#when is it my turn to make flower crowns and recite poetry in a meadow with someone :((

[lesbicosmos]

day 4 of @chrisginnyweek !!

day 4 prompt: time

my interpretation: different time period au (medieval/merlin)

summary: ginny is the king's ward and chris is her maid, but there's something more between them. ginny suggests they go for a picnic in the woods and lesbianism ensues

notes: if you've seen merlin, here's my list of character parallels for this au:

ginny = morgana chris = gwen neil = arthur todd = merlin keating = gaius mr perry = uther (bc shitty father figures) charlie = gwaine knox = lancelot meeks = leon pitts = percival cameron = elyan then stick is a stablehand and all the horses are named after midsummer nights dream characters because i had to include that somewhere

also on ao3!!

we lay here for years or for hours

Ginny awoke to the bright light of the morning sun shining behind her eyelids as she heard the silk curtains being carefully opened.

“Good morning, my lady,” came the familiar cheerful voice from over near the window.

Ginny finally opened her eyes, stretching her limbs in her huge four-poster bed as she followed Chris with her gaze.

“Morning, Chris.”

This was their usual routine for the morning: Chris brought Ginny out of her deep sleep with her soft voice and the dazzling sunshine through the window. Then, as Ginny was fully waking up, Chris fixed the curtains and replaced any candles that had fully burnt. Ginny’s breakfast would always be on the table and her hairbrush would be on the dresser ready to be used.

As Ginny stood up from the bed, Chris left the room to go and get her clothes for the day. She walked over to the table and popped a grape into her mouth just as her maid came back into the room holding Ginny’s favourite dress. It was soft satin and a gorgeous purple colour with gold embellishments and a sheer blue cardigan. The dress made her feel like a princess, which she supposed she was, really. She lived in the castle with the King as her guardian, after all. A smile spread across Ginny’s face as she took the dress from Chris’s hands and went behind the changing screen.

“Can you help me with this fastening?” she asked after a few minutes, stepping out from behind the screen.

“Of course!” came Chris’s reply, and Ginny turned around so her back faced her.

Ginny felt Chris’s hands take the ribbons at the back of the dress and began pulling them slowly tighter. There was an odd silence between them as she did; not awkward or uncomfortable, by any means, just…odd. Tense, almost. Ginny felt her breath hitch when Chris’s hand lightly brushed her back as she threaded the ribbon through the loops to fasten the dress.

Once she’d finished, Chris moved over to the dresser to get the sheer cardigan, allowing Ginny to slide her arms through the wide sleeves. Then she stood directly in front of her, her fingers working on the cardigan’s front fastening at her abdomen. They were so close together, their faces only a few inches apart. If Ginny moved just a little bit further forward-

“Is there anything planned today, my lady?” Chris broke the silence, taking a step backwards and breaking Ginny out of the strange trance she’d fallen into.

“Chris, please,” she said, a soft smile on her face. “I’ve told you; you can call me Ginny. We’re friends, there’s no need for the formalities.”

She swore Chris’s cheeks became slightly pinker as Ginny sat down at her dresser.

“Sorry, my- Ginny. Is there anything planned today?”

Chris took the hairbrush and began slowly combing through her dark hair.

“Not specifically. Although, it does look like a fine day to go for a ride in the woods.”

“Of course. Would you like me to go and tell Neil once I’ve finished your hair? Or would you like the King to accompany you instead?”

Ginny lightly chuckled. Chris was always so focused on making sure she was doing her duties. Ginny wished she knew just how much she meant to her.

“No, no, Chris. Not with either of them. I’m sure Neil has his princely duties to be getting on with, anyway."

Neil might as well have been Ginny’s brother. They were raised together as children, have known each other practically all their lives. Whilst they do bicker sometimes, they’ve always been close. There was an understanding between them, but neither had exactly figured out what.

“If he ever wakes up, that is,” Chris laughed. “As I passed his chambers I could hear Todd having to practically hit the bedframe with a sword just to get him to open his eyes.”

“The future King of Camelot, ladies and gentlemen. I still can’t believe people think he’s going to be the best King the land has ever known.”

Chris seemed surprised at that. “You don’t think he will?”

“Oh, I think he will. With his kindness and ideas, this kingdom will prosper once he’s on the throne instead of his father. I just think it’s ironic that he’s still the same dramatic prince as ever.”

“He has always been one for the theatrics, hasn’t he?”

A memory flooded into Ginny’s mind, of her and Neil around aged 10, having been bought wooden swords by a visiting king. They snuck out into the courtyard in the night, playfighting and putting together a choreographed performance, which they showed the King the next day. He didn’t seem too impressed. He never was.

Ginny shook the memory away, aware that she’d zoned out for a few seconds.

“Anyway, no. I don’t want to go for a ride with Neil today.”

This was her chance to spend more time with Chris.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Chris’s eyes widened in shock, stopping the gentle brushing of Ginny’s hair.

“Me?”

“Yes, Chris. You.”

Ginny stood up from her chair, so there was very little space between the two of them once again. There were a few seconds where that tense silence returned and neither of them moved. Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even breathe.

Inevitably, the moment ended, and Chris spoke.

“Are you sure, my lady? You know there’s been bandits hiding out in those woods for weeks now, I can’t protect you if something happens. Perhaps one of the knights-”

“Chris. I want to go with you.”

Ginny looked at her maid sincerely, trying to show how desperate she was to spend time with her. Chris didn’t seem against the idea, but the look of worry on her face was impossible to avoid. Ginny had an idea.

“How about we ask a few of the knights if they’d tag along with us, then? Just to keep lookout in case the bandits are still around. I’m sure Charlie, Meeks and Pitts wouldn’t mind a day in the woods, if we offer them food.”

Chris seemed to visibly relax at that, placing the hairbrush back down onto the dresser.

“Okay. I’ll go and send word to them, ask if they have any duties today.”

“Thank you, Chris.”

Chris smiled brightly and turned to leave the room, but Ginny spoke again just as she got to the door.

“If they can’t come…”

Chris turned around.

“It’s not like I can’t protect us.”

Ginny gave a quick wink, and she watched Chris look down at the ground as if hiding her blush. She nodded and left the room.

It was around an hour later when Chris returned to Ginny’s chambers. She’d managed to convince the three knights to join them, and had then gone down to the kitchens to fill a picnic basket with the best food she could get: bread, fruit, the whole lot. The basket was fairly heavy by the end of it, but the weight wasn’t the thing that made her drop it onto the ground as she entered the room Ginny was in.

Ginny stood by the window, focused. She’d put on the leather sword sheath she’d been gifted by Neil a few months ago, and was sliding her sword into it. Chris knew that Ginny was good with a sword, that was no surprise to her; she simply couldn’t get over how the sight of her with the weapon made her feel even after this time. She really shouldn’t have found it so incredibly…attractive. If she had to die by sword, she’d willingly meet her end by that specific one, she thought; then mentally scolded herself for thinking it.

“Chris, you alright?”

“Yes! The basket’s just…a bit on the heavy side,” she lied

Ginny walked over to her, opening the basket and seeing what was inside.

“Oh, strawberries! My favourite!”

“I know,” Chris smiled. “The knights said they’d meet us by the courtyard gates, so we’d better get the horses.”

Ginny nodded, and her and Chris both reached for the basket handle at the same time, their hands brushing for a moment.

“I’ll take it, my lady.”

“Please, Chris. I insist.”

Chris couldn’t argue with her. She took a step back and let Ginny take the woven picnic basket and walk towards the door.

“Going out?” a quiet voice called from behind them as the two women made their way through the halls of the castle.

They turned around to see Todd walking out of Neil’s chambers, carrying a freshly polished chest plate. Sometimes Ginny forgot that he was technically the prince’s manservant – they were so much closer than that, and it was clear to everyone who knew them. There were rumours about them, but only few knew that those rumours were true. Ginny and Chris had known for over a year, ever since they’d caught the two of them exchanging secret kisses in the armoury.

“We’re going into the woods for a picnic,” Ginny told him.

“You could join us if you’d like!” Chris chimed in.

As much as she loved Todd, Ginny didn’t really want him crashing their picnic. Sure, the knights were going to be there, but she’d make sure they were standing at such a distance that meant her and Chris would have some privacy.

“I can’t, sorry,” Todd said, and Ginny silently thanked him. “Got to prepare for the knighting ceremony tomorrow.”

“Of course. We’ll see you at dinner later?”

“Yep,” Todd replied, adding a quiet “have fun, you two,” before turning around and walking in the direction of the armoury.

As Chris and Ginny walked into the courtyard, they felt the warmth of the early summer sun shining down on them. It wasn’t too hot to be uncomfortable but definitely wasn’t cold – the perfect day. They walked over to the stables, where a blond stable hand was tending to one of the knight’s horses.

“Stick!” Ginny said as she walked over to him.

The stable hand turned around and gave a small bow when he saw Ginny.

“My lady, what a lovely surprise. What can I do for the two of you?”

“Could you ready our horses? We’re heading into the woods with a few of the knights.”

Stick nodded but then seemed to freeze for a moment and looked apologetic.

“I can ready Hermia for you, my lady, but I’m afraid Lysander suffered an injury a couple of days ago and isn’t quite back on his feet just yet.”

Hermia was Ginny’s horse – she’d had her since she was a child: a gorgeous black stallion. None of the servants were allowed horses of their own, but Chris had taken to Lysander a few years ago, and now she was about the only person he’d allow to ride him without knocking them off his back. He was a young grey mare, who currently lay inside the stable, one hoof visibly damaged.

“I can ready one of the other horses for you, if you’d like, Chris?”

Chris opened her mouth to respond but Ginny cut in.

“Nonsense. She can ride with me. That’s alright with you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Chris stammered, slightly taken aback.

Stick gave them a nod then went to fit Hermia’s saddle.

“Are you sure, Gin? I can take one of the other horses, it’s not too much trouble.”

“Gin? That’s a new one.”

Chris’s cheeks appeared to grow redder as she realised what she had said.

“Sorry.”

“No, no. I love it.”

Chris relaxed, smiling.

“And of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Besides, it’ll be one less horse for the knights to keep track of once we’re out there,” Ginny chuckled.

After a few minutes, Stick walked out of the stables with Hermia’s reins in hand.

“Here she is, all ready.”

“Thank you, Stick.”

Chris held out her hand for Ginny to use to help her mount the horse, then Stick helped Chris up so she was sitting behind her. Chris awkwardly put her hands in front of her, trying and failing to keep herself stable but not knowing what else to do with her hands.

“Chris, you’ll fall off like that,” Ginny laughed. “Put your arms around my waist.”

Chris’s mind may have slightly short-circuited at that, and it took her a few seconds to comprehend what Ginny was telling her to do and follow through with it. She did, delicately moving her arms forward underneath Ginny’s until she was practically hugging her from behind, their bodies flush against one another. Ginny took Chris’s hands in her own, pulling them tighter around her.

“There’s no need to be so gentle, you can hold on tighter than that.”

Soon, they were riding together across the courtyard to meet the knights, who were waiting for them outside the gates.

“Took you long enough,” said Charlie as they approached.

“We had horse trouble.”

“Right. Of course.”

They began riding through the town and out of the city, the forest surrounding getting thicker and thicker. The five of them all laughed and joked together; sure, they were all important parts of the royal household but beneath their sophisticated jobs, they were all just good friends. Charlie and Neil had become friends the moment they met when they were young boys, and with Ginny being so close to Neil already, she got dragged into the friendship, too. Soon enough, they were all teenagers and the boys had befriended the rest of the knights and they became one big group. Ginny loved them all dearly, loved spending time with them outside of the context of ruling the kingdom; but she not as much as she loved spending time with Chris. Sometimes they got too boisterous, and all Ginny wanted was to sit in her room with her maid, both of them doing each other’s hair and talking about everything and nothing.

Now, they were riding through the forest together, Charlie and Ginny and Chris side by side at the front of the group, and Meeks and Pitts taking up the rear.

“So what ‘important knightly duties’ have we dragged you three out of for this?” Ginny asked, an almost mocking tone to her voice.

“Just our daily training session with Neil.”

“Wow, he actually let you miss a session?”

“See, Ginny, we didn’t exactly want to miss it,” Pitts chimed in from the back of the group. “But Chris said you were offering food up, so…”

That was the easiest way to get the knights to do anything. Offer them food, or a way to disobey the king.

“Well, thank you, nonetheless. I may be highly skilled with a sword, but I can’t say fighting with one is exactly my intention for the day.”

Still riding beside her, Charlie was close enough to lean over and whisper a question only Ginny could hear. Luckily, Chris seemed busy looking around her at the beauty of the forest, distracted by a bird in a nearby tree.

“And what exactly is the intention?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing smirk growing on her face. Ginny really should never have told him about her feelings for Chris. All he’d done was mock her – lovingly, of course, but still.

“Oh shut up,” was all Ginny could reply, subtly turning her head to check that Chris was still zoned out and hadn’t heard. She seemed to be. She had also, however, leaned her head into the crook of Ginny’s neck, which she as desperately trying to ignore. Chris really wasn’t helping her keep her feelings secret, was she?

After at least 15 minutes of riding through the forest, gossiping with the knights about the king, Neil and Todd and the other knights, and having such an intense fit of laughter at one point that all of them nearly fell off their horses, they came upon a small clearing. Wild violets grew scattered around the patch of grass and the sunlight shone through the gap in the trees. The battlements of the castle were faintly visible above the top of the forest.

“This look like a good spot, my ladies.”

It was the perfect spot.

“Absolutely. Now, are you three going to stay close?” Ginny asked.

“Yep. We’ll stand guard around the clearing, don’t worry,” Pitts replied.

“Maybe a but further into the woods than that, Pittsie! Give them some privacy, you know.” Charlie turned to face Ginny and winked.

Ginny could have strangled him. Not that she would, of course. She loved him too much for that. But she wished she could do it in spirit. She prayed Chris hadn’t seen.

As Charlie and Pitts began looking for a spot to keep watch from, Meeks helped the girls down from their horse. He took both Hermia and his own horse by their reins and lead them away to follow the others.

“Enjoy your picnic!, remember to save some food for us!” he called before he disappeared into the woods.

Chris set the picnic basket down on the grass, detaching a soft lilac blanket from where it was tied to the back of it with leather straps. Wordlessly, Ginny held out her hand and Chris handed her two corners, taking the other two herself and the two of them gently laid the blanket onto the ground, careful to avoid the violets that appeared to be everywhere around them. They sat down, Ginny cross-legged and Chris with her feet on the blanket and her knees up. She tried not to pay attention to the way Ginny was sat so close that her knee was brushing her thigh.

“Let’s get the food out,” Chris said, more trying to distract herself than anything else.

There was more food in the basket than seemed physically possible: all different types of fruits and sandwiches and other baked goods. Ginny reached for a strawberry, taking a bite of it, and humming in pleasure at the taste.

“These might be the sweetest strawberries I’ve ever had, Chris! Where did you get them?”

“Palace kitchens,” Chris shrugged.

“I’ve never had strawberries from the kitchens! Not ones this good at least.”

“I may have stolen them from what was supposed to be the king’s lunch…”

“Oh you little rebel,” Ginny grinned.

Chris had taken a sandwich and was slowly eating it, gently carding her hands through the patch of flowers right beside her. Here eyes seemed to widen with an idea.

“Gin, we should make flower crowns! My mother taught me how to make them when I was little, I could show you if you’d like!”

“That sounds like a brilliant idea!”

“I really want to make one with these beauties,” Chris indicated to the violet patch. “But you should make one with daisies. The stems are easier to work with.”

Soon enough, the two of them were sat opposite each other on the picnic blanket, two piles of flowers beside them. Chris picked two of the violets up, slowly demonstrating to Ginny the way to thread together each stem.

“You just keep adding flowers like this until it’s the length you need, it’s easy once you get used to it. I’ll show you how to close it off when we get there.”

Ginny nodded. If she was being honest, she was probably focusing more on the fact that Chris’s nimble fingers looked so pretty tying the stems together than on what she was actually demonstrating, but she got the idea.

“Like this?” she asked, after replicating what Chris had done with the violets on her daisies.

“Yeah, that’s it! Just keep adding them, now.”

They must have spent half an hour in content silence, just threading flowers together. Unbeknownst to each other, both of them had taken a few moments of that time just to admire the other person, watching them work, all the emotions showing in the look in their eyes. They had made eye contact a couple of times, and both had simply smiled at each other or giggled quietly. Chris was a lot further into her project than Ginny was, being much more experienced with the craft.

“The one with violets in her lap,” Ginny muttered, looking across at Chris with the bundle of perfectly threaded bright purple flowers lying on her knee as she struggled with a stubborn stem.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a line from a poem Neil told me about the other day. It fits you.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I wish I could tell you the rest of it. It was written by an Ancient Greek poet, so we only have fragments of her works.”

“That’s…oddly sad.”

“I know. She was nicknamed the Tenth Muse, too. It would be incredible if we could read her full poems, know her mind even better.”

Chris hummed in agreement, focusing once again on the flower that didn’t seem to want to thread into the rest of the crown.

She finally fixed it in, sighing in relief.

“Can I check if it’s the right size?” she asked, holding it out towards Ginny.

“Of course,” Ginny replied, placing her work in progress down in front of her and lifting her head up.

Chris moved so that she was sat behind her, placing the crown on her head and checking the ends met at the back.

“Perfect,” Chris said, and Ginny could feel her breath on the back of her neck. She fought back a slight shiver.

“Here, I know you’re not quite done yet, but I’ll show you how to close off the crown.”

Chris held the ring of violets out in front of her, demonstrating the specific way of threading the final stem into the first.

“I think I get it?”

Chris grinned at her, then leaned forward and placed the crown onto Ginny’s head. Their faces were so close at that point, all it would take would be a slight push forward from either of them and they would be-

“Can I measure this on you?” Ginny asked, ignoring the thoughts in the forefront of her mind at that moment.

“Sure.”

Chris turned around so that Ginny could copy what she had done a few minutes before, holding the daisies around her head. Her hands brushed Chris’s hair in the process, and it was so soft. Ginny thought she would do anything to run her hands through it. The crown fit perfectly.

“It fits,” Ginny said, and Chris turned around to face her again. “How do you connect it again?”

“Here, I’ll help.”

Ginny expected her to take the daisies from her hand and finish it herself, but instead she held Ginny’s hands, guiding her to where to thread the stem. She was trying and failing to concentrate on what to do rather than the feeling of Chris’s hands on hers so softly.

“There you go. Finished.”

The two girls smiled at one another for a long moment, then Ginny reached up to place the crown on Chris’s head. The slight pink tint of the inside of the petals matched her blonde hair perfectly, and she looked like a living embodiment of the sun. One of the daisies in the chain hadn’t been secured in fully, so it fell across her forehead haphazardly. She still looked perfect.

They had realised they’d all but forgotten about the food, so Chris offered Ginny more strawberries, which she gladly accepted. Chris caught herself staring at the gorgeous woman sitting beside her, paying close attention to the way her nose scrunched up slightly when she smiled at the taste of the fruit; the way the late morning sunlight reflected off her eyes, making their green-blue colour shimmer like the ocean; the way her soft dark hair- oh.

In the midst of her staring, Chris noticed something in Ginny’s hair – some kind of tiny insect that must have crawled out of one of the violets on her head.

“Oh, Ginny, hold on a second. I think there’s an ant in your hair.”

Ginny laughed slightly, her eyes moving upwards as if to look at the tiny reddish bug. Chris, hesitant as she was, shuffled closer to her, her hand reaching up to gently pick the ant out of her hair. Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed the closer her hand got to her face. It took a few tries, but she got it out, setting the insect down on a leaf within arm’s reach of the blanket.

Ginny watched her as she did so, her hands so delicate as not to harm the ant. She saw her lips quirk up into a tiny smile once it was safely on the leaf. It was only when Chris turned back to face her that Ginny fully comprehended the position they were in, yet again. They were so close, even closer than they had been when they crowned each other with flowers; Chris lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, Ginny sat only a few inches from her, leaning back on her hands. She couldn’t think what to do: she didn’t want to move; she didn’t think she could; but being this close to her maid meant all Ginny could do was stare at her.

Ginny was sure her feelings for Chris were slowly getting stronger as time went on – it was definitely getting more and more obvious to those around them, that’s for sure. Neil and Todd both knew, and so did half of the knights (perhaps not Knox though, he was a little slow in that area). She honestly didn’t know how Chris herself hadn’t figured it out yet, especially now in this moment, where Ginny’s gaze couldn’t help but move to Chris’s lips, soft as they always looked, soft as Ginny had always imagined they’d feel against her own.

“Ginny?” Chris’s voice broke her from the moment, and she panicked she’d noticed her staring, and was about to say something that would mean they would never be the same again. Ginny quickly looked back up to Chris’s eyes, anxiety filling both her heart and mind.

But Chris’s eyes weren’t looking into hers. They were looking lower, at her lips. Her breathing seemed somewhat laboured, and her voice was barely a whisper.

“Strange request, but…” she paused momentarily. “Can I-“

Ginny’s mind was racing, but she knew what Chris was asking. Before she could even finish the question, Ginny replied.

“Yes.”

Time seemed to slow down as Chris moved forward slightly and closed the small gap between them, tiny gasps leaving both of their mouths as their lips connected. They were just as soft as Ginny had expected, as soft as she’d dreamed they would be in the many times she’d daydreamed this event. In the heat of the moment, Chris lost balance on her elbow and fell backwards so she was lying on her back on the blanket, her daisy crown falling off her head. Neither of them cared; Ginny simply followed until she was practically on top of her, the kiss deepening as a result of the change.

Eventually, the need to breathe interrupted their moment and Ginny slowly lifted her head.

“You taste like strawberries,” Chris exhaled, barely audible.

Ginny just laughed softly; It was the only thing she could think of to do in that moment. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her again.

“I’m glad I came on this picnic with you, Gin.”

“Me too.”

She leaned down again, her fingers finally able to brush through her silky hair. This time, Ginny pressed a soft kiss to Chris’s nose and admired the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly as her eyes closed, before moving her kisses elsewhere: Chris’s cheeks; forehead; jaw; sternum, just above her delicately sewn blush pink corset. Ginny seemed intent on kissing every inch of the other woman’s face, committing it to memory. If she had the time, or indeed the artistic skill, she would have spent hours painting her; recreating the gorgeous patterns of steel grey in her irises, the tiny, excited smile on her lips, the soft curls of blonde hair that fell over her face. She would paint it all, ensure she would never leave her mind for even a moment.

Just as Ginny moved her kisses back to Chris’s lips once more, there was the snap of a branch behind them, and they jumped apart quickly.

“Hate to interrupt this clearly incredible moment between the two of you, my ladies, but Meeks and Pitts have spotted a bandit camp about a mile north.”

Charlie.

“So, unless you want to be interrupted by an ambush instead, we’d best be going.”

“Of course,” Ginny replied, trying to ignore the embarrassment of the moment and comprehend the situation. “Could you ready the horses? Chris and I will pack up.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Charlie gave a small bow and turned to leave, but instead faced the two women once more, a playful grin on his face.

“Also, I thought I was promised food from this picnic for skipping an important training session to be here protecting you?”

Ginny thought for a moment, then lobbed a bread roll at him. It hit him in the chest, but he caught it nonetheless, nodding and leaving.

“Damn bandits,” Ginny swore under her breath, just loud enough for Chris to hear.

“You know,” Chris picked up her daisy crown and replaced it on her head, then moved to take Ginny’s hands in her own. “There are still no plans for the rest of the day. We could spend it together if you’d like.”

Ginny just smiled, pressing a quick but heated kiss to Chris’s lips before they began packing away the picnic basket and blanket.

The ride back to Camelot was oddly quieter than the journey there, likely because the knights had noticed the subtly different way Chris and Ginny seemed to look at each other, or the way Chris was much more comfortable sitting behind Ginny on the horse, holding her waist tighter.

Charlie leaned over to Ginny, whispering once again.

“Nice headpiece by the way. Interesting choice, violets,” he grinned at her knowingly.

“Shut up.”

Ginny couldn’t help the smile growing on her own face, too.

[courtorderedcake]

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4��� and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest​ for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns​. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter  2/4

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The rain pours for several more days, and Killian lurks indoors anywhere she is not, a ghost in the corners of her eyes. The cable company's arrival makes him bolder, showing the workers the drilled holes in the wood from previous owners, and identifying the ancient telephone cable. 

Laughing, a bewhiskered man clapped him on the back in good nature as he held up the cord. “Haven't used these since 1910! This used a switchboard to even operate, probably used for transmission in the First War. This is a damn antique!” 

Killian laughed with the men doing the installation, but as Emma looked closer, it seemed to be only for show. He followed them asking questions, watching the cables thread through walls, helping where he could. It was not a one day job, which luckily Emma had predicted. 

The next day was even busier, with deliveries arriving, a team looking at the major pipes, electrical repairs and more cable installation making the quiet halls echo with voices. Emma directed what felt like a never ending stream of people carrying various items to rooms, instructed men on how she wanted furniture arranged, and helped identify the structural issues she had noticed, or take note of the ones the contractors had. Carterhaugh stood strong and not many issues were found, although the plumbing and wiring were a mess that would need to be addressed and modernized. 

Around lunch time, Emma took a pop tart out of its sleeve and noticed she hadn't seen Killian all day. Walking to the back solarium and sunroom that looked over the gardens, she watched as he worked. His back muscles rippled under an undershirt, plaid flannel wrapped around his waist. His arms were deeply defined, and she didn't notice how lost in thought she was until he gave a sarcastic little wave. Blushing she gave a half wave back, stuck half the pop tart in her mouth, and quickly went back to ordering people about like some evil queen. 

At the end of the day and after a hefty set of invoices, Emma collapsed in the plush chairs that sat next to the great room's fireplace. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, she groaned. 

“Miss Swan? Are you alright?”

Killian’s voice. She nodded with a sigh, opening her eyes. “I… Your phone came today.” Nodding her head at the package that sat on a small table, she closed her eyes again. 

"Oh. Okay." He looked down at the box with a frown. 

"Don't worry, it literally walks you through the set up process. Just turn it on with the button, and follow the instructions." Emma stretched with a groan, letting her joints pop. 

"You got a lot done today, it looks like."

"I did. The teams I chose are phenomenal, but it will be nice to be alone again here soon. I have never had a home, so I would like to enjoy this while I can." 

"No home? You're an orphan, then?" he asked, and she nodded. "Did you live in a foundling home or ministry?"

"No. No. It must be different in America, I don't know what a foundling home is, actually. I lived in an orphanage, then foster homes. My adoptive mother legally got custody of me at 15. I consider her and my brother my only family."

"Ah. A foundling home is for found children, usually abandoned by their parents or orphaned by war, famine or plague."

"Oh, crap, I didn't mean to be insensitive. Those must be rare nowadays, I don't think that there's been any of that sort of thing over here for at least 60 years."

Killian muttered under his breath, laughing bitterly. "Yeah." picking up his phone he gave her a nod, then returned to work. 

After a few more hours, Emma sat aside invoices neatly arranged into piles after double checking everything scanned into the cloud by her phone, and began a small fire in the grate of the ancient fireplace. She went to the kitchen for a glass of wine and some chocolate, surprised to find Killian sitting enraptured by the light of his phone screen. 

"Emma, this device is… It's bloody magic. I have never seen such a small encyclopedia of knowledge. So many flowers and plants have been discovered, animals and places. The pictures are so close up I feel like I'm there -" 

"Calm down, Buster, have you seriously never had internet? You might of well have been Amish."

"What's Amish?" 

"Alright, forget Amish. What's your favorite thing you have learned so far."

"The sky, I've mapped the stars in detail during my time in the Navy, and written about clouds, but there are so many more names, the conditions that create them are all documented, and the stars, we've been in space -" 

"How did you miss Neil Armstrong? One giant step? Do I need to rent 'The Right Stuff'?" 

"When you live here, and you have no one, it's easy not to know anything but this. Thank you Emma. I… I can't say how much this means to me."

"I'm glad you like it. I guess." Emma said shyly back, surprised by the genuine delight in his voice. Shrinking back without her glass of wine, she doused the fire and went to bed instead, her stomach full of butterflies sorely in need of some Raid. 

In the morning, the butterflies became a full force flock when Killian called her name from the conservatory. She waited, stopped and watched his easy jog over to her over the parquet as wingbeats tickled her insides. The rose he held out to her did nothing to help her distress either.

"Would you let me take you for lunch, out on the meadow? It's a perfect day to watch the clouds come in, and you look like you could use a break. I'd like to repay you for the phone. It's been truly… I have not words in which I can express my gratitude fully."

At her hesitation, he backtracked. "If you don't want to, please, it's alright. I'll just go -" 

"No, no. You're right, it's a beautiful day for it. Yes. Yes, let's have lunch. I'll set up some quilts and you can meet me there."

"Cheese sandwiches alright?" 

"As long as there's cocoa."

These lunches become a weekly part of their routine. On the nicest days they find one another wandering the grounds, and in the rain the eat in the kitchen or in the solarium watching rain pour down the glass. There are many nice days, mild breezes carrying the sound of their lively conversations, the weather becoming temperate and fair. He brings tea, cookies, cakes and sandwiches, while Emma brings pop tarts, cocoa or coffee. 

It turns out that his sense of humor is actually amusing, her face and sides hurting from the way he somehow gets her. It's in the late summer, when he places a daisy crown on her head while talking about the constant storm on Jupiter (he's obsessed with learning everything about space and technology lately), and she realizes after that she didn't flinch. It's easy to forget that he hasn't been a fixture in her life forever when he greets her in the morning in the kitchen, or when he gives her a lazy grin with a wave with soil covered hands. 

It's hard to be in the quiet when Killian has recited poetry, or shows her how to tell if a tree is 'wick', and how to take cuttings to grow more of certain bushes that have started to thin. She reciprocated to her own surprise, and tells him about life in the city, about the movies she loves, and about the best apps for his phone. He's great at candy crush, has a following on GreenThumb, and when she lets him on her Spotify he shocks her with a Playlist of roaring twenties, classical, and old swing band songs mixed with the classic rock he has heard her screeching out lyrics into a broom handle. Emma watched him weave magic with plants, feeling aimless and antsy when she went back to work in the house alone. 

Occasionally he joined her, and in those moments it's almost as if he saw the house in its full glory. He knows everything there is to know, except the local legend of the estate. 

"So did the family really just up and disappear? Were they really cursed by Leprechauns?" 

"Fae folk." The grimace he made was tight when he gritted out the words. It was warm, the cliff side by the sea enticing with its cool spray. Both of them had worked long enough to have a break as they stretched across slightly damp stone. Killian licked his lips, looking almost pained. "They probably left before the next war hit. That's my guess. Although, tales of the Fae due run rampant out here. ‘The Fae court will ride their wild stallions across the plain, under the cover of thunder and lightning’. They ran their undying horses too loudly to go without notice otherwise." 

Killian’s face fell, and he looked out pensively towards the estate, his features tensing as a sudden chill nipped at them. "Or teaching wee ones to be kind to strangers without asking for something in return… Fae folk have dominion over anyone who violate their hospitality unless given sincerely. Even then, they're bitter, wicked, twisted creatures with not an ounce of warmth in them. That falls back to 'Never find friend in Fae, or show them favor'." 

"You sound like you believe they're real." Emma said quietly, 

"Do you, Swan?" The question comes out strange, not quite teasing. 

After a moment and a steadying breath, Emma let the truth eke out. "Maybe."

Killian didn't laugh, didn't say anything, really. Emma found that the best reply, her heart beginning to slow again when she confirmed that he's truly not mocking her by glancing up at his darkening eyes. 

"Just who are you, Swan?" This question is worse, worst - it lodged deep as her walls snapped back up around her. 

"Wouldn't you like to know." If he noticed the iciness in her glare, he didn't say. 

Instead he called after her as Emma made her way back inside, a sudden cold rain pouring down. "Perhaps I would." 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma lets the days go by leisurely as Killian and her spend more time with each other. They eventually start sharing books, movies, excerpts from history (He loves the Today I learned section of reddit, learning things in leagues) and music. Her selections of rock and classic punk pop seem to genuinely bewitch him - on several occasions she's gone out to the garden to find him smeared with dirt, shirtless, gloves in his back jeans pocket shaking along with his - assets - while 'Welcome to the Jungle' blared from the sound system. 

The beginning of want pooled in a well Emma thought had long gone dry, her blush a strawberry stain across her face and chest. Not that Killian knew, or if he did, hid it under his normal self-deprecating cheekiness by teasing her as much as normal. Emma had thoughts at night after a glass of wine that left her feeling like a breathless high schooler who found a note in their locker, except she wasn't a high school student. She hadn't been in far too long for this sort of crush. 

Even in the mornings when she tried to beat him outside, he's there. Sometimes just sitting and talking to the plants or pruning, and it's like he's a fixture in her garden. A fixture that notices her arrival or sneaks behind her with a branch to tickle her ear, smiles at her, beams at her really, in a way that makes her heart sing. It's as if he's gently tending to her too, like he knows how hard it has been to lay down roots anywhere since Neal burned away everything she had hoped for a home. 

Killian just grows on her, and she feels like the sun has warmed her enough to tentatively take a chance, to bloom. 

And she likes it. It scares her more than anything. She likes that he wants to cultivate a friendship, that he is just happy to be near her for whatever reason, and that she can find comfort in his stability. He has set roots, deep into the earth that for so long she has resisted against letting her feet touch. 

Maybe Emma Swan was finally tired of flying, and could try falling, just this once, knowing that a safe harbor might lend itself to her landing. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma read the faded ink on dark and crumbling paper, careful to slide it into a protective plastic sleeve. The attic had proven to be a massive undertaking, just like every other aspect of Carterhaugh. She originally planned to do just documents by herself, but Killian had found her and demanded to help, proving to be just as stubborn as her. He also demanded that they wait on the furniture and strange chests in the dusty gloom, warning her that he was not risking her falling through the floor or down a ladder. 

"I quite fancy you, when you aren't yelling at me." He smirked, and butterflies erupted in her chest. If only. 

The Lord of Carterhaugh had found the Fae portal, and made his way through the shadows to the seat of a great golden throne. He'd changed, heard the whisper of a devil or some dark voice that crawled into his veins, his name the first to go. Rumplestiltskin. 

And Rumplestiltskin knew things, things he shouldn't have, and couldn't have. Things to sweeten a deal already suspiciously too good to be true. His wife, the lady of the house, did not love him. He tried many times to use his new found shadows to gain her heart, but they had limits. He tried stranger and more powerful beings in the woods until they fled as far as they could. Nothing worked until he threatened to take their child into the dark without her. She begged him to compromise, and they would split time with their child between their worlds. 

For a time, it was good. Rumplestiltskin twisted into something strange, The lady stayed near the same, and no one could tell which way their son might go. 

She joined them when her son finally decided to rule beside his Father. It was short-lived, an argument breaking out between the three as they chose whether they would abandon their old home of Carterhaugh to a great war that had begun. The Lady and her son returned, not a day older than when they left, blessing the land so no Fae could cross - as long as a rightful owner held the key. 

No one noticed their return, thinking of only the war that held the world in turmoil or that they were distant relatives. When the war ended, no one remembered they had been there far too long. 

Especially a soldier trying to return home on foot, lost, hurt, and sick. 

The paper was ornate, script flowery and bordered with roses like the ones in her gardens. Emma slid it into a sleeve like the rest. When Killian emerged from the attic with cobwebs in his dark hair, Emma carefully pulled the dust and spider webs away as he huffed in annoyance. Carrying boxes of dust covered books, photo albums, old documents, journals where the ink has bled into the pages making them unintelligible, ledgers and sketches. 

Emma was quick to pull out as much as she could, not noticing Killian’s change in posture or how he frowned as he placed albums aside to ‘sort through later’.

Opening a dark leather bound album, she flipped through the pages, as Killian froze behind her, flinching with every turn of the page. 

"Look at all the staff here. This place used to run 30 people deep, can you imagine? I'd go crazy trying to organize all that. I guess your family has been doing this for years though."

"My family?" Killian looked confused for a moment before shaking it off. "Oh, yes. We've uh, one of us has always been here." he smiled weakly, and Emma felt an odd twinge in her gut. 

"This guy even looks a little like you!" Emma laughed, and Killian frowned deeply, looking over the photo. 

"Yeah. He could practically be me." He said in a dry tone, chuckling darkly. Emma felt that sour stone turn in her stomach, and this time she knew there was something behind the offput smile he gave her, more firmly planted than genuine; it took the air completely out of the room. In a sharp and impossibly fast movement, he slammed the book shut with a look of pure frustration, as Emma made a startled noise. 

"Killian, what -" 

"I'm going to put some of these to the other room. They're later in the period and it will be easier to start at the beginning." Putting the book away, he carried off several to stack in a corner. 

"Alright." She gave him a wary glance, but opened up another old book. Several families in Victorian era clothing played croquet on a small lawn, the surrounding forest held back by large stone walls. "Oh, look at those!" Emma exclaimed, fingers pressed to the page. A gargoyle of a vaguely human creature stood at the corners of each side. Killian sat again, leaning over to look, his presence so close. His shoulder fell slightly against hers. She moved slightly away, just enough to feel the warmth of his body but to where he had no weight against her. 

"Fae folk," Killian whispered quietly, finger pointing. 

"Well. You weren't kidding when you said people here thought less of them than you!" Emma laughed merrily, moving to another album, not noticing Killian’s fingers tracing the large iron spikes that topped the heavy stones. "I guess most people think they're hideous creatures, but I think -" 

"There's many, many things in this world. Fae folk happen to be one that, at least here, are known to be dangerous. It's why in lore, you never make deals or supper with strangers on the road, or you count the teeth and fingers of someone who offers you hospitality. Nothing in life comes without a price, and these woods are proof of it. They should have never taken that wall down."

"I agree, it's aesthetically pleasing for sure -" 

"Promise me something, love?" 

"Uh." Emma looked at him, his jaw clenched as he stared at the photo. "Maybe, it depends -" 

"Put that wall back up, please. I'll help whoever lays it brick by bloody brick, but put that wall back up." 

"Um. Okay, I will."

"Promise me." His eyes were icy blue as they snapped to stare at her, cold and without any of their normal glimmer of snark. Emma nodded, and he looked back at the photo, tracing the lines of the rock again. 

"I promise."

"Thank you, Emma." He sighed, relaxing slightly. Pushing herself against her hatred of touch Emma reached for him. She laid her hand in his, tracing her thumb over his knuckles, and the ghost of a smile returned. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

If there was any advantage of having Killian on the premises of Carterhaugh, it was the cooking. Emma was beyond convinced that the man is the next Gordon Ramsey, showing him videos of the chef's famous temper that made his ears go pink. 

"He shouldn't talk to women like that." Killian mumbled, after a particularly bad roasting involving an 'idiot sandwich'. 

Emma frowned. "It's something they know going in. They're being respected for their talent, not their gender, or being a woman. They take it just like these men, sometimes - well no, usually, actually - better."

"Women do reserve respect, and to be treated better than this. I don't like this garbage can television you like, Swan."

"Trash TV."

"Semantics."

"Fine, and I guess you would order your kitchen around respectfully?" Emma asked amused. Killian gave a firm nod, washing berries in the sink as Emma sat on the counter top. "Oh captain, my captain! What do you know about bossing around a crew?" 

"I was a Captain, Swan. In the Navy. Ranked up after my brother. I'd never speak to my crew like this, and I never did." There was a flat sadness in his tone, and the water ran for a long minute into the sieve that lay in the sink with neither of them moving.

"I didn't - I -" 

"I'm thinking pie for this. Have you ever made one?" Killian asked, normalcy returned shakily as he turned off the tap. He flicked water at her with his fingers and she yelped, laughing. 

"No. We didn't make pie a whole lot in our foster home." Emma shuddered. "We didn't eat a lot in general, in quite a few of them, really. I guess Neal did get us a pie once when we went out to dinner if you could call it that. He liked artsy food. It was this crazy mushroom tart thing, with all these circular layers. I just wanted - "

"A poptart?" Killian smirked at her, already rolling out dough with small gestures of his wrist on the other side of the sink opposite her. Emma shook off a momentary feeling of hypnotic awe, his movement quick, well practiced and precise mastery, like he had done this forever. 

"Actually, I remember wanting of all things, a bologna sandwich."

Killian made a retching noise. "Awful stuff, that. Came out in '57 and they're still using the same cans if it. That and gelatin becoming en vogue is beyond perplexing, and then there were aspics which are a devil's concoction if I've ever seen one. I know bad food Swan, I'm British and was in the navy. Trust me when I say you're better off."

"You like mackerel and pickled herring." Emma giggled. 

He looked affronted, giving a faux dramatic gasp. "Well yes, but not gelled, I'm not a savage. I barely put more than 3 tablespoons of vinegar on my food. I'm a purist by my country's standards."

Wrinkling her nose she made a gagging noise, "Gross. Thanks for ruining that for me." He smirked at her unapologetically. 

"Hey, before I forget," Emma held up a finger and hopped down off the counter top. Heading to the pantry area, she flicked on the light and pulled down a basket of several apples, bringing them to the counter. Killian continued working methodically, without looking up. "Think we have enough to make a pie out of these?" 

She reached down to pull one out, the red skin reflecting her hand like a lacquered surface, but Killian grabbed her wrist roughly. There was a sudden edge to him that made his demeanor feel strange, darker even. 

"Where did you get these?" He asked with a hiss. Her eyes widened, and she pulled away briskly. 

"The bottom of the hill, where the forest path begins. I hadn't noticed before since we don't walk down that way a lot, but there's an apple tree there -" 

"Do not - Never pick those. These apples," he gruffly made a noise between an exasperated sigh and a growl. "These are poisonous. It's leeched into the soil there. Something to do with that New Claire energy. Poison nastiness. Hives of biting, crawling, flying, pests that rot everything they touch. Chemicals."

"Nuclear? Insects? What -" 

"Look, just - Never these. Never eat anything from down that hill. Unless it's grown up here, do not eat it."

With flour covered hands he grabbed the basket and stormed out side, throwing the whole thing down the hill, and heading to the back garden. Emma stood open mouthed for a minute, looking around confused. When Killian stormed down the hill from the back garden as a shadowy silhouette in the late afternoon sun with an axe, she slipped on shoes to run after him. By the time she was out the door she could here the swings of the axe in wood. The tree fell as she reached the crest, sliding slightly down the slope. 

As soon as the tree hit the ground, the leaves changed to a duller color, and as she came to the even patch of ground, an apple rolled to touch her boot. It was decaying, the lacquered red surface giving way to black beetles and crawling centipedes that fled there safety. Killian panted slightly, before throwing the axe over his shoulder and stalking back toward Carterhaugh. 

"What - It wasn't like that when I -" 

"Soil is bad, like I said. Just - just don't come down here. It's not safe. There's things left over from the wars, and old wells, mine shafts - there's a reason why all this land is untouched. No one wants it."

"You mean like, fairy circles, those types of old wells?" Emma called after him as he froze, kicking a blackened apple down the hill but away from her path. 

Killian tensed, rigid and darkly shadowed by the setting sun. For a moment Emma thought he might yell at her, his stature wound so tight to the point of snapping, and face furious. He took a breath, and let it melt off him, composing himself as Emma watched in confusion. 

Mumbling a curse under his breath he walked towards her and in a quiet tone drawled out an emotionless phrase, "Yes. Like those." 

They walked back to the kitchen, but Emma felt herself come loose from the strangeness of the black beetles, so much like little black teeth or shiny black tacks, centipedes crawling, circling each other - 

Neal loves circles, it's always circles in his art and designs. When Emma first meets him, he is tagging circles on a building, spraying thick lines of black and white that he covers in red to make a ring of what looks like mushrooms. Tucked away, she was fascinated by his fluid movements with the can until he chuckled lowly, turning to stare directly at her with eyes that are brown but somehow glow with tawny humor. 

"Well well well." His voice is a whisper, but Emma can hear it all around her, echoing through the concrete, crumbling brick, and metal of the alleyway. "A lost boy has found a lost girl."

It doesn't make sense that he is so wise and young at the same time, but he calls her an old soul, which Emma delights in, especially on his arm in the backroom of a party or club. She is mature for her age, he tells her, nuzzling his nose in her hair. When he waves her past people, he always knows people and they seem to want to please him, his voice is like caramel. 

"She's with me. Ems is cool." 

It's astounding to her. He has nothing but everything, taking what is and isn't offered with no consequences. 

"It's magic, Ems. People will give whatever I ask, because they know better than to ever say no." Holding her tightly, he rubs her arms and her stiffness melts away on whispered words of how happy he is with her. How glad he is to have someone who understands, the only person who gets him, the only person that makes him want to live. 

When he asks, Emma does not say no. He is as important to her as she is to him. It does not matter that they've been together a few months, she echoes, they feel as though they have been together for years. It doesn't matter that she does not know what he does to make so much money, to buy her the nicest things even though she does not ask, he holds her hand as they grocery shop. 

It does not matter that he asks again and again, more aggressively each time, and when she says no she learns better than to ever deny him again. 

They are in love, Neal her first and only love in a long line of loss, the only person who has her full trust after years of betrayal. They are in love, and he holds her heart. It was only once, then twice, then more - but he's doing it for her own good, just correcting her behavior. He always tells her after how sorry he is, and how much he loves her. That he never wants her to hurt again, no more excuses about clumsiness or stealing makeup to cover evidence that fades from purple to yellow. No more late night visits to his doctor, the one across town who won't ask questions about her broken wrist or swollen jaw. 

He cares about her enough to make her better. To make her listen and love him the way he needs to be loved; the consequences be damned, because those moments of rage are so fleetingly brief, that it does not matter. 

 It does matter a little when his time is spent on more trips alone, on business deals that she cannot accompany him to. It does matter when she finds dark plum lipstick on his collar, and it does matter when he storms out when she questions his fidelity. 

It does matter when he returns, a silver circle lying in a plush casing, the proposal tainted by his ultimatum :

"Marry me, Ems. Marry me, or lose everything." He asks, and Emma does not say no, there's no way out of this, he's encircled her - 

FWOOOM. 

Her thoughts are broken by the sound of - something. It's a noise Emma has never heard, followed by Killian’s yelp of panic. He's thrown himself back on the floor away from the old oven when she skids to a stop on her socks to fall into him, his face soot covered and hair slightly charred on the edges. 

"Are you alright?" Emma chokes out, but he hits her with a look of absolute frustration that goes so well with the black covering his face and the ember still slightly orange on his eyebrow she brushes away even as it burns her, and it takes seconds for her to dissolve into peals of laughter that make him look even more put out. "Oh, Killian -" 

"Don't even start, Swan."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Killian became a close confidante, the only person Emma had known that she could spend time with just in their presence, enjoying every moment. His presence soothed unlike so many that grated on her, and their routines twisted together until they were inseparable for vast portions of the day. 

As it became nicer, they walked the property together and he showed her every plant, bird, animal and bug his work helped cultivate, as if he was completely responsible for the life that flooded where the forest did not touch. Emma could believe he was without trying, especially when fireflies danced around them and lit ginger glints in his hair or cast green and grey specks in his irises. 

They sat by the now working fountains listening to mourning doves, or out on the gazebo that looked down the hill towards the wood, and he listened or hummed quietly while they read. There was a sense of calm that came with him that made her feel enveloped in safety. She could just be, and just being meant she could be vulnerable. 

"My husband - it's complicated. I just, he was the love of my life and he let me down. No. He did more than that, he - I - I fell so far into myself I thought I would never escape and I can't let someone do that to me again. He was an awful person who was awfully good at pretending he wasn't."

"You don't have to say more, love."

"What about you? A good looking guy like you probably has -" 

"You think I'm good looking Swan?" 

Emma blushed, fiddling with the flower crown in her hands. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I do?" He asked, more amused. "I suppose a dashing rapscallion like m'self -" 

Emma groaned, and they both laughed. She smiled at the crown, twisting away a stray petal here and there. Killian broke the silence in a thoughtful voice. 

"The love of my life let me down too, so we're quite the pair, you and I."

Emma caught his quick glance in her direction, and the way his face changed from a smile, to carefully polished facade. Walls to never show the world any vulnerability, unsaid things piled up so high on the ramparts, and armor to protect from being hurt again. 

"Milah. She was beautiful, smart, so zealous about life and the beauty of everything. She loved flowers, and I was good with them. She said that I was magic with them." Killian sounded wistful, and began to scrub at the back of his neck, talking rapidly, as if he was nervous. 

 "She was married but so unhappy, her husband had left her to care for their home while he… while he cared for his business elsewhere. It put their son in a difficult position due to it. He was expected to be two places at once, being educated in both worlds. It left Milah alone a lot of the time, and I welcomed her company. We fell in love against better judgment, she was a woman that wanted for nothing and took what she liked - I was something she liked. I don't know if I ever had a choice, really. At first it was wonderful, and everything was perfect. I feared her husband finding out, as he was very powerful in the, er, business world. Surprisingly, I discovered he didn't care. He called me her pet. I hated that, but I wanted her to be happy." He paused, shuddering, and looked over his shoulder. A harsh wind blew from up the forest, and although it had been a warm day, it smelled cloyingly of wet earth. 

"She convinced me to run away with her, to join her husband and son in their business. Life had gotten harder and there were other forces at work outside of us, our country involved in a war. She was afraid. I followed her, because I was so in love, I'd follow her anywhere. It was subtle, her mannerisms changed and became more sharp, and we - well, our love changed drastically. She began to enjoy hurting me, and I at first thought that I enjoyed it, just trying to please, but she became worse as if she was trying to break me, bringing others in to torture me. Mind games and intrigues amongst…" His cheeks pinked. "Other things." 

"You don't have to tell me this. If you don't want to, if you're not - you don't owe me -" Emma looked away, and he laughed ruefully. She looked back and he was shaking his head with his jaw set. 

"I know I don't owe - you're the first person I've talked to about any of this." He sighed, and she picked at her fingernails. "If you don't want to -" 

"No. It's okay. I…" Emma bit her lip. "Go on."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Her husband and a long line of others degraded me, tormented me, pulled me apart without care and made me wish I had never been born. Where in the beginning Milah at least provided a soothing touch after, she began to leave me alone to watch me suffer, or ignore my pleas to stop. I have never felt so helpless."

"Killian, I -" 

"So I know the feeling of shame, I understand not wanting to be touched, I have boundaries from my escape and extricating from Milah's grip. Leaving her was like…" he laughed again, sad and without any humor. "Banishment. I was left absolutely alone, her son had been my close friend, and I had others that I was close with in their business."

Standing, he brushed off his pant legs and looked out at the sky. Emma stood slowly, chewing her lip to the point of pain before making her decision. 

Carefully, Emma tucked her hand into his, his fingers intertwining with her own as they walked in silence. They made occasional light conversation, laughing together, and an easy feeling of belonging came over her so strongly. His thumb traced her own, while his smile traced a path through every barrier and straight to her heart. 

Returning to the house Killian made a chicken and rice dish that was phenomenal as usual, and over wine Emma teased him about his absolute refusal to consider adding a chicken coop to the property. 

"They're nasty birds, Swan."

"They eat pests, and they would have so much room. I think it would be nice." 

"Just because you and they are kin, doesn't mean I want to care for them, Swan."

"Are you… Ch- Ch- Chicken?" Emma smiled at him with uninhibited glee. 

"You are absolutely ridiculous."

"You love me for it." Emma stabbed a bite and grinned as she chewed, oblivious to the look of longing that came over him. 

"That I do."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

When Emma opened the door for vulnerability in her life, the breeze that came through pushed every idea of a wall out of the relationship she and Killian had built, their likes and dislikes melding and the strangeness of their lives being alike turning into long stories over spiked cocoa in half finished rooms. 

Killian was an orphan, the same caged look in his eye when asked about family. His brother was gone, but both their siblings had fought constantly for a better life for the younger. 

Where Emma didn't know her parents, Killian remembered his mother and his drunken father, and they commiserated on which was worse. In the end, it came down to loss and abandonment laying a heavy hand on both of their existences in a way that made Emma see Killian in a different light all together. There was a softness that met the same jagged edge of wildness, the raw and crooked pieces that came together in a clash just like hers. There were scars, mental and physical, that she recognized easily now, and that changed the way they interacted. 

Emma had always felt like she was walking the thinnest invisible line, unsure what was above or below or ahead, but in Killian’s presence she felt someone's hand in her own. Emma hoped he felt the same balance, and the same surety she did. 

Fear was there too, and it came in the night when she examined the synchronicity that she wanted to cling to like a preserver. 

If Neal hadn't ruined her, if she wasn't just slightly more broken and absolutely undesirable, Killian would be everything Neal wasn't. 

Her wedding is beautiful, but strange in its own right, a ceremony that is a blur of unfamiliar faces, drinking, food, and meeting who Neal demands her to meet. It feels strange, as if there is something wrong with everything, a piece that is missing among the wreckage, but she cannot grasp it. 

Neal is forceful when he introduces a few guests, but Emma is the sun, shining on this day and not noticing the sideways looks people shared. The women are striking, Emma unsure of how they know Neal, and unable to ask for fear of her tangled tongue. 

There's so much spinning and dancing, his voice low and sweet, warming her and tracing her nerves with fuzziness. Her friends are there too, and they are happy, so happy as they drink and dance and feast. David is there only briefly, the only one ever disgusted by Neal, but her old roommate from college, Ruby, makes it. They share a silly dance that makes Ruby's bracelets jingle while Neal talks to his friends, so many friends she has never seen. There's so much money in this place, so much she did not plan or choose, ostentatious in your face gaudy things that Neal has chosen for her. Neal will choose for her, because he knows best, and she is in his ring, twirling in a gown that glitters with crystals. 

Neal dances with Ruby, and she is charmed immediately. There are other people he dances with that Emma invited, the cake shop owner down the street Tiana, a woman from an sculpting course, Ariel, and their upstairs neighbor, Tamara. Each seem to join her new husband and come away with a blushing grin, the wine strong. 

They go to bed and it's not as much as making love, but it isn't as little as just fucking or consummation - there's a frenzied edge that makes her toes curl but scares her. When she wakes up, her body is bruised and bite marks line her skin, dark blossoms that feel tender. He's gone, left a note for her on their honeymoon that something has come up back home. The tears come easily, but the call to the concierge is rough. Neal had left her money to do whatever it is someone does alone on their honeymoon in the Caribbean, and she laughs as the clerk judges her while handing her the bag. 

The first two days of Plan B she can't drink, and it takes everything to follow through with that, watching Back to the Future 1 - 4 in the pool while gorging on onion rings. The third day is spent drunk and crying over a grilled cheese, then more onion rings. 

Getting home, she finds Neal in their living room, and he surveys her calmly like one might do an over tired child. It hurts her, the coldness in his eyes. He sighs tracing a circle around the rim of a whisky tumbler. 

"You've gained weight."

Emma laughs angrily and unbelieving, but it's cut short as the circles on his glass continue faster and faster around, until she fades into a smile, gently saying, 

"Sorry, Neal, I'll do better."

He smiles, putting down the glass to his side. 

"Good girl. Now come here, I missed you."

Emma walks over and straddles him - surprised how wrong it feels but how right it feels to please him. She does want to make him happy, doesn't she? To repay his good will and good fortune? Or is she an ungrateful girl that can still be left if she displeases, abandonment or adoration the choice is hers - which is it, which is it, which is it - and their kisses turn into something more as he turns out the light in their bedroom. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Malcolm of Malcolm's restoration services was the first person Emma had found anywhere remotely close that was able to properly authenticate the rare safe she found hidden in one of the walls. In the old Master's study, Emma had found a loose panel, and had assumed it to be another thing to fix. Finding the safe, and then Googling the safe to see if could be broken into easily led Emma to discover that not only could it not - it might spray some sort of gas all over.

She called the man and he answered first ring, and she booked him to drive the hour to Carterhaugh. He was entirely unpleasant on the phone, but Emma thought that might be due to the surprise drive to the middle of nowhere. 

He was wholly, entirely, and awfully beyond unpleasant in person. 

Malcolm had shown up reeking of alcohol, his boots caked in mud that he'd tracked over the newly restored entryway, and had only been eager to get the safe out of the wall - and into his truck. 

"Ya'dunno what's innit, so I'll charge ye a bit t'take it off yer hands. Be needing special tools anyway, which I only have at m'shop. Most safes are empty, but you'll know yet home is safe from t'gas at least." 

"I'm sorry Mr. Malcolm, but no. I wish you didn't have to come all the way out here but I'll pay you -" 

"Fine, fine, I'll open it here, I'll just…" He pulled a hammer out of his pocket, and Emma stopped him again. 

"I would just really prefer if you don't? I read about these and I really don't want to risk it, when you say you need specific tools from your shop. If it's most likely empty I'll leave it for another day, and drive out there with you."

Malcolm smiled, greasily, lowering the hammer to his side. He nodded and turned to have Emma follow him towards the entry hall. 

"Sounds good miss. It must be tough out here all alone by yourself."

Emma answered before she could think better of it. "Oh no, I'm used to being on my own really, and -" 

The crack of the hammer missed her by such a small margin, she felt the breeze hit her forehead. It stuck in the wall as she threw herself back instinctively and stupidly, scrambling as Malcolm pulled the hammer free and swung again. 

"Killian! Killian, fuck! Help!" She screamed down the hall towards the solarium, narrowly avoiding getting hit again as Malcolm swung wildly. 

"You bitch, I thought you were alone up here!" The lunatic hissed, and Emma heard the sound of running steps as Killian yelled after her. 

"Emma, if you've fallen again, I swear -" Killian took a look at Malcolm with his hammer raised above her, and became instantly enraged, running full speed at Malcolm with a roar of anger. The older man threw the hammer at him hitting Killian in the chest, scrambling to throw an entry table and chaise in Killian’s path as they ran for the door. 

Emma heard the squealing of tires and shouts, unable to move from her sprawled defensive position on the floor. Killian came back in like a blur, and before Emma could find the air to ask him to call the police or if he was alright, he had wrapped his arms around her holding her head as she burst into tears. 

"You're alright. Emma, I've got you. You're alright, love. What - Who was that? Did he hurt you? I would have been faster, I thought - I'm such an idiot I thought, and you could have been - Emma, please tell me you're alright because if he hurt you, I swear I will hunt the bastard down and stuff him." Emma wrapped her arms around him, tightly gripping him and crying inconsolably. Her shoulders shook, and he only whispered soothingly, only pulling away to lock the doors. 

Emma called the police, recounting what happened to Killian and the department as they asked questions, Killian pacing by the time they thanked her for her statement. 

"We'll keep an eye out for him Miss Swan, and if he should turn up again, give us a ring."

"What do you mean give us a ring, she could have bloody well died! Send someone after him -" 

"Miss Swan, who is this?" The officer asked. 

"Oh, he's - he's my roommate and helps with restoration. Jones."

The officer made a loud sigh. "Seainns? There's another of you?" 

"No, Jones. Only the one." Killian gritted out. 

"Alright Mr. Jones, well, we can't just arrest someone, as although they did damage, we don't know where they may be, and we are a small town with limited resources. We'll have someone in a car sit at the bottom of the drive until morning." 

"Thanks." Emma mumbled. The sound of a click was followed by Killian’s shouts. 

"Bloody useless! We'd have caught him on foot, and dragged him through town by his arms -" 

"Hey, Killian?" Emma whispered, and he stopped pacing to look at her. "Will you stay with me tonight? Please?" 

His eyes widened, and he moved toward her, although she shrunk back. "Oh, Emma -" 

"I just don't want to be alone tonight." She mumbled, voice cracking. Unable to look at him, she felt him gather her hands, squeezing gently. When she yanked away he froze, then moved slightly away from her. Emma regretted it instantly. 

"Of course, love. Your room?" 

Emma nodded. She let him lead her up the stairs, stopping by his room to grab a few things, before he sat on the edge of her bed. He laid his pillow on the floor, but she grabbed his arm as he set about laying blankets there as well. 

"No. If you don't want to I understand, but… Please, I want you close, I don't want to wake up and think I'm alone."

"Are you sure, Swan?" He asked, and she nodded. 

Crawling into bed with her as she snuggled into him and let herself cry, he held her tightly. 

"I promise Emma, I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today -" 

"You were." Emma whispered. "You are."

"I won't let harm befall you, in any way I can prevent. I promise."

He held her close, alert for any sounds as she fell asleep. 

For the first time in years, she woke with no recollect of nightmares, fully rested, warm and safe. Tracing the scar on his cheek as he slept, the morning light hit his eyelashes and hair revealing auburn glints. They fluttered, and his eyes crinkled at their edges, blue and glints of gold. 

"You stayed."

"I told you I wouldn't leave, love. You're safe."

Emma felt words pour out of her, his quiet listening while resting his hands gently in platonic embrace cathartic as she told him everything. Abandonment after abandonment, unending and unrelenting betrayals of trust that she explained as he comforted in the ways he could. 

"I know you think that you have to be strong, and I know you think that you can't trust or lean on others. I will do everything that I can to prove myself to you, to prove that you deserve more."

"Why?" Emma asked, more plea than question. 

Killian hesitated. Finally he swallowed hard. "It's what friends do."

Emma laughed softly, letting out a hum of contentment when she fell asleep again. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David visit once Emma has restored a suite she found suitable for them, her standards on the first place she would invite her adoptive brother ridiculously high. He had been absolutely hell bent on seeing the place, but had finally had enough when Emma had mentioned Killian more times than what was most likely normal for a staff member of the manor. 

"I have tickets booked for Christmas. We're coming." He announced on their Skype call. Emma blanched, choking on her wine. 

"Christmas?" she squeaked. "But that would mean presents and food, and we -" 

Mary Margaret spoke calmly from just off camera. "We will get groceries in London for the week we're there, and ship the gifts straight to your house wrapped. Hell, I'll even buy Christmas crackers. All you need to do is open the doors, put up some semblance of a tree, and have somewhere we can sleep." 

"But -" 

"Emma. Mary lived with me and my ogre frat brothers on campus for two years. As long as there are no crusted socks on door handles, your place will be as immaculate as the Vatican. We're coming."

Emma tried to argue but couldn't get past either of them, finally conceding when Mary Margaret pointed out that Emma kept saying we when it came to her arguments. 

"Did you meet someone? Is there a we now? Tell the gardener to bring a date, I follow him on that GreenThumb app - I want to meet him!" 

In her Skype account's chat box, Emma saw her face go red. "No," she snapped, unsure why the thought irritated her. The interrogation probably, that sneaky, bird whispering, cookie pusher of a sister and law. "No, no one for me, but I'm sure Killian will be around. He told me he purchased an ugly sweater for himself."

Emma took a swig of wine while her brother made an irritated noise. 

"He's telling you what he's wearing? Emma, is he gay?" Emma flooded her lungs in cabernet, coughing and spraying her laptop screen. "If he is, we know a nice man and can set them up - That Jefferson fellow, the artist at our old complex."

David laughed, both of them not paying attention to Emma hacking and scrubbing at her laptop with her robe. "Oh yeah! The artist that kept getting high and painting rabbits. He had that exhibit he invited us to, what was it called - with all the penises that were 'mushrooms'?" 

"'Wünder.' it was called I think." Mary Margaret smacked him on the shoulder from off screen. "I remember because you said it should not have been called that in allusion to Wonderland when it attracted that blonde doctor, and more than a few bears."

"That's right!" David snapped his fingers, smirking at Emma from through the screen. 

Now half choking and laughing, Emma gave a hoarse, "Fuck you both." 

David smiled sweetly, and replied, "See you at Christmas, sis."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mistake number one is completely Killian’s fault. 

They have to get a tree, and not just any tree, a fifteen foot goddamn tree that goes in a specific place in the den, where it will lord over them like the undeserving peasants they are. Or, that's what Emma feels about the whole thing. Killian has precariously climbed up one of the big ladders with a long measuring tape to painstakingly make sure the dimensions of the tree are that of some sort of branch trunk ratio, muttering about 'gardener stuff' she wouldn't understand. 

"We literally could just get a fake tree. I have one, I brought it, it's 5 feet and prelit -" 

"Your brother is coming here, and you have never done Christmas in a real home. I want your first Christmas here to be…" Killian made a gesture and finally scratched behind his ear, and blushed. "I want you to feel at home."

"Oh." Emma blinked. "Okay…? But the thing is, Killian, I don't need a giant ass needle machine to make this place feel at home, my Christmas activities are usually Chinese food and whatever booze is on discount at the local drug store."

"Why are there stores for just drugs in America? You bloody people -" 

"Do not change the subject, using my patriotism is not going to work on me this time."

"Fine. Fine! I'll get the tree up and all you need to get are the decorations."

"Fine. I ordered them with all the gifts, they'll arrive in three days. Please get the tree by then, and no shame if it's not that big, seriously. David and Two Ems will be here the day before."

Climbing down the ladder, he shut the measuring tape with a nod. "Then that's the day it will be here. That way we can all decorate it. I'll pull out my gifts when you lot put yours out." 

Emma widened her eyes. "Oh, you didn't have to - I didn't know if you wanted to do that with us -" 

Killian looked slightly defeated, and then embarrassed. "Oh. If I'm imposing… If no one got me -" 

"I mean I did, but -" 

His smile relit, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's all that matters. I'll get the tree, Swan."

David and Mary Margaret arrived, and the first hour was spent with Two Ems giggling and clapping her hands at the literal fairy tale property she's on, as David's jaw stays open. 

"So, once I knew that you were coming up, I designed your suite. It's called the songbird suite, and I modeled it after both of you." Emma smiled shyly. Mary Margaret tackled her with a hug, and Emma laughed delightedly. 

David approached the room and it's stained glass door and carved wood door, it's facade made to look like a tree dripping leaves that went from green to yellow and then red and brown. Turning the French handle that was made to look like a copper branch, they stepped inside. The room was wall to wall a mural of a verdant forest, the plaster inlay textured to give the illusion of dimension. A hearth of rustic wood burned merrily near the bathroom archway where a river stone bath and shower peeked out. Through the bathroom and past a rock cut double vanity lay a door out into a small garden courtyard, while past the tub a closet sprawled out with a booth for make up. 

"Why is it the songbird room?" Mary Margaret asked. 

Emma simply pointed up. 

On the ceiling Killian has painted all the song birds that lived in their gardens, each one in detail and vivid coloring. He had draped plants in old bird cages they had found in the attic, growing the long vines to hang from the ceiling with flickering tea lights. 

David walked to Emma, and smiled happily. "Can I hug you, Emma?" He asked quietly. She gave a simple nod, and he delicately embraced her, whispering in her ear so that Mary Margaret couldn't hear.

"You totally got me laid tonight, so thanks for that."

Emma burst out laughing, pushing him away while yelling how gross that was, and he started laughing too. Mary Margaret looked confused but hugged Emma again as she tried to breathe. 

"I'm glad you like it Two Ems."

"It's perfect Em singular."

Just after that moment, Killian called from the hall. 

"Can I draw your attention to the Den, Family Swan." Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow, but Emma shrugged pushing past to the hallway and into the den. Killian stood next to a massive tree, its branches held by thick red twine. He held a pair of scissors in his hands. Emma simply held her mouth open in shock along with Mary Margaret, the enormity of the massive pine overwhelming. She didn't notice David's pointed glare at Killian. "Madame Swan, M'lady Mary Margaret, and… Er. Dave."

David cracked his knuckles as his hand balled into a fist, with a grunt. Emma was too busy trying to figure out the scale of the tree to acknowledge him. 

"I give you, our Christmas tree." Killian gave a bow, and with a quick flourish, cut the twine. The tree sprung open, boughs decorated in soft lights, glitter, some manner of tinsel, and long strings of ribbons, popcorn and cranberries. "All that's left is the star, and ornaments."

"Killian, wow, I -" Emma covered her mouth, trying not to let tears prick her eyes. She walked half dazed, not taking her eyes off the tree as she came to his side. "It's more than I -" 

"So you like it?" He asked quietly. 

"I love it, you've - I don't even know -" 

He looked concerned, and gently swiped at her eyes. "Love don't cry, it's alright," Hugging her, she laughed. 

"It's just so pretty, I never imagined having anything like this. Never in my life, I just… Thank you. Thank you so much, thank you."

Killian laughed, giving her a spin as she let out a joyful shriek. 

Emma didn't notice David's tension, or the excited tug Mary Margaret gave on his sleeve that went unnoticed as he glared.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The second mistake comes in the form of Dinner the next day. David had excused himself after decorating the tree, citing exhaustion. Mary Margaret had gone with him and they retired early. Their gifts had been delivered the next day, beautifully propped against the decorated tree, while a team of couriers helped unload the ridiculous amount of food Mary Margaret had ordered. 

"So, I am making the pies and cookies, the casserole, and the mashed potatoes. I figure that you," Mary Margaret pointed a bright red spatula at Killian who grinned in delight, "Can do the bird, vegetables, and that rice dish Emma raves about over Skype -" 

"I do not rave about it over Skype -" Emma moaned, covering her face. Her stomach gurgled loudly, Mary Margaret and Killian laughing while David glowered. 

"And David will do the ham, the lamb, and the holy roast." Mary Margaret laughed, Killian joining in. Emma gave David a bright smile that he did not return, not noticing, animatedly talking to Killian while he cut vegetables, popping cherry tomatoes in her mouth as he pretended to be annoyed. David grunted, pulling out the large roast pans. 

Mary Margaret elbowed David, jerking her head at Emma, and David cleared his throat. 

"Emma, would you like to help Mary Margaret?" David asked in a strained voice. "I'm sure she will let you add more cinnamon than normal people like in their shortbread."

Rolling her eyes, Emma stuck out her tongue at David, throwing a cranberry at him. "You're lucky I never miss the chance to merge from Em singular into," In unison robot voices, Mary Margaret and her intoned, "Triple M, Femme from Hell." 

The broke into giggles before beginning to work. Opening a bottle of champagne and dumping it into a pitcher with cranberry juice, cinnamon sticks and orange slices, Emma poured herself and Mary Margaret a mug. 

"My contribution, dear Sister in law." Emma smiled. Mary Margaret clinker her mug against Emma's, glancing over to where the men were working. They were back to back in silence, each stabbing at different ingredients. Mary Margaret gave a quiet sigh. Emma looked between the men and Mary Margaret with a confused look. "What?" 

"My husband - your brother - is being a butthead." Mary Margaret whispered. Emma laughed, before realizing that she was serious. 

"Wait, what? Who even says butthead anymore, are you eight? What are you even -" 

"He's jealous. He's jealous that," She pointed at Killian with a measuring cup as she filled it with flour. "He couldn't do this for you. I mean, I know that he has to know this is because of Nil who he absolutely despised, but now there's another person who you've let in your life that is here because of Neal, and who is showing him up, that you've let in -" 

"Fuck, I didn't even, I didn't think -" Emma hissed, and threw back her drink. Hissing in a quiet whisper, she gripped the counter. "Shit shit shit shit. But - but Killian is different, he's not like Neal at all and is just a friend. He's - there's nothing.".

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, smirking, before her face fell. 

"Wait. Emma, you're serious? You and him aren't -" Emma shook her head, and Mary Margaret's eyes went wide. "But, but, he's - Oh, Emma." 

Emma looked at her stupidly, blinking as Mary Margaret grabbed her hand and patted, looking over at Killian. He had moved around to the oven, jockeying for space and showing David how to work the various modes as her brother's hands balled further into fists. 

When he caught their gazes, Killian gave a wave her way, smiling at her. 

Emma turned back, and Mary Margaret was gulping down her own glass of the champagne mixture, putting up a finger to stop Emma from speaking as she poured another and downed it just as quickly. 

"Wha?" Emma managed, but Mary Margaret just shook her head, muttering. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The dinner was fantastic, even if Mary Margaret got exceedingly drunk and laughed entirely too hard at the dirty jokes in her Christmas cracker, but David loosened up as the night went on and they all wore their silly hats, food being passed and eaten. They were all well drunk as the lamb and roast's smell wafted from the kitchen for the next day, and cookies were happily munched on by the fire. 

They played a silly almost game of spades at a low coffee table in the den, trading white elephant gifts of ridiculous pajamas and blanket sets Mary Margaret had picked out, Emma receiving a mustache print blanket and flaming hot cheetos mixed with mistletoe pajamas. Mary Margaret fared much better, a Scooby-Doo onesie with Santa hat, rainbow blanket with poop emojis, and matching poop Emoji pillow. David received a silky mumu in a pepto pink with glittery loafers and a blanket with the repeated words 'Diva' and 'Princess' in cursive on it, but Killian fared worst of all. 

"You've bested me, Mary Margaret. I shan't forgive you for this." He raised a fist in fake anger, plinking in his ears as he pulled out the offending garment. They all cackled, Mary Margaret actually falling over in peals of laughter as he glared at her in good humor and sang out mockingly, "Revenge, revenge, revenge will be mine."

A silky black robe with lace trim and black velour booty shorts were held in his hands, the red and white candy cane lettering across the back reading, 'Naughty List'. The blanket print was a black and red velour with Santa wearing devil horns. 

David could not stop laughing as they all took a photo together, Killian bright red in embarrassment and drink, the both of them staying late up into the night talking. They all changed or got comfortable, Triple M falling asleep cuddled together in a drunk doze. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Christmas morning marked the third and final mistake, a group of hung over almost thirty somethings waking up to a cold hearth and backs that protested not sleeping on a mattress. Killian was up first as usual, fetching wood and dropping it with a yawn in the grate, stoking the embers. Mary Margaret and David woke up later as Emma dozed in and out, listening to their conversation. 

"If you give him any trouble -" 

"- How can she not know, I mean -" 

"I mean it David, I will give you a new year's resolution of a dry spell if you -" 

"That is emotional manipulation, Snow, and I'm only worried for my sister -" 

"Don't 'Snow' me, this is the happiest I've seen her in so long, and you could be happy with her, last night you told me he was a good guy -" 

"Last night I was drunk! Come on, Snow I -" 

"David, if you don't act charming I'll… After we open gifts, go help him in the garden. Please." 

Her brother gave a dramatic sigh, grunting out an okay. Falling back asleep until she smelled coffee, Emma led them in devouring ham with toast. They sat around the tree opening gifts, as they felt life returning in the form of caffeine. 

They all received socks, some books, and various other gifts tailored to them. Mary Margaret got several kits for her class, a voucher for archery lessons, and several bird feeders that would be delivered to their home. David got free dog training courses for their puppy, wireless headphones, and a new pair of boots he had been eyeing. Emma was surprised to receive a wallpaper book based on period design, several dresses, a wine club subscription, and a beautiful shadowbox frame full of photos of hee adoptive mother. David had squeezed her hand at that, both of them sharing a look. 

Emma was beyond grateful that Killian was given gifts by Mary Margaret, who'd given him a National Geographic subscription, Play store card, and to his delight, purchased an actual star for him. 

"It's registered, you just go online and name it. They will give you the coordinates, which you can track on the phone app, or a telescope." Mary Margaret explained. 

"Which brings me to my gifts to you." Emma smiled. She handed him a small envelope, and he opened it cautiously. 

Inside was a voucher for a flower of the month and seed of the month club respectively, but what caught his eye was a scrawled message inside. 

'In the Solarium.' 

"Swan, I thought about what to get you, and -" 

"Aren't you going to look in the Solarium?" 

"Well, yes, but -" 

"No, you've got to go look! I want to see your face. You probably won't shut up for weeks about it." Emma grinned, standing. 

Killian sighed, and they all moved towards the bright sunshine of the glass enclosure. He rounded the bend, and Emma thought his gasp of excitement was worth its weight in gold. The telescope there was gold, designed like an old sextant but completely up to date with the newest technology. Emma watched him trace a finger before looking back at her and trying to find words. 

"I know, I know. Your gift won't compare." She groused, and he looked overcome. 

"Emma, this is too much -" 

"No. It's not." She stated firmly. He shook his head, laughing in disbelief. 

Pulling out a velvet box, he opened it and the sun caught green gems. "I guess I don't have to feel bad about this then. I had them restored after that awful man attacked you. They were in the safe, they're emeralds, a set of combs, earbobs, and necklace set in silver."

He handed the box to her, and Emma could not find words, even} rest assured I'd never let harm befall her." Clapping a hand against David's back, he gave a grim look of resolve. "Never."

David sputtered briefly, before breaking into a grin, and clapping Killian on the back as well, Mary Margaret smiling as she watched Emma swipe away tears from her eyes. Emma closed the box, coming back to the moment, no one noticing her quick sleight of hand as she threw the box under a shelf. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David left with Killian feeling like an old friend, their bags heavy and concerned heavily with how they would ever get through customs with the amount of food they had. 

Killian had given them a historic tour of the property, fascinating Mary Margaret, who even forgave his refusal to take her through the woods. 

"They're just lovely, and so weird too. They should not have leaves, and yes there are some fir and pine in there, but it's just so dense. It doesn't make sense, the branches practically knit together."

Killian just smiled blandly, and shrugged. "That land is strange."

David and Killian were acting as if they were best friends, and Emma was delighted, even beyond her distress over Killian’s gift. When she was sure they were all occupied, Emma had dug earth out of one of the many pots in the solarium garden. Pouring the jewels into the hole, she paused, feeling a pang of regret. Bracing herself, she covered the hole in dirt, knowing that she could not survive with the memory of Neal so close. 

Returning to them, they played more games, and Emma showed them plans for the next rooms, they watched a few movies, and overall enjoyed each other's company. 

Seeing them off, Emma hugged her brother tightly without him having to ask if it was alrght, his surprise turning into a tight embrace of joy. 

Killian and her waved goodbye from the hall, watching the taxi pull away from Carterhaugh, Emma leaning into him when they were out of sight. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

After the house quieted from the holidays, Emma began having night terrors regularly. As this continued into the beginning of Spring, Killian found her several times drooling onto a pile of receipts or restoration samples, wallpaper swatches wet and blurred on the edges. Emma had guiltily proposed that she sleep in the garden while he worked, but he had been horrified by that suggestion. 

To combat this and his lack of movie knowledge, Emma came up with what she considered an ingenious solution - using leftover furniture, pillows, and an assortment of old linens, she set up fort pillow-haugh with absolute precision. Falling asleep to Indiana Jones ('Are you sure there's no relation between you two?' she had asked to receive a cheeky grin back) while sated on popcorn and feeling comforted by Killian’s nearby presence was the easiest way to rest. So what if her back protested or in the middle of a thunderstorm she tucked into him so tightly she was afraid he might have bruised - they're friends.  

They're friends alone in the middle of nowhere, and he holds her like he can't imagine anyone who wouldn't worship the ground she walked on. 

They're friends and he spoons against the back of her softly, without any degree of disrespect or disregard, everything up to her. 

They're friends as she is deeply asleep, but without dreams hears his voice like a bell over still water, feeling his nose bury into the hair at the nape of her neck and his lips on her shoulder. 

"I love you, Emma. One day, I'll tell you how much with no trickery, and I will win your heart."

Even if it's only pretty words in dreams as he held her, Emma smiled and relaxed further into his touch. It's a dream she wants nothing more than to keep having as her second anniversary of living in Carterhaugh rolls around. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The fight is really her fault, but Emma gives stubborn a run for its money on her best days. 

The upstairs bath in the all blue guest room had been leaking and making the hall reek of mildew. Fearing that she might have to replace tile that was quite literally irreplaceable, Emma went about getting a plumber, securing an appointment with one but not for two weeks. 

So she had taken a wrench to the exposed faucets, carefully moving tiles from the mosaic floor of some red haired mermaid, following YouTube videos on how to turn the water off in the old pipes with a shut off valve. When her wrench slipped on the rusty piping and she cut herself, her chorus of curse words echoed down the halls, but she hadn't expected Killian’s breathless arrival or worried eyes. 

"Emma, what did you - Are you alright?" He stared at the red dripping from her hand and her disheveled state. 

Emma nodded, trying to push past, but he held fast. "I just - it's just a cut. I'm alright." The worry in his gaze made her feel under spotlight. It had been almost a year of work, but no one in that time span had ever cared about her, except Mary Margaret. Not that she counted; the woman loved everyone. 

Killian only shook his head. Pulling a black handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it delicately around the cut, bending low to make sure the knot he made was tight. "I thought you said you were calling a plumber?" he asked quietly, the worry now lacing his voice. 

"I did, I just need to turn off this valve and it's stuck -" Emma gestured, and Killian picked up the wrench, bending to look. Before she could protest, he turned the wrench - in the wrong direction. There was a hiss, then a pop, and suddenly there was water shooting at both of them, ice cold, coming from different directions as she wiped at her face and Killian stared up at her in shocked surprise. She stumbled and he caught her, stumbling as well and trying to gain purchase back on the valve, while Emma screamed at him to shut it off, just shut it off - 

They slipped together, and his body was on top of hers, chest heavy and dripping but blocking the jets of water as he turned the valve to stop the torrent at last. When he looked down at her prone and underneath him, he was soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead and neck, beads getting stuck in his raised eyebrows. 

Emma began to laugh uncontrollably, the urge bubbling up without warning as Killian’s eyes widened and his pupils grew larger. He began to laugh too, his weight on her slight as he tried to hold himself above her while his chest was so close she could feel his heart thundering. His stare leveled at her lips, but when she pushed upwards, he pushed off of her to stand pink all the way across his ears and cheeks. Scratching his ear he mumbled an excuse to leave, but she was soaked and cold, the want heavy from the way everything clung to him like leather. 

Pulling on the fabric of his shirt in two rough fistfuls, she kissed him. He reacted in a muffled grunt that slowly turned into a groan matching her own keen, his tongue and hers together moving in languid synchronization. It was only when they parted breathless, and he broke the moment with the roughest voice she had heard from him, that thought returned. 

"That was…"

Emma practically threw herself away from him, her body aching for more of whatever that was - 

"A one time thing." She heard herself say, too busy trying to flee, to get away from the man she had just desired and obviously desired her, that lived with her, that was her friend, that was her employee - and Oh God Emma what a royal mother of all screw ups. 

Hiding away from him as she could hear her phone buzz, hear his footsteps, his quiet pleading from the other side of her door as she hid on the balcony. She could see him pacing in his room, calling out to her where she hid. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this or in any way. 

He was relentless, and hurt, which she guessed was to be expected. When his knocking and pleading stopped it was a relief and an absolutely terrifying moment in its own right - the halls of Carterhaugh were silent but for the sound of her door opening. An empty bottle of wine laid a slight ways down the hall, the bottle's neck pointing towards Killian’s room. 

He was gone. He had gone and she was alone again like she has been all her life - was before this. The royal fucking mother of screw ups and the granddaddy of absolute stupidity, pushing away the first good thing that has happened to her by kissing him. By letting him chip away at the ice around her soul, only to freeze him out because she - she, not him - kissed him. 

She was a lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic that just wants to go back to that moment and… 

And kiss him again, and again, and feel his heart thump and hear that groan into her mouth, feel the way his hand found her hip and tongue slipped past her lips - 

Fuck.