son is camped out. Sure enough, there in the back corner of the back row is a dark haired boy (Harry? Henry? Harrison? Killian really is terrible at names), staring at his gaming device with eyebrows furrowed in exactly the way Emma’s do. In Killian’s limited experience, interrupting kids from their video games never ends well, and he almost tells Emma to just forget it, there’s no need to bother the boy, but his head has already popped up like a prairie dog at the sound of their approach.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says warmly, ruffling the boy’s hair as he pulls a face and half-heartedly tries to dodge her hand. “How’s it going? What are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” the lad shrugs, “just waiting for you and playing Knight Quest. Are we going to get dinner soon?”

“I hope so, kid,” she replies ruefully. “There’s a lot more to get done than I’d like, but I’m hoping I can take a break soon. In the meantime, I brought a friend over for you to meet. This is Killian Jones, he’s playing Darcy. Killian, this is my son Henry.”

Ignoring the passing feeling of victory at halfway remembering the boy’s name, Killian sticks out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, lad.”

Henry, for his part, looks more excited about this introduction than Killian had anticipated of a pre-teen with electronic distractions. “That’s so cool!” he enthuses, shaking Killian’s hand with all the enthusiasm a ten-year-old can muster. “So that means you’re the male lead, right? Is there a lot you have to memorize? I mean, I know usually the leads have a ton of lines, but Mr. Darcy never talks a lot in the movies. Oh! Do you have costumes yet? I always come in at the end of rehearsals so I never get to see much. I mean, we’re coming up on previews pretty quick, so I hope you have costumes, but I don’t know, maybe everything’s coming together at the last minute.” Henry pauses for breath finally, leaving Killian to try and stifle his smile at the boy’s extreme enthusiasm.

“Jeez, kid, calm down for a moment, give Killian a chance to respond,” Emma mutters in a vain attempt to rein in her son.

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian tries to reassure her. There’s nothing wrong with the boy’s curiosity, even if it is taking a bit of brainpower to remember everything Henry asked. “You’re right, there’s a bit less talking than there might usually be for a leading male role, but I’ve got a lot of great singing parts, which kind of makes up for it. And I do have several costumes already, you’re right. Maybe I could show you those, if your mum is ok with it?”

The last words are directed at Emma, accompanied by a questioning raise of his eyebrow. Killian suspects she won’t take any issue with his proposed plan; it’ll keep the lad occupied, and they’ll still be in the theater when she’s finished with her work and ready to take Henry to dinner. It doesn’t hurt, either, that Henry is currently fixing his mother with a pleading puppy-eyed look.

“Sure, why not,” Emma laughs. “I’ll come find you when I’m ready to go. Be good, alright? Try not to overwhelm the poor man with questions, I still need him for the show.”

“Thanks, Mom!” Henry chirps, already practically skipping across the aisles and towards the door that leads backstage, leaving Killian to try and catch up. Tossing a last reassuring smile Emma’s way, he turns and jogs after Henry, only catching up at the backstage door, where Henry is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

“Calm down, lad,” Killian laughs. “I promise, the costumes are hanging up in my dressing room, they’re not going anywhere.”

Henry calms a bit at his words, muttering a quick “Sorry” that strongly reminds Killian of the boy’s mother. “I just get really excited about this stuff,” he tries to explain. “I’ll try not to ask so many questions.”

Compared to Henry’s previously overflowing enthusiasm, this doesn’t sit well with Killian. The lad is just excited, and he truly doesn’t mind fielding any questions Henry may have. “It’s really alright, lad,” he tries to explain. “I don’t mind answering them.”

To Killian’s relief, that permission perks Henry right back up again as they slip through the backstage door and into the maze of hallways, dressing rooms and storage. “Oh good. I want to know everything,” Henry tells Killian very seriously. “Mom shows me a lot, but I mostly get the techie side from her, and I want to know everything about the acting side too.”

“Do you want to be an actor then?” Henry doesn’t seem the type, but then again, Killian never did either, and here he is.

Henry scoffs. “No, of course not. No offense,” he offers in consolation. Killian good naturedly waves off Henry’s words, smiling warmly in a way he hopes encourages the boy to continue. “No, I’m going to be a playwright when I grow up. That’s why I was asking about your part, I want to know what makes for a good role.”

It’s not at all what Killian was expecting to hear, but he nods seriously, all the same. “That makes sense. I take it you like to write then?” They’re nearly to his dressing room now, the door just up ahead, but Killian wants to learn all he can about the lad before his attention is inevitably seized by the distraction of costumes.

Henry nods excitedly. “Yeah! I mean, I don’t think I’m that good yet, but I keep doing it. Mom says the most important part is practicing anyways. And I’ve got lots of ideas! Like I want to write a show with Captain Hook as the hero. I think it would be interesting. Do you think so?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea. You’ll have to let me know when you finish, maybe I’ll try out for a part.” And, considering how much Henry is like his mother, Killian has no doubt he’ll do it one day. With his determination, it’s just a matter of time.

“Thanks,” Henry says, turning a bit pink. Luckily, they’ve reached Killian’s dressing room, so there’s plenty to distract. “Oh cool! This is all yours? Oh! Are those the costumes?” And just like that, Killian is swept back into answering Henry’s questions - a pattern he’d be happy to continue for as long as Swan allows.

There are worse ways to spend an evening.

———

Robin looks like he’s barely holding in his laughter when she returns back to where they’d camped out, lips pressed together in an attempt to smother the smile that stubbornly turns up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t you even start,” Emma warns. “You think the four year old questions are bad, wait until he moves past the ‘why?’ phase and into demanding to know how everything works.”

“Oh,  I’m not laughing about that,” Robin chuckles, “though Henry is very enthusiastic on that front. No, I was laughing at you and Jones.” After another moment, he quickly amends his statement. “Well, mostly Jones.”

Emma thinks she knows where this is going, and groans at the very prospect. “Don’t even start on that either.”

“Too late!” Robin cheerfully replies, reminding Emma more of Ruby than she’s really comfortable with. “You know he’s absolutely smitten with you.”

“I don’t know that,” Emma tries to hedge, but Robin only fixes her with an amused look.

“Ok, you don’t know that, but the rest of us do,” he replies. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

“No,” Emma scoffs. It’s clearly not the answer Robin wants, based on the look he gives her. “We work together!” she tries to protest. “It’d be a terrible idea!”

“Maybe that’s the case, but anyone can tell that Jones has feelings for you, just watching you two interact. You should probably figure out what you want to do about that.”

It’s sage advice. But the problem is that Emma doesn’t really know what she wants to do about it. Killian is a great guy, and under different circumstances, she might be more open to his feelings. But the way things are, Emma has a lot riding on this show. It could be a make-or-break moment in her career, depending on how the production comes together, and she’s not willing to risk that in any way - especially  not by becoming involved with a coworker. Her own feelings - whatever they might be - don’t matter.

She just hopes, for all their sakes, that Killian doesn’t do anything to alter their status quo.

[tomeandflickcorner]

OUAT Episode Analysis- A Pirate’s Life

Well, this was a surprising episode. And also a bittersweet one, as it will most likely be the last time we ever see Emma Swan and Killian Jones together. While we do leave them on a high note, it still is a bit sad that we will no longer see any more of their epic love story on screen.  Though I haven’t quite given up hope on this.  I know JMO only promised us this one episode, but who knows what her schedule will be like when they’re filming the S7 finale.  Maybe she can swing by for a ten second cameo.

In the episode’s prologue segment, we see Young Henry in the middle of a practice swordfight with his stepfather, Killian.  And Henry ends up doing very well.  Until Emma’s arrival distracts Henry long enough for Killian to turn the tables on him. Unfortunately, this leaves Henry feeling sullen.  But Killian and Emma surmise the real reason for his sour mood is because he’s planning to leave on his soul-searching journey very soon.  Emma, while she knows she has to let Henry do this, is feeling sorrow as well, because she’s not quite ready to say goodbye to Henry. Especially since she’s not completely sure that she’ll get a second chance at kids.  Aparently, she and Killian have been trying off camera but haven’t had much success yet.  Killian reassures Emma that it will be alright, and to help her make Henry leaving easier, he reveals a bit of magical doohickey he had stored away.  It’s a magical glass bottle that he plans to give Henry.  If Henry ever runs into trouble, all he has to do is to speak into the bottle and ask for them by name.  And the call for help will instantly reach them, even across realms.

We then flash forward to where we last left Henry in the Parallel Enchanted Forest, after he found Parallel Cinder’s glass slipper.  He ends up getting surrounded by Parallel Evil Stepmother and the royal guard, who quickly capture him on the grounds that he assisted Parallel Cinder escape capture herself.  Because she was framed for the prince’s murder.  Before he’s captured, Henry uses the message in the bottle to send and SOS to Emma, Killian and Regina.  The weird part is that Parallel Evil Stepmother seems to know what Henry was doing. Are those magical message in a bottles a common item in this version of the Enchanted Forest?

Regardless, Henry’s rescue party arrives just as Drizella is about to kill Henry on Parallel Evil Stepmother’s orders.  At the last possible second, a portal opens and Killian and Regina charge in, making quick work of the royal guards standing by.  As Drizella runs away, we get a great reunion scene between Henry, Killian and Regina.  Including the first on-screen Captain Cobra hug.  However, Henry notices that Emma isn’t present.  Killian quickly states that Emma wanted to come, but she was held up because of her Savior duties and miniature dragons invading Storybooke.  When Henry steps out for some reason or other, Regina criticizes Killian’s explanation, revealing that he wasn’t honest to Henry. But Killian informs Regina that he was honoring Emma’s wishes, and tells her that she should do the same.  

Anyway, Henry tells Killian and Regina about Parallel Cinder, and how she might still need help.  But because Regina’s magic doesn’t work too well in the Parallel Enchanted Forest, she can’t perform a locater spell on the glass slipper. However, Killian, tapping into his centuries-old experience, is able to tell that they’re near a port town.  He speculates Parallel Cinder may have gone there to try and barter passage out of the kingdom and volunteers to go and ask around, leaving Henry to catch up with Regina.  Who apparently hasn’t found fulfillment in Storybrooke.  Which I admit is a bit odd.  I mean, she’s apparently the town ruler, everyone has clearly forgiven her for everything she did to them.  And she has her sister.  But apparently, that wasn’t enough for her?  I don’t know.  I don’t get Regina sometimes.

Meanwhile, while Regina and Henry are talking, Killian is looking around the port town.  While there, he runs into someone we never thought we’d see again- Wish World Killian.  Yes, he’s back.  Which only further negates the argument that the Wish World wasn’t real.  Wish World Killian clearly can travel to other realms. How could someone who wasn’t real do that?  This is kinda proving that the Wish World IS a real place, and the people within it are as real as it gets.  Which, of course, means that Regina actually DID kill a version of Snow and Charming. Not that they’ll ever acknowledge that in the show.  Although, if Wish World Killian can travel to other realms, it stands to reason that Wish World Henry can do the same.  Is the show leading up to Wish World Henry tracking down Regina?  Because that would be really cool.  Regina would have to face the fact that she murdered people, and seriously hurt an alternate version of Henry- by killing his grandparents and leaving him without his mother.  And wasn’t Henry Prime feeling bummed out that there were no other versions of himself in the parallel worlds he read about at the Sorcerer’s mansion?

Getting back to the episode, Wish World Killian informs Killian Prime that they were virtually the same person, with the only difference being that Regina never cast her curse in the Wish World, and therefore Wish World Killian didn’t end up finding love in Emma Swan.  So Wish World Killian has been looking for his own version of Emma, but to no avail. That is until he received Henry’s message.  Apparently, when Henry called for help from Captain Hook, the message went out to both Killian Prime and Wish World Killian.  (Does that mean Evil Queenie-Poo also got the message?)  When Wish World Killian got Henry’s message, a plan formed him his mind. He plotted to forcibly take Killian Prime’s place in Storybrooke, thereby claiming Killian Prime’s life for his own.  The moment he informs Killian Prime of this, he knocks Killian Prime out, quite effortlessly.   Which makes you wonder about Wish World Killian.  Maybe he’s not as bumbling as he appeared to be when we last saw him. We know Killian Prime often used his good looks and use of innuendo to outwit people.  Maybe Wish World Killian took advantage of his appearance in the same way, by letting people think he was just some drunken old fool so they won’t take him seriously.  And the moment his opponent’s guard is down, that’s when he strikes.  If that’s the case, then Wish World Killian is a crafty one, and I have a newfound respect for him.

However, there’s the little detail of Wish World Killian’s appearance, which would make it rather hard for him to pass for Killian Prime.  So he seeks out Parallel Evil Stepmother.  The two seem to know each other somehow.  But it’s not explained how.  Don’t know if they’ll ever build on that or if it’s just going to be brushed aside like Killian Prime’s history with Tiger Lily.  Wish World Killian announces he wants to make a bargain with her.  He knows Parallel Evil Stepmother wants Henry out of the picture, so Wish World Killian states that he will make sure Henry returns to Storybrooke if Parallel Evil Stepmother uses a vial of Killian Prime’s blood and her newly acquired fairy wand to make him young again.  Parallel Evil Stepmother agrees to the terms, allowing Wish World Killian to make Regina and Henry think he’s Killian Prime.  To get Henry to give up on looking for Parallel Cinder, Wish World Killian gives him a fake letter that he claims is from Parallel Cinder, stating that she doesn’t want to see Henry again.  The letter is enough to convince Henry, who is completely crushed.  But when Wish World Killian starts trying to get Henry to agree to go back to Storybrooke, Henry, still thinking that this is Killian Prime, starts pressing him for information on Emma- is she okay?  Of course, Wish World Killian, despite his best efforts, can’t come up with a good enough response.  But before he could fully give himself away, Emma suddenly appears in person, much to Henry’s delight and Wish World Killian’s shock.

As Henry and Emma reunite, Emma reveals the reason why she didn’t arrive earlier with Killian and Regina. Turns out, she and Killian are finally expecting their first child!  Hooray for the CS baby being canon at last!  When they got Henry’s message, Emma had wanted to go to, but Killian, being the overprotective father-to-be, insisted that Emma stay home and rest.  But Emma couldn’t wait any longer to see Henry and tell him the news in person.  (Which is why Killian came up with the fake cover story about the mini dragons.  He knew Emma wanted to be the one to tell Henry, and was trying to honor her wishes.)

Wish World Killian, on the other hand, suddenly finds himself in an internal war.  While he had intented to take Killian Prime’s place, the knowledge that Killian Prime was to be a father was something he hadn’t anticipated.  And you can see in his face that he’s having second thoughts about his initial plan.  After a brief internal battle, he decides he can’t go through with that and hurries off to set things right, much to Emma’s confusion (as she hadn’t had the chance to realize that this wasn’t her Killian.).  In a related story, let the records show- no matter what version of reality he’s from, Killian Jones will always be a good man at his core.

When Wish World Killian returns to the port village, he quickly discovers Killian Prime isn’t where he left him- because Killian Prime regained consciousness during Wish World Killian’s absence.  And Killian Prime is TICKED!  In the ensuing struggle, Killian Prime ends up stabbing Wish World Killian, leaving him with a mortal wound.  As Wish World Killian lies bleeding to death, he explains the motivation behind his actions. Turns out, Wish World Killian has a daughter.  Most likely the result of a one night stand with a prostitute or something.  The identity of the mother isn’t relevant at present.  But this daughter was the only good thing in Wish World Killian’s life.  Unfortunatly, the daughter was imprisoned by a witch. While Wish World Killian had been able to occasionally visit her in secret, he was eventually discovered, and subsequently had a curse placed upon his heart, which would prevent him from ever reuniting with his daughter.  Wish World Killian had been hoping to break the curse over his heart with True Love, and had thought the True Love that existed between Emma and Killian Prime would have done the trick.  But when Wish World Killian learned about the CS baby, he realized he couldn’t separate the child from his/her real father.

At that moment, Emma, no doubt driven by her confusion in Wish World Kllian’s behavior, arrives on the scene. Killian Prime urges Emma to save the dying Wish Word Killian.  At first, Emma is unsure that it will work, as her magic might not work in the Parallel Enchanted Forest, either.  But Killian assures her that it will work, suggesting that Emma find the part of Wish World Killian that is the same as Killian Prime.  This ends up working, and Wish World Killian is healed, and visibly moved by this offering of a second chance.

As the flashback portion of the episode wraps up, Henry is left with a renewed resolve to find his story, and maybe help Parallel Cinder along the way.  It is decided that Wish World Killian will accompany him, with the hopes that they can help each other achieve their ultimate goals.  Regina also decides to go with them on this adventure, in the hopes that doing so will help her find the fulfillment she desires. And so, after a heartfelt farewell, Emma and Killian Prime return to Storybrooke, to continue their lives as expectant parents while Henry, Wish World Killian and Regina set off on their new adventure together.

So this means that Detective Rogers of Hyperion Heights is actually Wish World Killian, and not Killian Prime. While I had mixed feelings about this at first, I now think I can live with this.  Sure, it means we’re not really getting Captain Cobra moments anymore, but this means Killian Prime isn’t separated from his wife and baby by a dumb curse.  And as this post  by @cogentranting pointed out, this version of Killian is basically a combination of Graham, Jefferson and Killian.  That’s actually pretty awesome.

Now, onto the Hyperion Heights plot. Jacinda is wanting to see her daughter, Lucy, and plans to visit her ballet recital.  But Victoria has decided to be a major jerk about things and turned the whole thing into a charity event, purposely making the ticket price higher than Jacinda’s weekly paycheck.  However, Jacinda’s roommate, Sabine, comes across an answer.  Turns out there’s a few openings among the catering staff who are working at the recital.  When Jacinda and Sabine go to fill in the positions, so Jacinda can be present at the recital, they discover that these sudden openings happened because Henry pulled a few strings, in the hopes of making up for his mistake last episode.  Jacinda, however, isn’t ready to forgive Henry just yet.

Meanwhile, Victoria, no doubt remembering exactly who she is, is determined to keep Henry away from Jacinda and Lucy. Possibly because she realizes that there’s a better chance of the curse breaking if they are allowed to interact. So she instructs Detective Weaver/Rumpelstiltskin and Detective Rogers/Wish Kilian to dig up dirt on him. They end up secretly breaking into Henry’s apartment (not sure how legal that was, to be honest.)  Not much really happens in this scene, but they notice a doll sitting on Henry’s shelf and correctly speculate that Henry lost a daughter. Weaver also realizes that Rogers had been to Henry’s apartment before.  (There was a scene earlier with Rogers visited Henry to ask about the illustration of Emma within the new Storybook, and Henry asked Rogers to help him locate where his wife and daughter were buried.)  Not sure what Rumpelstiltskin plans to do with the information that Rogers and Henry have interacted with each other at the moment. But I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually

Flash forward to the recital.  Because Jacinda is on the catering crew, she is able to watch her daughter dance.  But Victoria is not happy that Weaver and Rogers haven’t successfully gotten a sufficient reason to get Henry out of the picture.  So Weaver comes up with an underhanded plot to plant Victoria’s bracelet into Henry’s pocket, thereby framing him for theft.  Yep, that’s right- they’re pretty much ripping off that scene in Titanic.  But because Rumpelstiltskin is the worst, he instructs Rogers to be the one to plant the bracelet. However, Rogers/Wish Killian, much like he did in the episode flashback, was unable to go through with the cruel plan. Instead of planting the bracelet into Henry’s pocket, he used the swan pendant from Henry’s keychain.  Weaver later confronts Rogers about this.  But instead of punishing Rogers for the defiance, he comments on how he’s glad to see Rogers has a moral code.  Although that makes me suspicious about what Rumpelstiltskin is up to.  Is he planning to try and break Rogers, believing that he’s actually Killian Prime?

We then get a scene when Victoria and Weaver are confronting each other.  It basically consists of Weaver telling Victoria that she doesn’t control him, and that he controls himself.  But again, I’m convinced that Rumpelstiltskin and Parallel! Evil Stepmother are awake, which makes me think this was not so much a conversation between Weaver and Victoria but a conversation between Rumpelstiltskin and Parallel Evil Stepmother.

As the episode comes to a close, Henry, after finally earning Jacinda’s forgiveness, ends up at Roni/Regina’s bar, at the same time as Rogers/Wish Killian.  While there, Rogers tells Henry that the illustration of Emma in the new Storybook made him remember a time when he was looking for a missing person, but ended up getting shot in an allyway.  While he never saw who shot him, he remembers a woman who helped save his life.  Which I guess is meant to show that, even when with cursed memories, Wish World Killian managed to hold onto a veiled memory of the time Emma healed him.  

It’s then that Henry, Rogers/Wish Killian and Roni/Regina, much like they did in the past, decide to join forces, and form a quasi-resistance movement against Victoria.  Rogers/Wish Killian can help gather intel with his position in the police force, Roni/Regina can use her bar to keep an ear to the grapevine, and Henry can take what they find out and get it into writing.

And that’s where this episode leaves off.  We got an interesting dynamic going on with Henry, Wish World Killian and Regina, both in the past and present.  We got one final look at Emma and Killian Prime, along with the reassurance that they’re both alive and well in Storybrooke, complete with a child on the way. And I admit, I am currently okay with the obvious romance forming between Henry and Jacinda/Parallel Cinder. Unless something happens in the next few episodes, I’m interested to see how this goes.

(Click here to read more Episode Analyses)

[pocket-anon]

Operation: First Noel (7/7)

Whew! Here it is finally, @xhookswenchx, the last installment of your GFSS gift fic! I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to get to you. Real life has been kind of crazy this week, and I really appreciate your patience! I hope you've enjoyed this even half as much as I've enjoyed creating it for you. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting, as always!

Find it on AO3.  Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming.  Canon Divergent.  Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut.   Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)

Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan, @valkyrienikolea.

Chapter 7: Family Traditions

Christmas morning, Killian is the first to wake, pausing for a handful of golden minutes to savor the sensation of being ensconced in the warm world beneath their blanket, Emma in his arms and the baby beneath his stump.  He focuses on syncing his breaths with Emma’s, which are telegraphed by the subtle, rhythmic movement of her shoulders and the gentle press of her back to his chest.  They’ve had many mornings like this, but he never tires of them, of the serenity and the immeasurable comfort of being able to hold what matters most to him next to his heart uninterrupted.

He chuffs ruefully as his thoughts are interrupted by a little tap from the baby.  He grins and pulls his girls a little closer, and Emma sighs deeply in response.

“’Morning,” she murmurs, her voice gravelly with sleep.

Killian gives her a little squeeze.  “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mm.  S’alright.”  He can hear her smile.  “What time is it?”

He cranes his head upward to glimpse the clock on her nightstand.  “Nearly eight,” he grunts.

Emma manages a deep yawn. “‘Kay.”  She hums reluctantly.  “We should probably get up soon if we want brunch ready by the time people start showing up.”

He buries his nose in her hair and breathes deep.  “Aye. Pancakes or french toast?”

She snorts.  “Like I’ll ever be able to eat french toast in front of my dad again.”**  

Killian laughs and nuzzles the back of her neck playfully.  “Very well.  Pancakes it is then.”

The sun is shining radiantly through the kitchen window when they make it downstairs, the whole world outside their home seeming to glow a little between the morning light and the reflective blanket of white snow on the ground.  Emma decides to set the hearth crackling merrily for ambiance and turn her Christmas music on while Killian gets the coffee going.  Working side by side, they succeed in prepping a large breakfast casserole and have started in on their second cup of coffee apiece by the time Henry comes thundering down the stairs in his sleep clothes, his face bright.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Kid,” Emma calls, shooting him a broad smile over her shoulder.

Killian salutes with his coffee mug.  “Merry Christmas, Henry.”

The boy comes to investigate the food situation.  “When do we eat?”

Emma chuckles and slides the casserole into the oven.  “Really? Your first Christmas, and you’re still more interested in food than presents?”

Henry shrugs, reaching into a cabinet for a glass.  “Stomach wants what the stomach wants, Mom,” he sighs cheerfully.

“Uh-huh.”  She shakes her head, her mouth curled into a grin as she rolls her eyes and sets an egg timer ticking softly.  “Well, grab a banana and tell your stomach we eat when everyone gets here in thirty.”  She holds the timer up for emphasis before setting it down on the counter.

Henry pours himself some juice and chuckles, setting the carton down just in time to catch the banana Killian tosses him against his chest.  “Fine.  Presents then,” he agrees.

They gather around the tree, taking Emma’s lead as she settles herself cross-legged on the floor. The exchange and opening of presents doesn’t take too long given the small size of their family, but, having never really experienced mass gift-giving like this before, Killian soaks up every moment with as much, if not more enthusiasm than Henry.  His face goes slack with delight when he sees the cordless sander Henry got him to help refinish and replace boards aboard the Jolly, but it’s the boy’s look of gratification at having made him happy that really makes Killian’s heart swell.

When he unwraps Emma’s gift, shaking the colorful paper loose from the tip of his hook, Killian cocks his head and studies the pictures on the side of the heavy, glossy cardboard box with a blank smile.  “What is it?”

Emma grins and rotates the box so the front faces him.  “It’s a portable telescope,” she explains, tapping a finger on the image of a happy-looking father and his daughter using what is presumably the device in question to look at the night sky.  “We can use it to do some real stargazing out on the Jolly next summer.”

An enormous smile spreads across Killian’s face, and he curls his fingers around her chin and pulls her in for a quick kiss.  “I’d like nothing better, Swan.”

Henry gets a couple of video games he’s been coveting and some of his favorite movies in DVD disc sets. He holds up the one small package that remains and gives it an experimental shake.  “What’s this?”  He makes short work of the wrapping and pulls the gleaming silver object out of its decorative wood case, its chain dangling to one side.

“It’s a bosun’s whistle,” Killian says.  “You run the Jolly’s decks for me now, lad, and I know we don’t have much of a crew at present, but it’s traditional for every bosun to have a command whistle such as this.”

“Yes, Sir.”  Henry blinks in awe and runs his thumb several times across the words that are cleanly engraved in the metal:

Henry D. Mills

The Jolly Roger

He beams proudly.  “Thanks.”

Emma opens her gift last, one large box from both himself and Henry, and nervousness begins to swirl in the pit of Killian’s stomach like a tempest as she digs into it and pulls items forth one by one.  There’s her favorite scented bubble bath and lotion, more pairs of wooly socks, a new beanie, a gift certificate for the Three Bears Spa, and Henry’s homemade babysitting IOUs.  She responds to each of these with predictable pleasure, but it’s when she spies the piece of paper at the bottom of the box and a curious wrinkle appears on her brow that Killian’s breath stalls in his chest.

“What’s this?” she asks, reaching in and pulling out the drawing.  It’s a detailed sketch of a swan curving her neck around to rest her head upon the large feathers of a downward outstretched wing.  A scroll in her beak reads “Emma.”

Killian clears his throat. “Um, if you like it, love, it’s going to be my new tattoo,” he explains shyly, scratching behind his ear.  He gestures with his hook at the length of his right arm from just above his existing ink up to his shoulder.

She looks up at him, staring like a stunned doe, her eyebrows peaking in the middle of her forehead. “You… you want to get a new tattoo?”

“If you don’t object,” he says, nodding and smiling softly.  “It’s just… So much of my life has changed.  I have you and Henry and the baby and all of this now,” he explains, waving his hand at their home, “And this,” he taps his current tattoo with his hook, “this is part of my past, but it doesn’t reflect the man I am anymore.” He meets her shining gaze.  “Or what gives me strength.”

His heart leaps at the way Emma’s eyes well up, relief and joy surging within him when she flings herself into his arms.  Killian chuckles richly as they sway, stroking her hair while she sniffles into his shoulder. “Is that a yes then?” he asks.

She pulls back, arms still encircling his neck, and nods, flushed and tear-stained and slightly rumpled and unspeakably gorgeous.

“This is pretty cool,” Henry comments, examining the paper.  “Hey Mom, can I get a tattoo?”

Emma looks at her son, a smirk peeking through her watery smile.  “I’m not the only mom you have to ask, you know,” she points out.

Henry’s face falls.

“Tell you what, lad,” Killian offers, grinning and smoothing his hand down Emma’s back as she wriggles around to sit side-by-side with him, “When you and your True Love have lost and found each other half a dozen times like everyone else in your family, perhaps your mothers will be more understanding.”

Henry rolls his eyes and huffs wryly.  “Right.”

Emma’s parents arrive with Neal shortly thereafter, Regina on their heels.  Per what has become their usual arrangement, David takes over the kitchen as head pancake chef, and Killian, Emma, and then Henry each take the opportunity to run upstairs for a succession of quick showers before everyone sits down to brunch.  Cutlery clinks against plates, dishes are passed back and forth, and the conversation meanders between pleasant murmurs and bubbly laughter.

Everyone is admiring Henry’s new whistle when David’s and Emma’s phones suddenly ring simultaneously at a little after eleven.  Six pairs of eyes swap knowing, wary looks while father and daughter check their screens.

“Leroy,” Emma breathes, glancing at David.

“Granny.”

They jump up and retreat to opposite corners of the kitchen like boxers on a break while Killian and the others try to listen in on both conversations.

“Leroy, slow down,” Emma urges, holding her phone an inch away from her ear and wincing, fingers bracing her temple with exasperation, the dwarf’s indistinguishable but panicked bellows audible to everyone in the room through the tiny phone speaker.

In the other corner, David frowns, turning away from them, phone over one ear and his free hand covering the other.  “Did you just say the dogs are all barking?”

Regina lifts an eyebrow and sighs heavily, wiping her mouth with her napkin.  “Well, the peace was nice while it lasted,” she comments glibly.

Snow nods, finishing her drink.

David hangs up first and turns back toward them, resting his hands on the back of his chair, his features perturbed.  “Granny says something seems to be bothering all the dogs in town.  She can hear them barking everywhere.”

“Leroy and the other dwarves swear the ground is shaking down near the harbor,” Emma adds grimly, smoothing a hand over her belly.  

“You guys go,” Snow tells them, looking around.  “I’ll clean up here and catch up with you after I take Neal down to the fairies.”  She smiles as David leans down and deposits a quick kiss on her lips and the car keys in her hand.

Everyone is in motion then. Killian hands Emma her coat and hat before reaching for his own, David zips up, and Henry winds his scarf hastily around his neck.  Regina tugs on her leather gloves and is the first to head out the door, followed by David and Henry.  Killian and Emma bring up the rear, his brace at the small of her back and his hand snatching up his sheathed sword and sword belt from the umbrella stand by the door.

They emerge into the cold December day, their steps echoing softly over the porch floorboards.

“Sorry to interrupt Christmas, Kid,” Emma says apologetically.

Henry glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.  “It’s okay ,” he puffs cheerfully, pausing and turning toward her. “Christmas is a time for family traditions, and this is kinda ours.”

Emma's face lights with pleasant surprise at his words, and she shares an amused look with Killian, who smirks devilishly as he finishes securing his belt.  

“He’s right, Swan,” he says. “What’s Christmas in Storybrooke without a little adventure?”

“Hey,” Regina yells at them from where she stands down below in the yard with David.  “You three coming?”

Emma glances between Killian and Henry and grins.  “Yeah,” she calls back resolutely, wrapping her fingers around the base of Killian’s hook. His smile widens when she looks up at him with that familiar, daring glint in her green eyes, heaving a deep breath and nodding briskly.  “Let’s go.”

[pocket-anon]

Operation: First Noel (3/7)

Whoo-hoo! I made it! Chapter 3 delivered on time, as promised. Your week of holiday domestic Captain Swan continues! @xhookswenchx, you mentioned wanting to see our babies arguing over stuff. You got it. ;) I hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone for reading. I look forward to your comments as always.

Find it on AO3.  Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming.  Canon Divergent.  Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut.   Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)

Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan.  Want to be tagged on updates?  Let me know!

Chapter 3: The Total Agony of Being in Love

Emma stands on the sidewalk, the air biting at her skin and wearing at her patience while she listens to her husband and her son coming up with a game plan to hang the dozens of feet of icicle lights they’ve purchased to adorn their house.  She’s been here almost ten minutes, having initially ventured outside to bring them a thermos of hot chocolate, but delaying her return to the house after realizing that they intend to dress, not only on the roof overlying the porch, but every section of roof up to the third floor turret.  It’s a far more ambitious undertaking, and it strikes her as requiring the aid of a cherry picker.  Or a friendly fairy.  And judging by their talk, they plan on employing neither.

She hovers behind them as they confer and gesture and nod enthusiastically about the best places on the roof to stand and whether it’s better to climb up with a ladder or duck out through some of the upper windows.  Emma folds her arms across her chest, as much out of skepticism as a desire to stay warm, and narrows her eyes when Henry starts suggesting they build a rig with a two-by-four and a coat hanger to be able to reach the second floor eaves that wrap around the east side of the house. “Okay.  No,” she finally interjects.  “No.”

Both men crane their heads around to look at her, expressions not unlike the ones they wore that time she caught them eating the pie she was planning to bring to Sunday family dinner.

“What?”  Henry asks cautiously.

“No, you are not going to try to climb on top of the roof like that, much less with some MacGuyvered contraption,” she says, waving one mittened hand abstractly.

“I don’t know what that last bit means, Swan, but you needn’t worry.  The lad’s not going up on the roof,” Killian replies in a perfectly sensible tone.  “I am.”

Emma blinks owlishly at him. “Because that’s a much better idea?” she challenges with an incredulous little laugh.

He gives a minute shake of his head and waves off her concerns.  “I’ll be fine, love.”

“Yes, you will, because you’re not doing it.”

He arcs an eyebrow at her, annoyance finally starting to appear in his blue eyes.  “I’m no stranger to climbing, you know,” he points out.

“Rigging, yes.  Beanstalks, yes.  Steep, Victorian-style rooflines, no,” she retorts, her lips pressed into a line.

He throws another glance up at the dark gray asphalt shingles and shrugs.  “It won’t be that bad.”

She snorts.  “Famous last words,” she says flatly.  “You know, just because Zeus resurrected you once doesn’t mean he’ll do it again.”

“It’s not that steep,” he argues.

“It’s a 45-degree incline!”

He smirks, his stupidly handsome face now a means to irritate her. “You’ll catch me if I fall.”

“Or I could just magic the lights up there in five seconds and save you the embarrassment,” she answers, her voice on the edge of a snap.

Killian grumbles.  “I’m not going to embarrass myself.”

“You’re going to end up on the front page of the Mirror. ‘Legendary 300 Year-Old Pirate Breaks Back Hanging Christmas Lights.’  Regina would never let you hear the end of it.”

Henry snickers.

Killian shoots his co-conspirator an indignant look at his betrayal.

Emma huffs.  “This is ridiculous.  It’s freezing out here.” ��She spins on her heel and heads inside, waving her hand without a look back. The lights vanish from the boxes sitting at Henry’s feet and appear along the roofline, neatly hanging from the eaves on all three floors and swaying gently in the wind.

 *                             *                             *

 Killian hangs his head as Emma marches across the porch and goes into the house, shutting the front door a little louder than necessary behind her.

“So much for that,” Henry says resignedly.  He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text before bending down to gather the empty light boxes.

“Your mother is a bloody stubborn woman,” Killian grouses, reaching down to help load the rest of the boxes into Henry’s arms and then snagging the handle of the thermos with his hook.

The boy laughs.  “And that’s news?”

A wry smile curls at the corner of Killian’s mouth.  “Hardly.” He sighs.  “This is what happens when you marry a bloody force of nature.”

“You get pretty Christmas lights?” Henry asks, grinning.  He straightens and admires Emma’s work.  “They do look really good.”

“Aye.”

They head around the side of the house in order to stow the boxes in the garage.  

“She might have been right, you know,” Henry hazards, setting the stack on the workbench.

Killian gives him a rueful side-eye, waiting for him to come back outside before swinging the doors shut. “I know.”

Henry’s phone chimes as they climb the steps to the side entrance, and he checks it, tapping a return message. “Well, since we’re done early, I’m gonna go hang with Violet.”  He pauses, tucking the phone back into his coat pocket.  “Um, wait here a minute.”  Killian regards him curiously as he hustles inside and reappears with his backpack a minute later.  He tugs the zipper open and retrieves the mistletoe, pulling one of the stems free and handing it over.  “You might need this.”

Killian chuckles and pockets the tiny sprig.  “You’re a good man, Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Henry raises his eyebrows in earnest.  “Don’t abuse it,” he says gruffly.

Killian nods with a grin.

He finds Emma splayed out across the sofa watching a movie he doesn’t recognize.  He hangs his coat up and approaches cautiously, scratching behind his ear.  As he draws close, he notes a generous plateful of peppermint bark balanced on her baby bump and a half-eaten piece between her fingers, some of it wedged adorably in her cheek.  

They’ve had a number of rows since he moved in over a year ago – arguments over which way to hang the toilet paper on the roll, how long to let dirty dishes sit in the sink, what Henry’s curfew should be and whether he should be allowed to have Violet up to his room – but Killian is grateful that their dust-ups are never very big.  To be fair, after fighting about her extreme secrecy while a Dark One and her decision to turn him into a Dark One to save his life and whether he should return from the Underworld, everything else rather pales in comparison.  In a strange way, they’re fortunate in that respect – they have the advantage of perspective, the memories of having lost and found one another again, of having faced and suffered death, of having to forgive and be forgiven for much more serious hurts, and after all their adventures, the ability to just live day-to-day with one another is something they both cherish too much to let little annoyances drive a rift between them.

Killian catches her eye and gives her a soft expression.  “May I?”

Emma’s face remains neutral, but she accepts his outstretched hand and allows him to pull her upright enough that he can wedge himself between her and the arm of the sofa, her weight falling softly and comfortingly against his side as he drapes his elbow over the seatback.

He studies the scene on the television, watching a little boy describe being in love to his father as “total agony.”  Killian’s mouth forms a little smile at the sentiment.  “What are we watching?”

“Love Actually,” Emma replies, biting off another small piece of bark.  “It’s a Christmas movie.”

“A movie about Christmas?”

She hums.  “It’s more about love,” she says, “and how sometimes it’s complicated,” she sighs, “and sometimes it isn’t.”

He chuckles.  “Indeed.”  He reaches up and tentatively combs his fingertips through her hair, relaxing when some of the tension disappears from her shoulders.  

They watch as a charming brown-haired man and woman engage in a sweet but flirtatious conversation.  The woman exits, and the man’s face falls, conflicted and despondent over how much he fancies her.  

Killian leans his head nearer to Emma’s.  “The lights look very nice,” he murmurs.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye before her gaze returns to the television.  She licks her lips.  “Thank you.”

“You did it much better than I could have.”

She chuffs.  “You could have fallen.”

He makes a show of nodding his head, his face sincere.  “Aye.” Emma looks at him, and he smiles apologetically.  “Sometimes I still love a challenge.”

Her eyes pinch minutely, warming with fondness and understanding as she remembers the first time he said such a thing to her.

He drapes his arm over her shoulders and pulls her close, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and dropping a kiss on her crown.  “I also enjoy spending time with Henry.”

Emma tenses for a moment. “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to take that away from you.”

He chuckles.  “It’s alright, Swan.  I’m sure we’ll come up with some other ill-conceived caper soon enough.”  He smiles, aware, even without looking, that she’s rolling her eyes.

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, snuggling closer.

His chest vibrates with a low, happy sound.  “And you love me for it.”

She nods against him.

“Speaking of which.”  

Emma raises her head to watch as Killian pulls his arm away and reaches into the chest pocket of his waistcoat to pull out the little bit of mistletoe.  He grins and holds it above their heads, giving it a little shake and enjoying the way her eyes widen and a rosy flush blossoms on her cheeks.

She sets her plate aside, and Killian’s smile widens slowly and his eyes falls closed when she scoots up a little to press her mouth sweetly to his.  

Her dimples are on full display as she pulls back a fraction.  “Where did you find mistletoe?” she asks, amused.

“In the woods,” he answers, bumping her nose with his, “That extra stop we made on our way back with the trees.  Quite the fascinating Christmas tradition.”  

He leans forward and kisses her again, and she giggles, acquiescing to part her lips and let him sweep her mouth with his tongue.  Her fingers wind into the short tendrils at the back of his neck as the sound of their increasingly labored breathing obscures whatever is happening on the television.  She gives a needy whine, and he growls, pulling her over so she lies half in his lap, pressed to his chest with her back to the movie.

Emma breaks away suddenly, panting.  “Where’s Henry?”

“He went to see Violet.” Killian lowers his head to chase her mouth, but she withdraws a little further.

“Wait.  Does he have mistletoe, too?”  Her brow wrinkles with panic.

Killian flops his head back onto the cushion.  “It’s not as though he’s never kissed the girl, Swan.”

“But…”

He lifts an eyebrow and looks down at her archly.  “Does mistletoe dictate more than kissing?  Because if it does, I have been sorely misinformed.”

“No!”  She chortles in spite of herself.  “No.”

“Then he’ll behave. Or Sir Morgan will run him through with his sword.”  Killian grins at the laughter in his wife’s eyes and shifts his arms to pull her closer. “Now, since we’re alone, is there a chance that I could see more than kissing?”

“Hmph.”  Emma teases her lips against his.  “Maybe.”

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