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winterbaby89 · 11 days ago

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Given The Choice (33/?)

… in which Regina surprises Robin and maybe even herself, Emma learns some courtly manners and more nautical customs, and Killian is enjoying himself more and more. ~8,500 words | read on ao3 Post-Neverland AU where Pan did not escape Pandora’s Box and Emma tries to come to grips with her strange new life featuring pirates, parents, and flying monkeys. Catch up here, or on ao3! Note: yes it's been ages. Sorry! Life happened and I won't bore you with the details, the important thing is that the chapter's finished and the next one's under way! Also I changed the name of Ria's ship because frankly I can't believe I didn't think of it before and it fits better. And if you're still here reading: thanks for sticking with it, and thanks for all the love along the way. This fic wouldn't exist without you. I hope you enjoy!

It’s stupid, Regina tells herself even as she holes up in her room and tries to summon the right kind of magic. Robin doesn’t even like her. He doesn’t need her help. He won’t want her help.

But she had an idea after finding Roland, a way to keep track of the boy, and…

It’s stupid. Zelena is still out there, and sooner or later, she’ll have to fight her. But she hasn’t been able to bring herself to go back to working on that. Not when that’s the reason why she’s here. Without Henry.

She hasn’t told the others that it’s her fault. She prioritised fighting Zelena over helping Hook, and here they are.

Villains never win.

She was so sure that she’s not a villain anymore, after Neverland. But of course it’s not that easy. At least not for her.

The only comforting part of it is that maybe, just maybe, it means that Zelena won’t win either.

It’s probably pointless to work on anything anyway, since she doesn’t have access to her vault, or any of her books, or anything else she needs. If she’s going to fail, she might as well fail at something that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Or maybe she won’t fail, and Robin will simply throw it back in her face because he won’t trust a magical artefact made by the Evil Queen anywhere near his kid. Come to think of it, that’s probably exactly what will happen.

Oh well. She’ll have tried. In any case, the idea is lodged firmly in her head now, and she can’t not try to see if it works.

And she does. After a few frustrating failures, where she manages to spot her mistakes right after she made them, she finally gets it right. She holds the slender silver arrow in her palm, taps it three times… and watches it turn to point towards the feather-shaped pendant lying on her writing desk.

Triumphant, she slips the pendant onto a silver chain and sweeps out of her room.

It occurs to her as she reaches the main doors of the castle that it’s a bit ridiculous to go running straight to Robin like a kid who’s eager to show off her school project. It’s not like she won’t see him sooner or later anyway.

But it’s too late now to turn back, because now she has stepped out into the main courtyard, and it would look stupid to turn around and head right back inside. Instead, she lifts her chin and makes her way towards the ruined east wing.

The Merry Men have set up camp in the ruins, tents and makeshift huts built beside and against the castle walls. It’s chaotic and it smells like forest and wood smoke, and she’s always avoided it until now.

She spots Robin at once, a tall figure in a dark green tunic, hanging clothes on a line strung between a half-broken high window and a hook in the far wall. Little Roland is nearby with a little girl who might be a year or two older than him. They’re playing a game that involves an old barrel and a lot of shrieking and laughter, and Regina can’t help smiling at them.

Roland notices her first, and calls her name. He crawls out of the barrel and asks, “Can we go see the rabbits?”

Robin turns to look at him, then follows his gaze to Regina.

“You’ll have to ask your father,” Regina tells the boy, and tries very, very hard not to notice that she just said the stereotypical co-parenting phrase. It doesn’t count. She isn’t Roland’s parent.

Roland shoots a glance at his father, and Robin must have managed to make an impression after the forest incident, because the boy doesn’t even bother asking. He just says “okay” in a dejected voice, and turns to crawl back into the barrel.

Regina can’t suppress her smile. He’s just too damn cute.

“Hello, your Majesty.” Robin is leaning against the wall, one arm braced on the high windowsill, all nonchalant irreverence. “How may I be of service?”

His tone makes it clear that he has no intention of being of service. Regina almost snaps back something sarcastic, but she manages to bite her tongue. She’s not here for a fight.

“I have something for you, actually.”

His eyebrows rise. “A job?”

“A gift.” She holds out her palm, where the necklace and arrow are nestled together.

Surprise, caution, and confusion war on Robin’s face. They all look good on him, which strikes her as rather unfair. “What’s this?”

“I’ve enchanted them,” she says. “The arrow will point towards this necklace, if... I thought it might be useful. For Roland, since he keeps wandering off.”

Robin is staring at her. His eyebrows are raised, but other than that, his expression is calm. Expectant.

Handsome.

Damn it.

“I know there’s a line between protective and overbearing,” she hurries to add, because he’s looking at her and she doesn’t know what he’s thinking and maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this is something Cora would have done. But on the other hand... “It’s just, with the Wicked Witch and her monkeys around, it really is dangerous, and I just thought...”

“No, of course,” Robin says. He frowns slightly at the pendant in her hand. “How does it work?”

“He wears this,” Regina says, holding out the necklace and trying not to notice the relief spreading through her. “And if he goes missing, you put this in your palm,” she holds up the arrow, “and tap it three times, and it’ll point towards the necklace.”

Robin shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“That’s because I just made it,” she says impatiently. “Look, do you want it or not?”

“You made—yes, of course,” he says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean—sorry.” He offers a rueful smile. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

She waves that away as she hands the two items over. “Just, y’know. Make sure he wears it. The enchantment should last about two years, maybe three.”

Robin is still smiling as his hand closes around the arrow. “That’s perfect. Hopefully by then he’ll have learned to bloody tell me where he’s going.”

“Right.”

“Thank you,” Robin says again. “You have no idea—well, actually, you do, don’t you,” he corrects himself with a wry little laugh. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have thought of it. I really appreciate it.”

He means it. She almost wishes he didn’t. His sincerity makes her want to squirm.

The moment stretches between them, waiting for her to say something, but she can’t think of a single thing.

She clears her throat. “Right. Okay. Well. I’ve got work to do, so I’ll see you later.”

And she leaves before he can say anything or before she can say any more, feeling both relieved and foolish. What is it about him that has her scrambling for words like that? Unless they’re arguing about something, that is. And it’s not that she wants to argue, it’s just that he’s got that reckless streak, and he won’t back down, and he just has to be in charge even when his plans are idiotic…

But he didn’t throw the necklace in her face. It wasn’t a bad idea. He took it, and thanked her. That feels like a good step.

Towards what, she doesn’t know. It’s not like she’s trying to be friends. She knows better.

(Or maybe she doesn’t.)

* * *

The weather grows noticeably colder as the Scarlet Hawk makes her way northwest towards Misthaven. The days are warm, but the evenings have begun to carry a chill, and Killian knows they will likely run into snow before the journey is over.

“Good thing we got this,” Emma says the day she pulls on the coat she bought back in Azar.

Thinking of the tailor makes him think of Blackbeard, and the ship, and he feels his jaw clench as he pushes the thoughts away. He focuses instead on the way the dark leather coat fits over Emma’s tunic, and it’s easier than it probably should be to get distracted by the way she looks in it. With her blond hair in a windswept braid and the coat over her breeches and boots, she looks like she belongs on the ship.

In his world. Something about that still strikes him every time.

Not to mention that she’s bloody gorgeous as always. His hand is itching to reach for her hair, to tug at the braid and loosen it just to make her glare at him—to look at him—and maybe even retaliate. For the first time in his life, Killian truly understands why some boys pull girls’ pigtails. It’s bloody tempting.

Instead, he affects surprise and says, “I thought you were set against black leather.”

She knows he’s provoking her, of course, and she scrunches up her nose at him. It’s endearing as hell when she does that, not that he’ll ever say so. “It’s not black, it’s dark brown.”

She’s right, of course, but he just shrugs. “Looks black to me.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs, a sly sort of grin creeping over her face. “You make it look good, I thought I’d try it out.”

His surprise is real this time, and his grin automatic. He knows that Emma finds him attractive, but she’s never said so before, not even in a roundabout way. “Well, you look ravishing.”

She flashes a sarcastic smirk, as if he was joking, and splays out her arms as she bends her knees.

He stares. “What was that?” The question is out before he can stop it.

“A curtsy?” She’s scrunching up her face again, as though she’s not at all sure that what she just did was, in fact, a curtsy.

And she’s right to, because it wasn’t.

“Bloody hell,” he says. “We ought to have worked on that before now.”

She winces again. “That bad?”

There’s really no way to say it diplomatically. “It’s just that… given who you are…” he begins.

“… I should know how to do that,” Emma finishes. “Yeah. We should’ve thought this through more.”

She has a point. He’s normally better at this sort of thing, but after all the unexpected twists they’ve had to adapt to, it’s perhaps more amazing they still have a cover story at all. “Not to worry,” he says. “It’s not hard.”

And as a very amused Henry watches, he teaches Emma how to curtsy.

Of all the things he might have expected to find himself doing, this certainly was not one. If anyone told him as little as a year ago that he’d be teaching the princess of Misthaven how to curtsy, he’d have thought it a joke or the ramblings of a lunatic. But he doesn’t mind, not with the way she laughs at herself, the way she curses under her breath and sets her jaw in determination to get it right.

It might not be entirely honourable to enjoy it so much. But when she stumbles sideways, he has to catch her, and he doesn’t care one bit that he’s demonstrating curtsies of all things when it leads to this. Her scent wraps around him, seawater and sweat and the jasmine and lemongrass soap she bought in Azar, and he’s leaning into her before he can stop himself.

It might be a little pathetic, how focused he is on her. But they mean something now, these moments. He’s seen the way her eyes linger, the way her smile brightens for him. Even the way she grabs him for support now, without hesitation, is a far cry from how things were a few weeks ago.

He’s not imagining it. He knows he’s not, because he’s been trying very hard not to imagine it.

“No, we’ll have none of that now, love,” he says, mock-admonishing, as he pushes her back on balance. “Sweeping you off your feet comes later.”

She rolls her eyes at him, laughing, and swats him on the arm. “You need practice with that, huh?”

He grins. “Couldn’t hurt. Especially if you’re willing to help me practice.”

“Stop that.” She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “Let’s try that again. My left foot goes… here?”

She gets the hang of it very quickly after that, to her apparent surprise.

“You’re a princess, Mom,” Henry says, exasperated. “Makes sense that you’d be good at it.”

She glares at her son. “Shh!”

Killian is well aware that she isn’t just concerned with keeping their story straight. Emma has never been particularly enthusiastic about her royal status, to the point where Killian often forgets about it himself.

“Whatever the reason, milady,” he says, smiling when her eyes flash at the title, “it appears you’re a natural.”

She responds with the most sarcastic curtsy he’s ever seen, and for a moment, he can’t breathe. She moves with natural grace, her posture straight, and it makes for a hell of a combination with her practical clothing and windswept hair and irreverence. Want sweeps through him, sudden and fierce and far too familiar.

Henry’s laughter breaks the spell, and he joins in, shaking off the moment.This is not the time for those feelings, and Killian has been realising that if a man can’t control his own feelings, he can control nothing at all.

* * *

He estimates that they’re a few days out from Glowerhaven when they make a stop in a small cove. The Hawk drops anchor, and Ria and a few of the crew make ready to row to shore, where a small village nestles beyond the beach.

Ria assures them it’s only a quick stop for supplies, but Killian notes that he, Emma, and Henry are carefully manoeuvred out of the way as the crew make their preparations.

He makes sure not to watch them too closely, nor to ask any questions. Ria might trust him more now, but if he pokes his nose into her smuggling, his newfound favour is likely to disappear. He’s not sure why they’re bothering to hide it; he already knows that Ria is a smuggler. Perhaps she’s paranoid about Emma finding out, given her alleged status as a lady of the royal court.

“So,” Emma says casually as they sit on deck in the sunshine, waiting for the others to return. “Do you know what we’re smuggling?”

He bites back the instinctive denial; he isn’t responsible for any of the law-breaking this time. Besides, she knows. Princess or not, Emma has a significant amount of criminal experience herself. “No,” he says. “And we aren’t. They are.”

“Isn’t it kind of obvious?” Emma asks. “I mean, a big ship anchoring in this tiny bay?”

“Who’d see it?” Killian points out. “The locals likely all benefit from it one way or another, and it’s a long way to the earl’s castle.”

“I guess.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “I keep forgetting that everything works different around here. What usually gets smuggled? Drugs?”

“It depends,” Killian says. “Arendelle has strict laws about magical artefacts, so those fetch a lot there. Corona and Misthaven used to have very high taxes on fabrics, especially silk, but I’m almost sure that changed years ago. And picking it up out here… it could be anything.”

Emma is silent for a moment, thinking. “Do you think they’re smuggling for the rebellion?”

He smirks as Emma’s words bring the answer to him. “Actually, that would explain her attempts at secrecy. She wouldn’t want me to know that she’s taking sides. Scoundrels like us don’t do that, after all.”

Emma smiles at that. “Yeah, well. Sometimes people change their minds about stuff like that, don’t they?”

He feels his face warm, and fights it back with a burst of irritation. He’s not going to blush. “So I’m told. Still, it usually takes some…” He lets his gaze linger on her, deliberately, because if there’s going to be blushing, it’ll at least go both ways, damn it. He’s rewarded with a little eye roll and a smile she tries hard to fight back as he finishes, “… incentive.”

She loses the fight with her smile and laughs, shaking her head. “You are so…”

“Charming?” he suggests.

She shakes her head again, pressing her tongue against her top teeth as she considers him, her eyes sparkling. “Full of it.”

She’s right, but he’s not about to admit that. “I’m merely pointing out that people usually have a reason to… get involved.”

“Yeah.” She pokes him gently in the chest, just above his heart. “It’s called a conscience.”

His heart, as if on cue, has begun to pound rather harder than usual. “Best be careful,” he tells her, trying to ignore the drum in his ears. “You’re giving me an awful lot of credit. I might start thinking you actually like me.”

She just laughs again—and it’s not an amused scoff at the notion of her liking him. No, she gives him a wry look and laughs as if her not liking him is the joke.

And he knows he’s inclined towards wishful thinking where Emma is concerned, so he really needs her to scoff or tell him he’s full of it again, to restore the balance here and remind him where they stand.

But she doesn’t. She just laughs, and the laugh fades to a smile, and then she says something about smugglers and rebellions and Star Wars that he hasn’t a hope of understanding, mostly because his thoughts are still tangled in it’s called a conscience and that bloody laugh.

He needs to make another glib remark, or pay her a compliment, or preferably combine both of those to try and make her blush again—but he can’t, for the life of him, think of anything to say.

So much, he thinks ruefully, for control.

* * *

Ria is gone for a few hours, and by the time she returns, night is falling.

“We’ll anchor here tonight,” she says. “There’s an issue with one of the—supplies, so we may as well wait.”

Killian is careful to keep his expression neutral; Emma’s only reaction is to glance at him, a knowing look that Ria misses.

“Excellent,” Wes proclaims with a grin. “Cap’n, permission to go ashore—”

“Everyone stays on board,” Ria cuts him off, and her knowing look is clear for all to see.

“I only meant, to get some decent food,” Wes tries.

Inga rolls her eyes. “We just got supplies. That includes food. Idiot.”

“Oh,” Wes says, looking momentarily abashed. “Yeah.”

Killian resists the urge to shake his head. Expert smugglers they may be, but their acting abilities leave a lot to be desired. And whatever talents in that area Wes Carswell might have, he suspects that the man uses them mostly for acting the gentleman and telling the ladies what they like to hear.

Even so, Killian is just as glad to go along with the ruse. If they’re busy hiding their true activities from him, they’ll be less inclined to suspect that he and Emma are hiding something from them.

At least they aren’t lying about the food: there are fresh vegetables and meat from the village, and an argument over who will do the cooking ensues. Eventually, Lynch insists that even with one arm, he’s still a better cook than the rest of them, and Emma volunteers to act as his hands again.

The food is delicious, especially after so many days of hard tack and fish.

“Excellent food, prepared by a beautiful woman,” Wes says around a mouthful. “Nothing better.”

Killian can’t help rolling his eyes at that. Thankfully, he’s not the only one; several of the crew do likewise, evidently both used to and fed up with Wes’s flirting.

Emma only exchanges an amused glance with Lynch. “I think he means you. He call you a woman often?”

Lynch nods seriously. “Yeah, he gets things confused a lot. Explains why he keeps flirting with me.”

Wes makes a rude hand gesture at him. “You wish. You can’t hold a candle to the lady.” He winks at Emma.

Emma just shakes her head, still looking amused. There’s a general chorus of exasperation among the crew—from all except Jim, who is watching Wes and his flirting as if taking notes.

Killian fights back the comment he’s dying to make. He’s here because he owes Emma’s husband a debt, and his feelings go no further than that. It won’t do for anyone to begin questioning that, or anything else about their story. If he makes a comment, he knows damn well he’ll only sound jealous.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to. Because Lynch narrows his eyes at Wes, and makes it for him.

“I’ll hold a candle to you if you don’t shut up.”

Killian smirks and takes another bite of his pork chop.

“Do not set people on fire on my ship,” Ria cuts in, sounding tired. Before Wes can thank her for defending him, she adds, “Wait until he’s off of it.”

Wes sends her a betrayed look while the others laugh.

“The wind should pick up again tomorrow morning,” Ria says, turning to Emma. “So it won’t be a big delay. We’ll get to Misthaven on schedule.”

Emma nods. “That’s fine. It’s not like we’re on a timetable here.”

“Right.” Ria is casual as she says it, but there’s a fraction of a moment where her eyes are a bit too sharp. As if something in what Emma just said has raised some suspicion.

Killian tries to think what that might be, but the conversation is already moving on and it’s hard to keep track as it is.

“Is your dad gonna be there?” Jim asks, turning to Henry. “To meet you?”

Henry turns to Emma in mute appeal, and Emma answers for him. “I don’t know if he’ll be there,” she says. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t exactly know we’re coming.”

She smiles at Jim as she says it. Jim blushes scarlet, and manages a weak, “Oh, right.”

Killian tries to hide his amusement. He’s noticed the way Jim tends to avoid Emma—or rather, the way he prefers to look from a distance. The lad is all of fifteen; old enough to notice, too young to know what to do about it, and far too young for Emma. And now here he is, the sole focus of a smile from the woman who has probably inspired more than one daydream lately.

Poor lad.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Jimmy,” Wes says, the devil glinting in his eyes. “Her husband’s a Navy man, you want to watch out.”

Jim shoots him a glare, still scarlet. “I’m not! That’s not—I was just asking.” He turns to Henry again, clearly determined to push past the embarrassing moment. “You didn’t tell me your dad was in the Navy! Did he go after smugglers?”

Henry looks around briefly, shakes his head. “No.”

“Is that where you learned to sail?” Jim asks. “You said—”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad!” Henry jumps to his feet. Without another word, he makes his way across the deck to the hatch that leads below.

There’s a moment of silence—Jim looking confused, Wes concerned, everyone else somewhere in between.

Emma presses her lips together as she watches Henry go. Killian wants to say something, some explanation, but it’s not his place.

And Emma’s got it covered. “It’s been difficult,” she offers. “Complicated. His dad wasn’t always around as much as… he wanted to be.”

She’s good. It’s not the first time Killian has noticed her skill at staying close enough to the truth to sell the story, without giving the actual truth away.

“It’s tough on a kid,” Stavros says with an understanding nod. “Even if his father’s got a good reason for being gone, it’s tough.”

“Yeah.” Emma gets to her feet with an apologetic smile. “I better go talk to him.”

* * *

Emma finds Henry in the cabin, sitting almost in the exact spot where she comforted Killian just a few days ago. Emma sinks down next to him, feeling strangely reassured by the memory. “Hey. You okay?”

Henry looks up at her. “I didn’t know what to say. Did I blow our cover?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Emma shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t think we’d have to pretend for this long.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Henry admits. “I really don’t want to talk about him. It just slipped out.”

“It’s okay,” Emma assures him. “I explained that your dad wasn’t around much and that you’re kind of mad at him right now. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Henry heaves a deep breath, a very adult gesture. “This spy stuff is harder than I thought. It was a lot easier back in Storybrooke.”

“We didn’t have a whole fake backstory in Storybrooke,” Emma points out. “I’ve done this before, and it’s hard for me as well. You’re doing great.”

“It’s…” He trails off, thinking. “Mostly it’s easy. I can say some things. I can tell Jim about Grandma and Gramps. But sometimes… sometimes…”

Emma puts a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes you want to tell him about…?”

“Mom.” Henry almost whispers the word.

“Oh.” Yeah, that’s an awkward one. Regina doesn’t really slot neatly into anything resembling a normal family dynamic.

“I miss her,” Henry says. And then he glances up at her, almost worried. “I know you’re here, and you’re my mom too, but—”

“Hey, I get it.” Emma puts an arm around him and pulls him close. “Of course you miss her. I miss M—my mom, too. And I know Regina misses you.”

“I miss everyone,” Henry admits, his voice muffled now. “I wish we could send a message. Like you guys did with the mirror, in Neverland.”

Emma thinks of her magic, still trapped in the ring she wears hidden under her shirt, and fights back a pang of regret. Then again, even if she still had it, she has no idea how to send messages with it. She’s thought about it, even talked to Killian about it, because she hates knowing that her parents think they’ll never see her again. She knows how they feel, because she knows how she’d feel.

But the fact is that any message they could send wouldn’t get there before they do, and it’s far too risky. “Yeah,” is all she can say. “Me too.”

“When are we gonna get back there?”

“I’m not sure,” Emma says. “You’d have to ask Killian.”

Henry hesitates. “I don’t want to keep asking him.”

“Why not?” she asks carefully.

“He always feels bad when I ask. I can tell. I think it annoys him.”

Her empathetic little boy. Emma gives his shoulders a squeeze. “He just feels bad because he can’t make the ship go any faster.”

Henry frowns. “That’s dumb. It’s a sailing ship, you can’t make it go faster.”

Emma smiles and makes a mental note to mention this to Killian. “Yeah, sometimes he’s a little dumb.”

Henry laughs.

“You’re not annoying him ,” she goes on, more seriously. “It’s just that he wants us to get home as fast as possible. He wants to be able to tell you we’ll be there tomorrow, but he can’t, so then he feels bad. It’s not because of you asking. It’s okay to ask him. Or any of the others.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for another moment. “Do I have to come back to dinner, or can I stay here for a bit?”

“Whatever you want.” She lets go of him. She wants to stay, to cheer him up, but she has a feeling that’s not what he needs right now. “Want me to leave you alone?”

He nods, but he looks a lot happier already, and she silently awards herself a mom point for getting this one right. “Okay.”

* * *

By the time Emma gets back on deck, everyone has finished with dinner and dispersed. Killian is fiddling with one of the fishing nets, and catches her eye when she emerges from the hatch. “All right—” he almost calls her “Swan”, catches himself just in time—“milady?”

She mirrors his smile. “Yeah.”

“How’s the lad?”

“He’s okay, just needs a little me time.” She sits down next to him, arms draped over her drawn-up knees. “Oh, and he wants to know when we’ll reach Misthaven, but he doesn’t want to ask you.”

“A little over a week, if the wind holds.” Killian eyes her, unsure of whether to ask, but unable not to. “Is there a reason why he doesn’t want to ask me himself?”

She shakes her head. “He says it makes you feel bad when he asks.”

Killian huffs out a surprised laugh. He didn’t see that one coming, although perhaps he should have. “He’s a good lad,” he says softly. “I do wish I could get us there faster.”

“That’s what I told him.”

That’s another surprise, that Emma would speak up for him that way. And again, it shouldn’t be, because of course she would explain things to her son. She always does. He just isn’t used to people being so thoughtful. “But he needn’t be considerate of me. I’ll tell him—”

“No,” Emma cuts him off firmly. “Look, you’re not gonna get him to stop caring. And I wouldn’t want him to.”

She sounds fierce, pride in her voice. Pride in her son for being so considerate. And there’s another note there, too, the same one he heard when she told him that it has to go both ways between them.

Like she wants Henry to care about him—not just for the boy’s sake, but for his, too. Another startling thought.

Trying to cover his surprise, he inclines his head. “Fair point. I just don’t want him to be afraid to talk to me—for any reason.”

“You might have to work on hiding your reaction a bit better,” she says, in a conspiratorial tone that tells him she’s speaking from experience. “He’s too damn perceptive sometimes.”

He grins then. “I wonder where he gets that from.”

And she smiles, like it pleases her to hear that her son takes after her. Killian has never wondered before whether she ever questions that. Henry reminds him of Emma all the time—his quick wit, his bright smiles, the way his eyes twinkle when he’s being mischievous, that indefatigable sense of optimism and determination—but he’s suddenly not so sure that Emma sees it.

“Yeah,” Emma said, that note of pride still in her voice, “that’s definitely not from his dad. I mean…” She thinks about it. “Neal can be perceptive. Kind of. I don’t know, it’s weird.”

Killian nods. He doesn’t want to speak ill of Neal, has been very careful not to, but he knows that Emma still questions her own instincts at times. She needs to hear that she’s right. “I think he’s… inclined to see what he wants to see,” he says. “Or not, as the case may be. Not always, of course, but when he’s… shall we say, emotionally invested.”

Emma stares at him like he’s just said something absolutely brilliant. “Yes! That’s what he does, right? He sees what he wants. And when he doesn’t want to see something, it’s like he just ignores it. He does it with you, too, right? He doesn’t want you to be—well, anything but a villain, so he won’t see it.”

“Well, that’s—complicated,” Killian says carefully. “He has his reasons for seeing me like that.”

“He’s got reasons for seeing you as not like that, too,” she points out. “Y’know, helping to save his kid, saving him…” She thinks about it. “Twice. God, it makes so much sense, why—you know, I always had this feeling, but what you said—”

She seems to be having some kind of epiphany. Killian puts the fishing net down and cocks his head to the side. “I take it this has been… an issue of contention?”

She scoffs. “He said that’s what I was doing. Getting things wrong because I was emotional. Everyone kept saying it. Oh, you’re emotional, Emma, you’re not seeing things clearly, you’re just jealous. Except I was right, about Tamara, and about magic, and about—it had nothing to do with jealousy, he’s the one who—ugh.” She finishes with an annoyed sound in the back of her throat.

This has been bothering her, that much is clear from the anger flashing in her eyes. And if it goes back to Tamara, it predates Killian’s… involvement. He was working with Tamara back then, against Emma and Neal.

Killian suspected, after Neverland, that Emma wouldn’t simply let Neal back in. He could only guess at her reasons back then, had little more than his gut feeling to go on, but the more he learns, the more he realises that he was more right than he knew. He knows some of the reasons now, and they’re far more serious than he guessed. They go far beyond a simple lovers’ tiff, or misunderstanding, or bruised pride at having been left.

And they have nothing to do with him.

He realises just how much guilt was still weighing on him when it lifts in the wake of that revelation.

The weird thing is, for a moment as Emma looks at him and he at her, he would swear that she feels exactly the same.

* * *

Emma feels almost dizzy, vindication sweeping through her, along with a tingle of anger. Killian’s words have finally made something clear to her that has been clawing away at the back of her mind.

She’s not less perceptive or less capable just because she’s got feelings. Neal is the one who’s been seeing things the way he wants, who refused to listen to her about magic, who trusted Zelena because she validated him.

The nerve of the guy.

But she’s not as angry as she might have been just a few weeks ago. Instead, it’s almost a relief.

“You aren’t like that.” Killian says it as if he’s stating a simple fact, almost dismissively. “You’ve never struck me as someone to get blinded by her feelings. And as someone who’s very much inclined that way,” he offers a rueful smile, “I think I’m quite well-placed to judge.”

She shakes her head. “You’re a hothead, but it doesn’t blind you,” she says. “You see everything. You just ignore it if it’s in the way.”

He looks surprised, then narrows his eyes at her. “See? Perceptive.”

She laughs, feeling more of her annoyance fade. She doesn’t much want to talk about Neal, or about feelings, but she needs this right now.

The conversation with Henry dragged up some things that she knows she’s been pushing away. She’s been trying not to think about Neal and everything that happened and what it might mean. But hearing Henry say that he doesn’t want to talk about him…

It left her feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt, wishing things were different but kind of glad that they’re not. Does that make her a bad mother? She has no way of judging that. If Snow were here, she might ask. But she doesn’t have her mother here right now.

She’s got Killian, though. Who has been telling her about his brother, and about his Navy days, and asking about Henry. And for all his irreverence and flaws, she knows that he doesn’t judge. She takes a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

One eyebrow pops up. “By all means.”

“It’s more an opinion thing, really...”

“Out with it, Swan.”

“Am I terrible for feeling... kind of relieved?” she says. “I mean, I wish none of it had happened, and I know Henry’s upset about it, about what Neal did, but then I can’t help thinking that maybe now—” She pauses, but she’s started now, so she forges on. “You know, after I told my parents about what Neal did, they got off my back about him, and...”

She doesn’t know how to go on. Every way she can think of to phrase this really does sound terrible.

But Killian has caught her drift. “And now you can’t help hoping this will do the same for the lad? That he’ll no longer want you and Neal to be together?”

It sounds worse when he says it. She grimaces. “That is kind of terrible, right?”

“Let’s call it understandable,” he says with a shrug. “Given the way you worry about what everyone else wants, it’s not surprising that you’d be relieved when they stop asking things of you that you don’t want to do.”

“Hey, I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”

“No, you don’t,” he agrees, and then he smirks. “But you do feel guilty about not doing them.”

“Only sometimes,” she says, hearing the defensive note in her own voice. “I just feel—well, I felt like I... maybe I owed it to Henry, you know? To try. He’s a kid, of course he wants his parents to be together.”

Killian gives a dramatic wince, his smirk still lingering. “I’m afraid I may be a little biased here, love.”

The reminder sends a little thrill through her belly. She does her best not to let on.

“But,” Killian goes on, “I don’t think you’re letting him down. In fact, I suspect that Neal’s recent actions might have hit him harder had you two been a couple.”

“Fair point. Although...” She hesitates. “Maybe Neal wouldn’t have done any of it if we were together.”

She knows it’s a stupid thought the moment she says it. It’s not like it’s the first time he did something that hurt her in the name of “helping”. It’s not like their being together made any difference the first time around.

“All things considered, I doubt it.” Killian says. “But we could debate the ifs and maybes of it all day. In any case, if you’re relieved at the idea of not having to be with him… well, biased I may be, but that doesn’t sound as though you want to be with him.”

He’s got a point there. “Yeah. No.”

“In which case, you wouldn’t be doing the boy any favours no matter what,” Killian says.

“I guess.” Emma has seen plenty of cases where the kids would have been better off if their parents had called it quits. “It’s just... y’know. He wanted his parents to be together. That’s the fairytale, I guess.”

“Aye.” A shadow has settled over Killian’s features, and Emma suddenly knows that he’s not just thinking of her and Neal anymore. He’s thinking about Neal’s parents. “But I don’t think he’d be better off if you were miserable. I think… I think the important thing is that you’re there for him. Both of you.”

Emma nods, wanting to say something, unable to think of anything.

“All of you, I should say.” Killian clears his throat, and the shadow passes. “May I offer a counter-thought?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Henry already had two parents who were not a couple, before Neal came back into your lives,” Killian says, and now there’s a little gleam in his eyes that has her wondering where he’s going with this. “I don’t recall anyone making a case for you and Regina to be together.”

Emma has a mental image of herself living in Regina’s spotless house with her condescension and her haughtiness and her fire balls, and makes a face. “Now there’s a thought.”

Killian grins. “Indeed. My point being, the boy has three parents now, and grandparents who are the same age as his mother. It may not be a conventional situation, but the important thing is that you’re all there for him. That’s what he needs.”

“Fair point.” Emma has thought about that before. Her family is never going to be normal, and much as she’s wished for some normalcy at times... it doesn’t matter. She just wants them back.

“And really,” Killian says, “when you think about it, there’s just as much of a case to be made for Neal and Regina giving it a go.”

Emma laughs. “Please suggest that to Regina sometime.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You want me to get set on fire, do you?”

It’s her turn to grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand by with a bucket of water. And maybe some popcorn.”

“So kind of you,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’m so glad you’ve got my back.”

“Anytime,” she assures him, still grinning.

And if she means it… well, she doesn’t have to say that.

* * *

As the sky and the sea begin to turn golden red, Stavros shows up on deck carrying a fiddle. He’s joined by a man Emma knows only as Hogan, who takes out a flute. Janssen and Inga join them, their chatter and laughter mixing with the first few strains of the fiddle.

Emma thinks that it might be time for Henry to come out of their cabin.

By the time she follows him back up on deck, most of the crew is gathered there, and Stavros and Hogan have begun to play a lively tune. Janssen’s wife, Inga, is keeping the rhythm by slapping her palms against the deck, swaying from side to side. As the Serena Hawk drifts lazily in the dark water, Aileen sings a short song in a language Emma doesn’t recognise.

Killian is leaning back against the railing a little apart from the crew, shooting a smile at Emma when she catches his eye and inclining his head to invite her and Henry to join him at the railing.

“What’s going on?” Henry asks as they reach him.

“The evening’s entertainment.” He tips his head to indicate Stavros and the others. “The next best thing to going ashore for the night.”

Aileen’s song ends, and Stavros and Hogan strike up a new tune. Janssen grabs Inga and sweeps her into a dance as the others cheer, twirling her around the deck.

“Emma.”

Wes is striding towards her, a wide smile on his handsome face. He holds out a hand. “Do me the honour, milady?”

Startled, she glances at Killian, then at the dancing couple. “I, uh—I don’t know—”

“You’ll be used to court dances, I s’pose,” Wes says. “Not to worry, this isn’t hard. I’ll show you.”

She looks at Killian again. He says nothing, just returns the look with amusement twinkling in his eyes and his eyebrow slightly raised as if to say, this is your problem.

“All right,” she says, because she can hardly back out when Killian is giving her that look. “But if I step on your feet or something, remember I warned you.”

Wes just laughs as he takes her hand and leads her out on the deck.

It’s not as bad as she expected. In fact, after the initial few missteps and stumbles, it’s fun. The steps, it turns out, don’t matter exactly; it’s more a matter of staying in the rhythm and being willing to jump around in time to the music. Wes whoops as he twirls her—the one move she’s actually familiar with—and Emma laughs, the last of her embarrassment sweeping away.

She laughs again as Aileen launches into a song warning a young woman against getting involved with a sailor. Killian plays along with it, giving her admonishing looks as she dances with Wes. She stumbles twice from laughing too much.

“Uh oh,” Wes says, grinning as he glances over at Killian and back to her. “Think I better watch my back?”

“More like your hands,” Emma tells him drily, and he laughs.

“I wouldn’t have pegged him as the protective sort.”

This time, it’s Emma’s heart that trips, not her feet. Killian’s supposed to be here to repay a debt. Nothing personal. “You think that’s protective, you should see my dad.”

Wes laughs again. “I’m pretty sure your father has a slightly different motivation.”

There’s nothing in it to suggest that he might suspect that she’s not who she claims, but he’s clearly not buying that Killian’s only interest in her is to repay a debt. Damn it. She’s going to have to warn him about that.

She can see his smirk if she brings that up. And he’ll probably say something ridiculous like I can’t help it, love. And she... doesn’t hate the thought.

“He’s just trying to keep me safe,” is what she says.

Wes’s grin turns wolfish. “I’m no danger to you.”

She gives him a look. She knows that grin, and she knows the look in his eyes, too. “Uh-huh.”

He winks at her as he takes her hands, pulling her deliberately closer than before.

“Navy husband!” Lynch calls out from the sidelines. Somewhere between working on the lines together during their escape, and cooking the meal together earlier, he’s taken her under his wing a bit. She suspects that having an excuse to rib Wes is part of the reason.

“Far away!” Wes shoots back, still with that unashamed grin on his face.

“You’re a menace,” she tells him, and he laughs like it’s a compliment.

When she insists on a break a few minutes later to catch her breath, she finds Killian teaching Henry the high kick she’s seen the others do. Henry is all for it, eyes bright as he leaps into the air, and Emma gasps as he goes for it, one of his feet kicking up almost as high as his head.

“Whoah, kid!”

Killian is beaming at him. “See? I told you you could do it.” He turns to Emma. “He’s a natural.”

“I didn’t know this was dancing!” Henry exclaims, grinning. “This is fun.”

And, faced with that, Emma can’t say anything except, “Awesome.”

“I’m gonna join Jim, okay?”

She nods, and Henry rushes off across the deck as Stavros and Aileen strike up another tune.

Beside Emma, Killian clears his throat. “I apologise if I overstepped. But he asked, and I didn’t see any harm in—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Emma cuts him off. “Just caught me off guard. Didn’t think he could kick that high.”

Killian shrugs, looking almost… proud? “I told you, he’s a natural.”

They watch together as Henry demonstrates his newfound prowess. It’s less a dance and more just leaping around, a way to burn off energy in the cramped confines of the ship.

“I’m glad he’s having fun,” Emma says. “I, uh—it’s nice of you. To, y’know. Show him the ropes.”

“I’m happy to do it.” He means it, and it makes something flutter in her chest.

To distract herself from that, she says, “So, you gonna show me how it’s done?”

It might sound slightly flirty. But that’s better than dwelling on the fact that Killian enjoys spending time with her kid and teaching him useful things about ships and dumb things about high kicks and everything in between.

He raises his eyebrows. “If you want, aye.”

It ends, of course, with him leading her out to join the others in the dance. There’s a moment where she’s already hunting for an excuse to stay put—but she lets it go. Everyone else is out here enjoying the evening. Just once, she wants to do the same. Surely, after the past few weeks, she’s earned it. They’ve earned it.

So she holds his hand and his hook and spins around until she forgets everything else. There’s just the music, and Killian, and then Henry’s hand in hers as Killian talks him through twirling her, and her cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much.

Afterwards, she sits on the deck while Killian teaches Henry a song that Regina will definitely murder him for, and she should probably put a stop to it, but she can’t bring herself to do it. Henry has far too much fun belting out the chorus with the rest of the crew, and Killian’s face lights up in a way she rarely gets to see, and instead of stopping them, Emma joins in. She isn’t part of the crew, but right now, like this, she feels like she belongs, and she forgets who she should be and who she’s supposed to be and is just… happy.

For tonight, at least, nothing else matters.

* * *

Robin stares down at the wand, then back up at the couple before him. It’s not the first time he has handled a magic wand; the last time is etched in his memory, not likely to fade any time soon.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

Will Scarlet rolls his eyes. “Answer ain’t gonna change if you keep asking, mate. She ain’t there. It’s lucky we found her wand, at least.”

Robin presses his lips together. Glinda was his biggest hope for fighting the Wicked Witch. Granted, since he sent Will off to Oz, Snow and her group have joined them and they now have several magic users on their side, but even so… “Any idea where she might be?”

“Not rightly sure,” Will says. “Ana reckons it’s a place between places. A sort of niche between realms.”

“Between realms?” Robin repeats, turning to the woman at Will’s side. “Is that even possible?”

“It’s not isn’t easy, but it’s possible,” Anastasia says. “I’ve never done it, but I know how. In theory.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice when she talks about the magic she can no longer use. Robin will admit to having had his doubts about her, but much like Will, she has proven herself.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” she goes on. “And it’s exactly the kind of thing Zelena would do.”

“But we don’t need her now, do we?” Will says. “Got a few people around now who can use magic.”

“What, the Evil Queen?” Anastasia scoffs. “Not a lot of talent there, from what I’ve heard. And the Blue Fairy is too busy being sanctimonious to get anything done.”

Robin sighs. She might be reformed, but she’s as sharp-tongued as ever. Will is hiding a smirk, shaking his head in a fond sort of way.

“Glinda might be useful, then, aye,” he says.

“And in any case,” Robin says mildly, “if she’s stuck between realms, she might appreciate a rescue.”

“Oh,” Will says. “Yeah. Right.”

“And we probably could use her help.” He might not agree with Anastasia’s assessment entirely, but he does believe in taking all the help he can get. And as he’s thinking it over, something else occurs to him. “Do you think she knows how to travel to another realm?”

Anastasia frowns in thought. “I’m not sure. Possibly. She was the most powerful witch in all of Oz, and they do magic differently there.”

Hope stirs in his chest. “So how do we find her?”

“Well,” Anastasia says, exchanging a glance with Will. “That’s where it gets a little complicated.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #captain swan fanfic #fic: given the choice #omg a new chapter whaaaat #for later #SO EXCITING!!

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winterbaby89 · 3 months ago

Text

** New Fic**

Lovebug Forever

Fic Summary

Neal Cassidy is an idiot. So are his friends. Neal’s long suffering girlfriend Emma knows this, so she shouldn’t have been surprised to come home to find her hungover boyfriend sprawled out on her brand new sofa with a brand new tattoo spelling out the worst combination of words someone could brand themselves with.

Neal Cassidy is an idiot, but Emma knows his latest idiocy was a group effort and she will make sure everyone involved pays dearly for it - starting with the owner of The Rum and Hook Tattoo Parlor and Piercing Salon.

***

Hey everyone! I promise I haven’t forgotten about my other fics, but I’ve made a promise to myself this year that I will write as much as I can, no matter what ideas decide to pop into my head, so I hope you can bear with me as I get these ideas out of my head. ☺️

This is an idea that was formed a couple of years ago in the CSMM discord and if I can remember whoever came up with this initial prompt, I promise to credit them as an enabler for this fic! 😜

Thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for looking over my words and having the patience to correct my terrible punctuation placement and ridiculous grammar errors!! 🥰

Hope you guys enjoy this fun little fic - you can also read it on AO3 🥰💖

Tag List is under the cut - let me know if you want to be added or deleted from the list ☺️

@snowbellewells @teamhook @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @laianely @exhaustedpirate @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @spartanguard @i-will-sing-no-requiem @soniccat @captainswan-kellie @insanelydeadlybookcollector @beckettj @thatdamnokie @whimsicallyenchantedrose @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @this-seems-familiar @hookedmom @thgpjohttydfangirl

She stared at the skin covered by the clear protective film, the color an angry red and slightly swollen. She tried to imagine that the black curling script spelled out some meaningful proverb (or even a pretentious one for crying out loud), but there was no mistaking the letters now marking the soft roundness of her boyfriend’s abdomen that he swore he was sculpting into the ‘rig’ of her dreams:

L-O-V-E-B-U-G

“What the fuck have you done, Neal!?” Emma shrieked, the sound waking her boyfriend of three years from the drunken doze he had fallen into while bare ass naked on the new suede sofa that Emma had just purchased with her promotion bonus, the curtains of their living room open for all to see from their fifth floor apartment that she had been lucky enough to secure in one of the chicest neighborhoods in East Boston.

“Babe, s’early. C’mere, we can snuggle up for a little longer and then you can make us your famous hangover cure breakfast.” The half-squinted leer Neal offered up to Emma only fueled the angry tirade threatening to explode from her.

Things hadn’t been working for them for some time; the constant fights about Emma working late back when she fought tooth and nail for the lead designer role at the graphics design firm where she worked, and Neal’s insistence on spending money he didn’t have now that his father - founder of investment conglomerate Gold Sports Group - had essentially blacklisted him from gaining employment with any sporting team or agency on the eastern seaboard being the main points of contention between the two.

Not that he had really tried hard to convince anyone to give him a chance or think outside the box and try something new…

Those were arguments that were too early in the morning to have again. Emma only had enough energy to deal with one problem at a time; namely the excruciatingly stupid pet name that Neal insisted on calling her splashed across his torso, the dark ink contrasting heavily with the pasty hue of his skin.

Looking around the apartment, she noted the empty beer bottles that littered the coffee table and the floor around it, as well as the beer can pyramid still standing precariously on the small end table next to Neal’s head. Glancing across to the open plan kitchen, more beer bottles were scattered amongst boxes of pizzas and the remains of what looked like barbeque ribs and buffalo wings. Clearly Neal had had his friends over for the Celtics game last night and opted to treat them all to ‘dinner and drinks.’ Emma sent a silent prayer of thanks to the weather gods for sending a small snow flurry to the city and causing her best friend and eternal worrier, Mary Margaret, to insist that she stay the night and let her boyfriend David, drive her home in the morning after breakfast. It had consequently given her the opportunity to miss seeing any members of ‘The Lost Boys’ - a stupid frat boy nickname bestowed on Neal and his friends in college that they refuse to let die despite now knocking on the door of thirty.

However, the mess didn’t explain how the hell Neal wound up with a fucking tattoo of all things. Emma had no idea how much tattoos generally cost, but she figured for something that large, it had to be a lot. A sudden fear swept through her that he had swiped her credit card before she left home yesterday which had her scrambling for her purse to check.

“Christ, babe, not so loud - it’s like six a.m.! Me and the boys had a bit of a celebration last night and I’m starting to really feel it now,” Neal grumbled into the cushion he had flung over his face to combat the late morning winter sun shining brightly into the room.

Finding that all of her cards - and cash - were still in their assigned holders within her purse, Emma turned back to Neal, her ire now well past boiling point and entering a new temperature not yet known within the world of thermodynamics.

“Two things: one, it’s eleven and you were supposed to be up two hours ago so that you’d have enough time to meet with that guy from the Bruins to see if you could get an in with them seeing as it is just about the only team that your dad doesn’t seem to have any influence over. And two, you still haven’t answered my question; what the fuck have you done?”

Neal lifted the cushion from his face and stared blearily into the eyes of his furious girlfriend. He knew that tone - at least he thought he did. She seemed angrier than usual; maybe he should consider Door Dashing some coffee and some of those pastries she likes? Either way, it was still way too early to deal with her lecturing him over how he lets off steam with the guys.

“We were watching the Celtics completely annihilate the Knicks and even though it’s the first game of the season, I just know it’s going to be another championship year, so I decided to get this.”

Neal pointed at the tattoo as though that was supposed to explain everything, including the fact that he was still lying naked on her brand new sofa.

Trying to remember the breathing techniques her friend Mulan had attempted to show her during her brief yoga class experience six months ago, Emma pushed away some of the beer cans from the coffee table, letting them clatter to the ground, gaining some satisfaction at seeing the wince of pain flash across her idiot boyfriend’s face.

Sitting on the now empty surface of the table, Emma closed her eyes, breathing deeply and attempting to shut out Neal’s groans as he slowly began to sit upright. She lasted all of thirty seconds before she heard Neal’s shout of dismay.

“What the fuck! That motherfucking British prick is going to pay for this! ‘Lovebug?’ How do you get ‘Lovebug’ out of fucking ‘Celtics Forever’?

“Yeah, because ‘Celtics Forever’ makes your decision to get a tattoo a logical investment,” Emma mumbled under her breath as she began to rake her fingers through her hair, trying to massage away the oncoming headache that was definitely brewing.

Neal looked up from the indelible mistake that he was only now comprehending with a scowl.

“Everyone was getting a tattoo! Peter has this awesome one on his back of a skull that looks like it was carved out of a rock! And Felix has one of a fairy, with huge-“

“I don’t care about what your idiot friends do,” Emma snapped, her eyes narrowing in disgust, daring Neal to finish what was sure to be an x-rated description of an innocent child’s character.

Neal fell silent, falling back into the sofa cushions with a sigh that left Emma in no doubt that he saw himself as a blameless victim and she was judging him way too harshly for the previous night’s events. The sight of his bare ass creating a firm imprint the lower he sank into the cushions forced Emma to consider what else had now been soiled into the fabric and how much it was going to cost her to get a professional to remove all traces of… whatever bodily fluids had desecrated it.

If Emma only had Neal’s drunk and naked form on her expensive furniture to worry about, perhaps she would have thought more carefully about why such a scene made her want to shudder and cringe instead of feeling incredibly turned on.

God knew she hadn't been getting any kind of release of late…

Searching across the floor of the living room, Emma spotted Neal’s crumpled jeans between the TV stand and a slim bookcase full of special edition DVDs that she refused to get rid of despite them now more or less becoming dust collectors ever since her first Netflix subscription years ago. She walked over and picked them up, shaking them out roughly, still not caring about her boyfriend's sensitivity to noise. A business card fell out of one of the back pockets and onto a stray pizza crust.

Swallowing back another curse at the mess, Emma picked up the card; a sleek black rectangle with a metallic sheen, the words, Rum and Hook: Tattoo Parlor and Piercing Salon elegantly printed across it in silver, adding a sophistication and professionalism that Emma wouldn’t have usually associated with tattoo parlors where no part of the human anatomy was off limits.

Not even the most delicate parts…

“Wha’s that, babe?” Neal asked, slowly removing himself from his languid position on the sofa and making his way over to her. Emma ignored him, simply shoving his jeans into his fumbling hands while she scanned past the list of the business’ socials until she landed on a phone number.

“Em?” Neal tried again, tentatively curling an arm around her waist in an attempt to regain her attention - no matter how hostile it had been this morning, it was better than complete silence. Silence from Emma Swan never boded well for him.

No sooner had he tucked himself in next to her, Emma flinched away, reaching into her back pocket for her phone, the glare she threw at him a warning that he had better keep his distance.

Emma dialed the number on the business card, turning away from Neal so she could get her temper under control. The chirpy voice at the other end of the line however, only ratcheted it back up.

“Rum and Hook Tattoo Par-“

“Yeah, hi, this is Emma Swan. I have a question. What is your policy on serving people who are past the point of being drunk and are flirting with being comatose?” Emma didn’t have time for pleasantries, she only had enough patience for answers - reasonable answers.

The voice’s bright tone faltered, confusion and wariness taking over.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I-“

Again, Emma interrupted, anything less than a proper explanation was only going to piss her off.

“My boyfriend and his friends went to your tattoo parlor late last night, completely shitfaced and wanting tattoos. I came home this morning to find said boyfriend sporting some new ink that I know if he had been sober, would never have asked for!” Emma glanced over at Neal, who had sat back down on her sofa, the black ink of the lettering even more striking against the angry red of the skin around it.

It didn’t look that red when she first saw it, did it? And what the hell is that rash on his… wait, since when did he shave down there…

“If-if I could have the name of your boyfriend, per- perhaps I can find out who took care of him last night,” the voice replied, the tapping of keyboard keys almost drowning the tremor in her voice out.

“Took care of isn’t the phrasing I’d use, but fine,” Emma muttered, desperately trying to hold back the tide of venom that she wished to hurl at the poor girl who was clearly trying to help her. After giving over Neal’s name, a moment or two passed before the voice spoke again, now sounding resigned and weary at finding the answer she had been searching for.

“Okay, I have found who took care- I mean, who served your boyfriend last night. Um, the owner of ‘Rum and Hook’ is here this morning. If you’re okay with being on hold for a few minutes, I can explain the issue and maybe you can discuss it with him?”

Emma didn’t bother taking a moment to decide what she wanted to do, no resolution would be possible over a phone call - this owner needed to know what a fuck up his employee had caused and he needed to hear it from her in person.

“We’ll be there in 30 minutes,” she answered before disconnecting the call and turning her attention to the reason she may need to start seeing a shrink on a weekly basis.

Neal was again slumped against the sofa, a self-pitying wince flashing across his face at every movement he made. Emma had no sympathy for him, he was still naked on her sofa, the sofa that she was definitely going to get professionally cleaned.

“Get up and get dressed. We’re going to the ‘Rum and Hook’.

***************************E&K***************************

The ‘Rum and Hook’ Tattoo Parlor and Piercing Salon was about five blocks away in the heart of East Boston’s nightlife scene. In the bright light of day, the street that would usually be packed with people looking for a good time and just a little bit of trouble was now quiet and unassuming. Most of the establishments were still shut, but there were some bars and eateries that were beginning to open their doors to welcome the more family friendly lunchtime crowds who were ready to order overpriced burgers and cocktails. The ‘Rum and Hook’ was nestled between a bar and what appeared to be a high end strip club - Neal’s nervous twitch as he quickly glanced past the business to their destination told Emma more than she wanted to know about what exactly he got up to last night.

Reaching the entrance to the parlor, Emma didn’t bother waiting to see if Neal was ready to go inside nor did she bother to allow him to show any kind of gentlemanly act by opening the door for her, instead she charged inside letting the door slam shut behind her.

“Welcome to the ‘Rum and Hook’ can I-“ the tiny blonde perched on a high seated office chair stopped mid sentence as she took in Emma’s expression of unabated fury and Neal’s misery laden posture. The little bells dangling from the receptionist’s earrings tinkled merrily as she turned her head towards the back of the shop.

”Kill-ian? I think Emma Swan is here…” she called out, her eyes flicking back towards Emma nervously, trying to determine if the woman standing in front of her with her arms crossed and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare was prone to throwing projectiles when angry and whether she should look for some kind of shield to protect herself with.

As Emma waited for an answer, she looked around the place, taking in the dark wood flooring polished to a high sheen and the semi-sheer green curtains that gave a measure of privacy and modesty to the patrons that came for their piercings and tattoos. Directly opposite to the receptionist area was a small nook containing a couple of overstuffed armchairs in almost the same colour green as the curtains, separated by a small coffee table laden with portfolios that Emma assumed contained the artwork of the tattooist artists that worked here. If she had been here under better circumstances, she would have been itching to open one and admire the artistry contained within. The lines of sailing rope affixed to the walls in curling patterns and other nautical themed wall art were carefully placed around the area - just enough to not overwhelm and become kitschy. It was tasteful, and probably quite inspirational for many patrons with an affinity for the ocean.

At that moment, another door - that Emma assumed were for more private appointments - opened and a dark haired man accompanied by a woman who had to at least be pushing seventy-five stepped out. Initially, Emma could only stare open mouthed at the man dressed in tight black jeans that seemed to cling to him and accentuate every asset he had, and a dark gray button up that he appeared to have no use for given the generous reveal of chest hair on display with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A black vest however was dutifully buttoned up and it was all Emma could do to not think about what it would be like to remove the layers and find out what he was hiding beneath it all.

The man was gently escorting the older woman towards the receptionist area, a guiding hand on her back as he fixed all of his attention on her, a genuine smile gracing his lips at her ribbing quips.

“Mrs. Lucas, I have no doubt that your newest paramour will be entranced with your newest addition. It does break my poor heart, though, that you have moved on so quickly - how is a man meant to ask a woman such as you to dinner if you’re never available to court?”

The woman gave a side-eyed glance to her companion’s dramatics, a smirk forming on her lips as she replied, “I never said we were exclusive. You name the date and time, and I’ll be waiting.”

For a moment, the man appeared shocked, but then he barked out a laugh that echoed throughout the empty space, so joyous and delighted at having been soundly defeated in their game of banter.

“Oh, Mrs. Lucas, I’m a monogamist, much to my sad detriment it appears. Now, you let Tink here take care of you with all of the aftercare instructions and I will catch up with you at Ruby’s party next week.”

Leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Mrs. Lucas’ cheek, the man straightened and turned towards Emma where she was finally met with the full force of the most beautifully blue eyes she had ever seen, the color even more startling framed as they were by long dark lashes and expertly lined kohl. She could feel her heart rate speed up to the point that she was sure everyone else could hear it too, and although in the intervening minutes since entering the parlor she had shucked off her coat and scarf, she still felt the stifling warmth of too many clothes and not enough air flow. It seemed the man was taking in her appearance as well, his gaze darkening as he examined her from head to toe, another smile - this one more dangerous and tantalising than before - crazily putting Emma in mind of the roguish hero in one of her trashy romance stories that she had started reading so she would have something to focus on whenever Neal tried to initiate something with her. The carefully manicured scruff and jewelled stud in his ear only enhanced the danger he exuded, giving Emma all kinds of images of the marks his lips could leave upon her pale skin after a night of intense lovemaking.

A forceful nudge into the small of her back snapped Emma out of the daydream that had begun to take shape in her clearly overtired and unfulfilled mind. A daydream filled with warm hands, and even warmer words with an accent that she could get used to hearing regularly especially if he whispered filthy words-

“Babe!” Neal snapped, sharply nudging her back again. Emma startled at the short burst of pain that shot through her at the contact. Whipping her head around to face the source of her pain (in much more than the physical sense) she hissed, “Do that again and you can ask one of those strippers next door if they can put you up for the night!”

“Ah, you must be the Angry Swan Girl,” the still unnamed man stated, tracing his tongue along the bottom of his lip tauntingly, likely knowing the effect it would have on Emma - the bastard.

Shaking off the distraction that this incredibly hot guy was clearly trying to tempt her with, Emma tore her eyes away from her guilt ridden boyfriend and glared at him, pulling herself up to her full height so he wouldn’t mistake her next words.

”I’m a woman, asshole.”

”Hmm, you are indeed,” the man replied, his eyes again raking down her form and appreciating what was on display. Oddly, Emma felt relieved that she was wearing a nice bra and panty set under her fleece lined leggings and sweater - as if he had any chance of seeing them at some point during this set down. Giving herself an internal pinch and a reprimand to stay focused for good measure, Emma took a deep breath and unleashed all of the frustration and rage that she had been feeling since walking through her front door this morning.

Since Neal stopped trying to be an active partner in their relationship at least eight months ago…

“I’m going to ask the same thing that I asked Tinkerbelle this morning-“

”It’s just Tink,” the blonde receptionist muttered timidly from behind Mrs. Lucas who was watching the heated and highly entertaining interaction between this ‘Angry Swan Girl’ and her favourite tattoo artist. A knowing grin began to play at the corner of her mouth as though she knew exactly how the outcome of this argument would play out.

Emma didn’t take any notice of her audience, simply barrelling on without pause.

”-what is your policy on serving people who are drunk to the point of incapacitation? Because it seems to me like you don’t have one at all, and now my boyfriend has the stupidest fucking tattoo across his stomach! I don’t give a shit if his friends came with him and gave you or whoever created this abomination permission to do it, consent is a real thing and I don’t know how anyone could have given one last night. You had better hope you have an amazing lawyer, because if I don’t get some reasonable solutions to this shit show, I swear I will have this place shut down so fast, you’ll wish you had become a starving artist instead!”

The man stood completely at ease throughout Emma’s diatribe, a thumb hooked into the pocket of his jeans as he leant against the wall behind him, his legs crossed at the ankles, completely unconcerned by the gorgeously furious woman shouting at him. The only sign that he was paying any kind of attention was the assessing gaze that roamed over Emma as she yelled at him, occasionally glancing over to stare at her boyfriend who seemed to be trying to mark his territory by placing a possessive arm around his girlfriend’s waist and pulling her as close to him as possible. He thought it highly amusing to observe, given that the woman seemed to be doing everything she could to keep her distance - quite a feat seeing as they were practically plastered together. Once the “Angry Swan Girl’ - a fun title that he couldn’t seem to get out of his head - paused for breath, the man finally spoke again while continuing his character study of the couple before him.

“First of all love, allow me to introduce myself - Killian Jones, owner of ’Rum and Hook Tattoo Parlor and Piercing Salon’. Second, I appreciate the opportunity to address your concerns about how I run my establishment - feedback is always appreciated, even when such… colorful vocabulary is used. It really does help to understand the ah… gravity of the situation.”

Emma’s eyes widened as Killian spoke, at war with herself over whether she should continue threatening him with legal action or whether she should just wrap her legs around his waist and kiss the hell out of him and that sinfully British accent. A beat passed where they continued to stare at one another, a raging battle of wills passing between them as to who would bend first and in what way. Just as it seemed that Killian was about to suggest that they perhaps discuss Emma’s dissatisfaction somewhere a little less public, Neal stepped in front of Emma, lifting his ratty and mostly threadbare basketball hoodie up to reveal the source of his fortuitous meeting with the fierce woman who he knew he would have asked out in a heartbeat if she weren’t already attached to someone else.

Terrible to waste such beauty and intelligence on defending drunken prats…

“This is what your limey mate did to me last night! It was supposed to say ‘Celtics Forever,’ not ‘Lovebug!’ How the fuck do you screw up that badly huh? You will be paying to have this lasered off in compensation or I swear-“

”Yes, yes, you will sue me or some such, I understand. Although, I must say purely from a place of expertise, ‘Celtics Forever’ really isn’t that much of an improvement,” Killian interjected, a bored lilt to his tone making it clear that Neal’s tirade had zero effect on him whatsoever - unlike his girlfriend who immediately affected him as soon as he caught sight of her upon entering the reception area. Killian bent down to examine the work on Neal’s soft torso, as Emma’s mind raced at the fact that this dangerously charming man had basically voiced her own earlier opinion on her boyfriend’s hideous taste in body art. It was becoming impossible not to think about what she could be doing right now with this Killian Jones if she was single. Probably a lot of enjoyable activities looking at the length and strength of his ring covered fingers, she thought morosely, trying and failing to get the image of lying in one of those chairs along the back of the main room as he traced careful fingertips across her body, tortuously avoiding all of her sensitive zones as he used his ‘expertise’ to determine the best place to mark her with one of his works of art, either with his tattoo needle, or his lips - she wasn’t picky.

Emma had just decided that sinful lips and facial scruff creating works of art was the best direction to take her fantasy when the object of said fantasy suddenly called out, “Scarlet! Reception, now!” Emma jumped at the sound, her cheeks flushing as Killian straightened up, a curious brow raised in question at her reaction. Neal just scowled at her lack of compassion and obvious attraction to the other British asshole that was now making his life a misery. The last thing he needed was to compete with some pretty boy with his blue eyes and sharply cut physique for his girlfriend’s good graces.

Heavy, boot clad footsteps preceded the young man who sidled in from yet another door, his eyes bleary and a little bloodshot as though he had little sleep and a lot of energy drinks to keep him upright.

“Wha’? I said I would sanitize all o’ the piercing equipment didn’ I? I jus’ need a little nap fir- ha! Mr Lovebug! Ya ‘ere to thank me fer me masterpiece? I really think I did justice to the letterin’ - not me typical kind o’ art ya know, but when yer mates told me how much you wanted to show yer girlie how much ya loved her, well, I’m a bit o’ romantic sooo..”

Scarlet, of whom all traces of exhaustion was wiped away at the sight of his heavily intoxicated client from last night, jauntily rolled onto the balls of his feet, a wide grin stretching across his face that faltered as he noticed Tink’s frantic cutting motions to shut up. Finally catching onto the tense atmosphere in the room, Scarlet looked towards his friend and boss.

“I’m in the shit, yeah?”

“Bit of an understatement mate, but yes, you are. I’m sure Miss Johanna will be disappointed to find you back in her class for a refresher on conflict resolution, just as I will be at having to enroll you in it for the - what is it now? The fourth time?” Killian’s calm yet stern response wasn’t enough to curb Neal’s sudden fury that had bubbled up and boiled over at the sight of the man who had potentially ruined his life and lowered his girlfriend’s estimation of him to a level somewhere below rock bottom.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You think this is funny? You pull this shit on any unsuspecting patron, is that it? If this is how you get your rocks off buddy, then the lawsuit I’ll be filing will wipe that smartass smile off your face. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, my father will own you!”

A silence descended upon the group, awkward and filled with resentment and shock. The only two people who seemed unaffected were Emma and Mrs. Lucas. The former rolled her eyes, an exasperated huff escaping her as she shoved Neal out of the way, a harsh whisper to “stop embarrassing yourself, your daddy isn’t coming to the rescue this time,” not quite inaudible enough to go unheard by everyone. The latter, from her place still in front of Tink, who was now peering out at the scene from behind her computer monitor, levelled Neal with an imperious glare from behind her half-moon spectacles.

“I don’t care who your father is, boy, but if he is someone worth anything on this side of the country, then he will know who Archie Hopper is - a close personal friend of mine. You had better watch your tone or I will be stepping outside to make a very important phone call.”

Emma was completely nonplussed as to who Archie Hopper was, but it was obvious Neal was not. Awkwardly clearing his throat as he shuffled further away from the older woman, Neal attempted to wrap himself around Emma again, stopping short at the look of contempt she still held especially for him.

“Well, now that we have all threatened each other with emptying our bank accounts on lawyer fees, perhaps some recompense should be discussed now?” Killian drawled, his blue eyes twinkling brightly in amusement and increasing admiration for the green-eyed, golden haired fury that seemed to embody her namesake perfectly - graceful and beautiful, and absolutely vicious when provoked.

“I won’t accept anything less than you paying for this idiot’s laser removal. And maybe because I’m more concerned about the other dumbasses in this city, I also want some proof that you will be instituting a ‘No Sobriety, No Tattoo’ policy,” Emma cut in before Neal could open his mouth again. Her cheeks felt hot and her heart was continuing to race at double speed as the man that irritated and excited her in equal measure crossed his arms over his chest, the delicate lines of ink that she had spotted earlier appearing to ripple like waves on the water. The smile that appeared on Killian’s face at her admiring perusal of his person forced her to draw her eyes away and refrain from trying to fan herself to calm down the overbearing heat that had to be obvious to everyone now.

“Wait, wha’ do ya want laser fer? Seems a bit like overkill if ya ask me. S’not like it won’ fade away in a week or two.” Scarlet looked confusedly between his boss, who had still not looked away from the hot blonde who looked like she could take down men twice her size and not even break a sweat, to his wanker of a client from last night who could not stop drunkenly boasting about how every stripper next door at ‘Tiger Lily’s’ wanted him. It was why he was more than happy to take his friends' money and use the temporary tattoo ink that Killian had planned to send back to their supplier, and use it to create something that would hopefully force a little humility - the ponce.

Killian let out a snort of laughter as he finally broke eye-contact with Emma, a hand flying to cover his mouth as he tried to regain some self-control. Rather than detract from his handsomeness, the unrestrained, full belly laugh only seemed to make him appear adorable. Emma could only stare in disbelief and despair that this beautiful asshole was out of bounds.

Surely he was already attached to someone… a model probably, or some fashionable socialite who had a thing for tattooed bad boys… yeah, fucking figures…

“Why the fuck are you laughing? I’ve been scarred by your fucking asshole of an employee! Look at this rash - it’s infected! I’m the victim of one of your dirty needles and you think it’s funny? Show some goddamn professionalism!” Neal roared, slamming a fist into a comically oversized plushy of an octopus that Tink had draped over one of the guest chairs to add to the nautical theme that Killian so favoured in his decor choices.

Immediately, Killian’s laughter ceased, and both he and Scarlet straightened their postures, the humor from seconds ago now replaced by a menacing atmosphere that threatened to suffocate everyone in the room. While Scarlet’s gaze remained locked on Neal, Killian quickly glanced over to Emma who appeared just as shocked and alarmed by her boyfriend's outburst as she backed away from him, bumping against one of the armchairs in the consultation area.

“Babe, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” Neal trailed off, his plea for her to not shy away from him failing as he tried to think of some excuse for why none of this was his fault.

“I’ve been told by many a tosser that I look like I was the spawn of a garbage bin and the arse-end of a dog, but I take real offence at bein’ accused of usin’ dirty needles, mate,” Scarlet growled, taking a step towards Neal. Neal warily eyed the younger man as he closed the gap between them, a wicked sneer on his face that promised retribution for the disrespect shown in his place of employment. As Killian had done earlier, Scarlet bent down to examine the tattoo that now indeed appeared to be showing more signs of infection. Tiny angry welts had formed around the letters, particularly around the letter ‘L’ as well as some significant swelling around the belly button where the letter ‘B’ almost seemed to be outlined by raised lines the colour of sickly gray porridge.

“Oi Killian, wha’ we lookin’ at ‘ere? Some sparkly dirt or is tha’ glitter tha’ the girls next door like to wear?” Scarlet stood up, his sneer from earlier transforming into a smirk that clearly said ‘You’re fucked’.

”Well Scarlet, I don’t frequent that establishment except to offer my services as accountant from time to time, but if I had to hazard a guess, then yes, I would say that looks very much like glitter,” Killian answered, his voice flat and hard. His dislike of Neal had been instant the moment he had walked into his parlor and had increased with every word and gesture that had come out of his mouth, especially as it seemed to cause his girlfriend so much trouble and pain. Now, it was all he could do to not haul off and land a right hook to this blubbering fool and be done with it.

Emma remained where she was, the heat in her cheeks from flustered attraction to Killian long since faded away to be replaced by cold humiliation at not having ended this farce of a relationship long ago. What was she even doing here, trying to get justice for a man who had no respect for her or the life she had tried so hard to build? For her and for them?

Scarlet continued his inspection as Neal tried to pull his hoodie back down and get Emma’s attention but he was hampered by the vice-like grip that the other man held on his arm.

“Now, now, let Doctor Scarlet diagnose the situation properly. Somethin’ tells me tha’ yer mates decided to take ya back for round two at ‘Tiger Lily’s’ even after I told ya to keep the tattoo covered an’ clean until the ink settled good n’ proper.” Will took a deep sniff, his face screwing up in distaste at the scent of sweat, infection and strawberries? “Ahh, strawberries is yer kryptonite isn’ it? Yeah, tha’ would be Tamara’s specialty; she does this act with strawberries where she puts one between her teeth and rubs it all over some sad sod while she gives ‘em a dance. I’ve ’eard tha’ for a little extra, she’ll go down-“

“Thank you William, that’s quite enough of a description. The poor girl doesn’t need a full rundown of that business’ secret menu of services”, Mrs. Lucas barked, her use of Scarlet’s first name a clear warning to stop talking immediately. It wasn’t as though Mrs. Lucas had anything against strip clubs; after all, it was her granddaughter Ruby, who owned ‘Tiger Lily’s’ and was earning quite the tidy profit from it. However, her heart went out to the poor woman who had burst in here in a flurry of anger in defence of her good for nothing boyfriend who had obviously used and abused her long before now, and was well on his way to breaking her spirit for good.

Well, not on my watch…

Emma slumped against the chair behind her, a hysterical laugh beginning to bubble up within her. That was it, she was done. She didn’t begrudge Neal a trip to a strip club with friends - hell, she went to one for her friend Ashely’s bachelorette party - but it was obvious that something more than looking and not touching had happened last night - she knew the proof went well beyond his midsection.

That’s why he fucking shaved down there…

Even the guilty look Neal shot at her as they passed by the strip club earlier was an obvious give away that he did more than pay to watch someone dance on a stage. She had put up with a lot from her piece of shit of boyfriend over the years, but now it was over. If it’s a choice of staying with him or becoming a spinster like her Aunt Ingrid, then spinsterhood had to be the better option.

It’s not like I couldn’t have mind blowing sex while being a card carrying member of the Sisterhood of Perpetually Single Ladies.

”Lass? Are- are you alright?” a soft voice murmured beside her, even as a heavily ringed hand gently touched her shoulder. Emma abruptly stopped her hysteria induced laugh (when had she started laughing?) to look into the dazzling blue eyes of the tattoo parlor owner whose day she had completely turned upside down and ruined with her misplaced anger and accusations.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jones. I’ve been such a bitch to you and your employees.” At this, Emma turned to Tink who had finally come out of her sanctuary behind her desk and was now standing beside Mrs. Lucas, trying her best not to burst into tears at the sad turn this whole scene had taken. Emma turned back to Killian, who was again smiling at her, this time though it was one of sincerity that only wished to comfort and offer some kind of solace at how her own day had turned out.

“Killian, please. If you would like to take a seat, perhaps you will allow me to fetch you a glass of water,” he said kindly, gesturing to the chair she was still leaning against. Leaning toward her slightly, he whispered conspiratorially, “and if you would like me to see your… ex-boyfriend?” At Emma’s nod, he continued, “out, then just say the word love, and I will see it done.”

Emma shook her head in the negative, although she couldn’t help the flutter of butterflies that took flight within her at his gallant offer. He seemed so much like an old fashioned gentleman with his speech and chivalrous attitude despite his roguish, almost piratical appearance - the kind of man that could only be interested in someone as prickly and emotionally compromised as her in her wildest dreams.

Stepping away a little from the intimate space she had formed with Killian, Emma finally addressed her now ex-boyfriend who had had the presence of mind to stay quiet while she ordered her thoughts after her minor breakdown. Although, given the tight grip that Scarlet had on the back of Neal’s neck, perhaps it was fear of pain that had kept him silent. It didn’t matter, not now that she had decided on making him a firm fixture of her past.

“You have exactly five hours to get every bit of crap belonging to you out of my apartment and to delete my name from your contacts list. If I come home tonight and still find you there, I will be billing you for the professional cleaning that I’m organizing for my sofa as well as the last three months rent. I’m not sure you could afford it even if you gave up on your new found strawberry habit. Goodbye Neal. I don’t wish I could say that this isn’t easy for me because given the way you shit all over our relationship; I find it quite therapeutic to end it in the same way.”

“No! Em, you can’t just end it this way - I can’t go back to my dad, you know that-“ Neal’s plea for some kind of stay of execution was cut short by Killian stepping in front of him and roughly grabbing a fistful of his hoodie right above his tattoo. He couldn’t hide the wince of pain at the action anymore than Killian could hide his satisfaction at having caught it. Killian bent his head down so that they were nose to nose, their tips touching to the point that even a small puff of air would have difficulty passing between them - an image that from afar could be mistaken for a passionately intimate moment if not for Neal’s panic filled stare - his voice barely above a disdainful whisper as he imparted a final warning to the cautionary tale women the world over ought to take heed of.

“Miss Swan has given you an opportunity to exit her life unscathed which if I were you, I would take as the greatest of blessings. I, however, am not so gracious. You have precisely five seconds to leave my sight. If I even suspect that you have tried to enter this establishment again, well… Miss Swan again has the right of it - your daddy won’t be able to rescue you…”

Killian abruptly released his grip on Neal’s hoodie with a mocking chuckle, only for Scarlet to sharply yank on the back of it.

“C’mon, Mr. Lovebug, the clock’s a ticking now. I wouldn’ wanna be ya if tha’ woman comes home tonight and finds ya still there. Ya might lose a bit more than wha’s in ya savin’s account!” Cackling at the misfortune of the patron who would now be barred from ever entering the ‘Rum and Hook’ ever again, Scarlet cheerfully dragged Neal outside where the thump of someone landing on their ass on the sidewalk could distinctly be heard.

Trembling now that all of the adrenaline that had been fueling her since she first saw Neal sprawled out on her sofa this morning had finally dissipated, Emma took Killian’s offer and sat down in one of the armchairs, sinking into the sumptuous cushions and allowing all of her muscles to loosen. The trembling still hadn’t abated though, and try as she might, she still couldn’t master any of the yoga breathing techniques she had tried out that morning to help bring down her stress and anger.

Emma’s eyes were closed as she tried to normalize her breathing and bring back some stability to her exhausted body when she sensed a presence in front of her. Cracking open an eyelid, Emma saw that the man who had at first pissed her off beyond all measure while simultaneously awakening new fantasies that she could never have conjured up with Neal was crouching in front of her. His eyes were full of concern and she could almost hear the thoughts running through his head of how he could comfort her, discarding any option that didn’t immediately lead to her direct wellbeing. He needn’t have bothered; just staring at him seemed to slow her heartbeat and bring her breathing back to a normal rate. A glass of water suddenly appeared in front of her, offered by Tink who seemed to have regained her bubbly nature now that all of the drama had been dragged out the door by Scarlet and Emma no longer seemed like the scary lady who would sue anyone for even looking at her the wrong way.

“I don’t wish to presume anything love, as I’m sure there are plenty of other places you would rather be to wait out your ex’s removal from your apartment, but you are more than welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Killian said, his encouraging smile filling Emma up with warmth as though she had just wrapped herself up in her warmest and fluffiest blanket. All of his smiles so far had had the ability to elicit some kind of unexpected reaction from her and she now wondered how many more he had and whether she would see them all before she left.

I could always ask to stay for longer than a few hours and find out…

“Thank you. If you’re sure, then yeah, I’d like to stay here. Maybe I could look at some portfolios?” Emma nodded towards the coffee table where they were scattered across its surface.

“Do you have any interest in getting a tattoo yourself or are you more appreciative of the artwork itself?” Killian asked, reaching over for one of the binders and placing it on Emma’s lap. His question was one of genuine interest and he waited patiently as Emma thought over her answer.

“Well, I’m a graphic designer, so most art is always of interest to me, but I've always thought about getting a tattoo. I’ve just never been able to settle on one that I feel like I could always be happy with.”

Killian’s face lit up at her admission of what she did for a living even as he hummed in thought at her dilemma over finding the perfect tattoo. Opening the portfolio to the first page, Killian felt a little pride bloom in his chest at the gasp of surprise and wonder at his own work on display. Pages upon pages of stylised art that honestly would not look out of place in a high end gallery filled Emma’s vision, her fingers at times tracing over whimsical lines and intricate embellishments that appeared to be an obvious trademark of Killian’s talent.

When Emma flipped over to the section filled with all kinds of botanical marvels, she zeroed in on a tiny buttercup flower, the petals so delicately shaped and detailed that she couldn’t help her eyes lingering on it for longer than she had with the other pieces she had admired. Sensing her interest in one of the flowers, Killian twisted around so he was sitting on the arm of the chair and could see which one had captured her attention.

“Killian, these are just- God, I can’t even find the words. They’re more than beautiful, they’re-“ Emma furrowed her brow trying to find the perfect words to describe her admiration for his art. A frustrated huff at their refusal to materialize left Emma’s lips instead as she looked up at Killian in apology for her perceived lack of appreciation for his talent. Killian simply stared back, his mouth parted slightly in astonishment at the thought that this woman who had been on such a roller coaster of emotions today was sorry for not being able to convey in words what she felt about a small flower he had sketched from memory one cold and dreary afternoon. He had received many compliments over the years from patrons and friends alike; however, words never held as much meaning when they weren’t accompanied by a true and visceral reaction. Emma’s reaction? It meant everything.

I’m going to fall in love with this woman…

“Well, now that I’ve had my fill of drama for the day - no offense dear - I need to get home and get ready for my date tonight. I will see you at Ruby’s party next week, won’t I Killian?”

Emma and Killian’s intimate bubble burst immediately at the sound of Mrs. Lucas’ voice, their necks snapping in unison towards the older woman. The tips of Killian’s ears reddened as he nodded, a shy smile briefly taking prominence over his face before he quickly flashed a winsome one, adding a boyish wink for emphasis. However, Emma had already caught the first and was now adding it to her ever increasing catalogue of expressions by one Killian Jones.

“I would never forget such an event - not least because it means I may have another chance of stealing you away and pressing my suit for your affections.”

Mrs. Lucas returned Killian’s smile with one much more sedate yet no less teasing, her eyes flicking to Emma and back again as she replied, “I’m not sure you’ll have time to chase after me seeing as I expect to see the ‘Not So Angry Swan Girl’ there as well.”

Emma’s eyes widened and an embarrassed flush began to creep up her neck as she was reminded yet again of how badly she had handled her temper today.

“Oh, thank you for the invite, but I-“

“Don’t know my granddaughter? I wouldn’t worry about that. Ruby will love you and would be upset if she didn’t get to meet you - I imagine Scarlet is already gossiping about what happened here to her, so she will know all about you by the time Killian escorts you to her front door.” Mrs. Lucas raised an eyebrow in challenge, daring Emma to find another reason to decline her invitation. When none came, Mrs. Lucas’ face lit up in triumph and without another word, she turned and strode back the way she came, her hand lifted in farewell as she disappeared out the door.

Tink had disappeared somewhere out the back and Will had still not returned from his suspected gossip session with the aforementioned Ruby, which left Emma and Killian alone together once more, a silence descending upon them that should have felt awkward, and yet all Emma could feel was relief about the prospect of starting over once she returned to a hopefully empty apartment devoid of all the things that would remind her of the biggest mistake she had continually made over the last three years.

Absentmindedly, she had started tracing the little buttercup flower that had caught her attention only minutes ago, her thoughts turning to the shopping trip that she knew her friend Mary Margaret would convince her to go on so she could find the perfect gift for a woman she hadn’t even met yet. Killian was still sitting beside her, his gaze fixed on her profile. However, Emma was so absorbed in her thoughts of what her plans would be for the next few days that it wasn’t until he lightly cleared his throat that she realized her inattention to the world around her.

“Shit, sorry! Am I in the way here? I can always find a coffee shop somewhere and wait out Neal. You probably have clients waiting on you, right?”

Killian chuckled, a nervousness in its timbre that became more pronounced as he began to rub at a spot behind his ear. Emma’s heart - for the eleventy billionth time today - raced at the sight of this man that could switch from confident sex god to adorably nervous boy within a nanosecond. She wondered what he would be like in the bedroom with skills that matched those personalities and were just as interchangeable.

And now he’s being adorable again! God, I need to get a grip on my sex fantasies!

“I have some free samples of temporary ink that I have yet to try out. If you would like to, I would be happy to airbrush my buttercup onto an area of your choosing. Sometimes it’s easier to start with something small and temporary. If you decide you love it, then perhaps we can discuss a more permanent option; that is if you’re interested in taking that first leap into something new?”

Emma couldn’t look away from the intense blue of his eyes that were so sincere and kind without any expectation, and for a moment she hadn’t registered what he was offering. When she did, her stomach swooped and then flipped, another meaning to his words forcing its way into her mind: if she took a chance on something new with Killian Jones and decided she loved it, then perhaps they could be something more, something permanent.

***************************E&K***************************

1 year, 1 month, and 1 week later

“My Sleepy Swan, as much as I would love to sleep the day away with you, I’m afraid that would ruin all of your plans with Ruby and Mary Margaret today!”

Emma cracked open one bleary eye to observe her boyfriend of one year grinning down at her in all of his naked glory, the smell of his cologne and the hint of coffee that lingered around him letting her know that he had been up for some time. She had quickly become used to his early bird tendencies even after a night where they had both crashed into bed in a tangle of limbs that began a furious bout of lovemaking that she still craved whenever he looked her way.

Or read a book, or watched TV, or opened a jar, or gave her half of his onion rings…

She was pleasantly sore in all the best places and completely worn out; however, even in her exhausted state she couldn’t help thinking he looked different. His scruff was a little longer than usual but that was just because he hadn’t trimmed it yet this morning. His dark hair had that perfectly mussed ‘I just got out of bed after incredible sex’ look but again, nothing different there, especially as he purposely styled it that way so people knew he was taken and uninterested in whatever they were offering.

No, it was something else, something that wasn’t obvious unless you had had the pleasure of examining every inch of his body for one day shy of a whole year and knew every dip and plane, every scar and swirl of ink, and… oh!

Emma fumbled around on the nightstand - newly purchased when Emma moved into Killian’s apartment by the harbour two months ago and he declared they needed a new bedroom suite that was theirs - for her glasses. Quickly slipping them on, she ignored the darkening of her boyfriend’s eyes at her action, knowing his thoughts were drifting to memories involving games with no nonsense librarians and uptight CEOs that just needed to lose control every once in a while, to focus on the tattoos that she could recite blindfolded.

Just as Killian seemed to decide that he wanted to abandon his attempt to get his girlfriend out of bed and instead persuade her into a game of sexy college professor punishing her failing student, Emma zeroed in on the new bit of ink that wrapped around the side of his neck.

“I thought you weren’t a fan of neck tattoos,” Emma muttered hoarsely, her sleep-addled mind still trying to decipher what this new acquisition depicted.

“Hmm? Oh, well I was inspired by a former client of Scarlet’s. What do you think?” Killian leant forward to press a seductive kiss to Emma’s bare shoulder, his lips curved into a smirk that instantly gave away he was up to something.

With his neck fully exposed now in this position, Emma was able to clearly read the letters in an Old English font popular with ‘wankers who want to look tough while quoting their football team’s shitty motto’ - at least according to Scarlet.

S-N-O-O-K-U-M-S

“What is that on your fucking neck??” Emma shrieked, pushing Killian away from her, the force pushing him flat against the mattress where she could now see other cringe worthy pet names scrawled across his body in varying sizes and font types.

Pookie, Sweetie Pie, Babykins, Baby Doll, Baby Cakes, SUGAR LIPS!! He can’t be serious, he just fucking can’t…

“I swear to God, these had better not be real or so help me…” Emma straddled Killian’s torso, pressing her hands against his chest so he couldn’t escape her murderous glare.

“Wait, Swan! You- you haven’t seen my-my favourite one yet!” Killian laughed breathlessly, taking hold of both of her elbows and easily lifting her off him and to the side, his grin widening at her continued fury.

Bringing a hand to his chest, Killian slowly dragged it down his body, his eyes remaining on Emma’s, his expression turning seductive as his hand moved ever lower past his toned abs towards the thatch of hair between his legs and beyond. Emma couldn’t help following his movements, her seemingly ever present need for him sparking to life again and overpowering her desire to throttle him within an inch of his life.

Finally, he reached his destination, curling his hand around his erection which had begun to stiffen as soon as Emma put on her glasses that he thought were sexy as hell despite her protests to the contrary. He began to stroke it to full hardness, an involuntary groan escaping him as he did so. Emma was fixated on the action, her eyes watching the careful strokes with as much intensity as a predator stalking its prey, her ire from seconds before now non-existent - just an ache that wouldn’t be soothed until he slid inside her and let her ride him into breath stealing ecstasy.

“Killian…” Emma whined, her hand reaching out to touch him. Killian groaned again, his mind beginning to fray as it always did whenever his love encouraged him like this. The only thing holding it together was the promise of something even more enjoyable if he just remained patient for a little moment longer.

“Yes, sweetheart, take it, it always feels so good when you do it. Look closely, see why it only responds this way to you.” Killian had barely finished his command when Emma’s hand took over, her touch sending the most pleasurable tremors throughout his body. Emma shifted so that she was perched over his legs and his head fell back against the mattress as her grip tightened and her strokes quickened. He was just on the cusp of release when Emma gasped and her hand faltered. For a moment, Killian was confused, he was so close - surely she wouldn’t punish him now?

“Property of Emma Swan. Seriously!?”

Killian quickly sat up, tamping down the immense discomfort of his aborted release so that he could pull his outraged girlfriend onto his lap and smother her in loud smacking kisses all over her face and chest, causing a riot of giggles to erupt, even as she tried to push him away.

“Babe, I love you, but branding yourself as my property? Please tell me you didn’t suffer some kind of brain injury last night and decided to put a real tattoo on your dick? This will just wash off in the shower, right?” Emma ducked her head down to meet Killian’s eyes, her expression verging on desperate as her hands looped around his neck to keep herself steady.

“Darling, do you truly think I could have taken you in so many delightful ways last night and for so long a time, let alone let you touch me right now if I had decided to mar - what was it you called it last night? Ah yes, my exceptionally glorious cock?”

“I said it was glorious, not exceptionally glorious!” Emma laughed, as she half heartedly smacked the back of his head.

“I know it was what you were really thinking, no need to say otherwise, Swan. But be that as it may, yes, it will wash off after a good scrubbing in the shower as will the rest of these truly awful pet names - I just wanted to mark our first anniversary weekend with a little fun and plenty of make up sex once you forgave me for making you believe that you had chosen yet another dud boyfriend.” As Killian finished speaking, one of his eyebrows slowly rose until it was in danger of disappearing into his hairline before the other joined it, leaving him with an expression that was incredibly dorky, but still made Emma want to finish what she had started. She was just about to position herself to take him inside of her when his expression changed again, this time to something more serious. Emma swallowed nervously, wondering what had caused his playfulness to end so suddenly.

Killian threaded his fingers through Emma’s tangled mass of bed hair, massaging her scalp to ease the nerves he could practically feel vibrating out of her skin.

“Emma, I may not have marked myself as yours in so permanent a manner, but you must know that you left an indelible tattoo on me a long time ago. I am yours now, which means that there is not a person on this earth who shall ever see me again as I am right now, except you. I just needed you to know what you mean to me, with or without some representation etched into my skin. Do you understand?”

Emma nodded as her lips crashed into his, overwhelmed and so in love with her incredibly sweet boyfriend that she hadn’t even realized he had slipped himself inside of her until she was forced to pull away for air. With his fingers still tangled in her hair and her arms now tightly wound around his neck, slowly, they moved together, their hurry to find release tempered by their shift from playful teasing and shock worthy pranks to open vulnerability and deep and loving acceptance. Eventually though, neither could hold off their climax any longer. Emma began to quicken her pace as she ground down on Killian’s lap, her movements becoming less fluid as he began thrusting into her from below, hitting what felt like the deepest part of her over and over. With a whimpering sigh, she reached her peak, an exquisite feeling that she was riding a wave that was intent on forcing her to crash at great speed onto shore, muting all of her senses except her ability to feel Killian’s heat touching her inside and out and the headiness of their arousals mingling in the air.

Emma collapsed onto Killian’s chest and nuzzled into his neck, placing soft kisses of encouragement as he continued on for a moment more before his groan of satisfaction heralded the release of his seed inside of her, setting off another smaller orgasm within her at the same time.

For a minute, neither moved, content to stay wrapped up in one another as their breathing returned to normal and Killian began to soften and slip from Emma naturally.

“I wonder if Mary Margaret and Ruby would be too upset if I cancelled on them today. I really just want to stay in today, just like this,” Emma murmured softly, her lips grazing against Killian’s jaw as she spoke.

Killian pressed a loving kiss to the top of Emma’s head, his wish to agree with her plan strong. However, he knew Ruby and had come to know Mary Margaret quite well over the last year; those two would have no qualms about breaking into their apartment and forcibly pushing Emma out the door - clothed or not. Reaching for Emma’s left hand, he flipped it over until the inside of her wrist was visible; the yellow buttercup now permanently inked there never failing to make his heart thud in blissful contentment at the memory of the first time she had placed her trust in him to show her something new.

He kissed the tiny flower, leaving his lips there as he savored the moment of having the love of his life in his arms, his belief that they would always have this between them crystallising at Emma’s sigh of happiness as she burrowed further into his chest.

“Why don’t we start our pre-anniversary celebrations in the shower now and tomorrow, when Ruby and Mary Margaret have returned you to me after what I’m sure will be a satisfying spa day, we can barricade the door and celebrate all week long, just you and I?”

Emma lifted her head as Killian placed another kiss on her tattoo, her brain working overtime to get any words out that didn’t include “screw them, let’s just barricade the door now”.

How much sex is too much really??

“I thought you had to work tomorrow and that’s why you insisted on taking me on a vacation for our anniversary.”

“I told Will that I wouldn’t make him attend yet another class on conflict resolution if he covered for me tomorrow. I didn’t have any clients scheduled so all he has to do is take any walk-ins that come by.”

Emma knew Killian wasn’t lying, but she also knew he was leaving out some very key details. Right now though, she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was drag her amazingly hot boyfriend into the shower and scrub off each and every one of those temporary tattoos - among other enjoyable activities…

Scrambling off his lap, Emma pulled Killian up off the bed where he dutifully followed her to the bathroom. However, as they exited their bedroom to the bathroom with the shower that had more than enough room for two, Killian couldn’t help his eyes catching sight of the small decorative box on his nightstand with the false bottom where he had stashed the intricately elegant diamond and emerald engagement ring that he had started designing 11 months ago and had just picked up from the jeweller only last week.

He couldn't wait to ask his ‘Amazing Swan Girl’ to take another leap of trust by spending the rest of her life with him.

#cs ff #lovebug forever #captain swan #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #xarandomdreamx

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