distinct-elements-of-speech

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

as we go on (2/?)

[read on ao3] [part 1]

It’s more straightforward than Emma expects, the journey to the Vaults. Draped in their dark cloaks, they’re more or less invisible to the other residents of the Underworld, and Milah steers them well clear of the other hooded figures patrolling the streets. For the most part, no one seems to care about anything beyond their immediate tasks; Emma is fairly certain that Milah is the only person to look her in the eye since she arrived down here.

Once they clear the town proper, it’s a question of navigating the eerily misty woods, but it really isn’t much worse than any other time she’s stomped through the forest back home. While they walk, Milah regales her with stories about life aboard the Jolly Roger (she’s particularly enthusiastic about an incident involving Killian and a seagull, which makes Emma laugh so hard that they have to stop to let her catch her breath). She finds herself sharing a few memories of her own- Milah wants to know everything about Henry, about Neal, about the beanstalk- and somehow, impossibly, she feels the hard knot in her chest begin to dissolve.

Her parents and Henry had tried their best to get through to her, guiding her gently home after the EMTs had taken Killian’s body away from the lakeside. She’d been vaguely aware of Henry holding her hand for the drive back to the house, of her father gently stroking her hair after she’d collapsed on the couch, of her mother whispering promises to return when they finally gave in to her pleas for solitude. Emma didn’t want their quiet sympathy or their kind hands or their watchful, aching gazes; she’d wanted to let herself sink deep into nothingness, to let the waves of pain break overhead without her participation. Grief wasn’t new to Emma Swan, but this- it was like drowning in static.

Realizing Gold’s deception had eased the haze somewhat, and setting out even made it slightly easier to breathe. She’s always been a woman of action, and the sheer physical effort of getting to the Underworld had set her muscles burning and her mind racing. But it’s now, as she swaps stories with her improbable partner-in-crime, that she begins to feel like she’s coming back to herself.

It isn’t that she expects it to be easy, or that she’d come here with any intention of leaving without him, but it’s comforting to know that no matter what the Underworld tries to throw at her, there’s someone else down here willing to fight for Killian Jones.

“Here we are,” Milah announces, leading the way out of the trees and onto the road. The familiar Storybrooke welcome sign peeks out of a nest of climbing vines, and a crack in the asphalt runs straight through the faded paint of the town line. Tugging off her cloak, she gestures for Emma to do the same, letting the rough fabric pool at her feet. “These won’t help much down there, not if we run into actual Reapers. Ready?”

They step over the line together.

The scenery shifts immediately, arched walls closing over their heads. Torches capped with blue flames flicker every few feet, though the weak light does little to lessen the oppressive darkness that seems the ooze from the ceiling. A scream breaks through the silence; it hangs in the frigid air for a moment, before all sound evaporates again.

“This way,” Milah whispers, pulling out her sword as she starts forward. Emma mirrors her, the weapon a soothing weight in her hand, and tries very hard not to think about the source of the scream.

“How do you know your way around here, anyway?” she asks.

 “When Hades brought me in, I realized I wasn’t as invisible as I’d imagined,” Milah says. “Thought it would be good information to have if he decided to lock me up.”

“Makes sense.”

“I thought so. But I don’t know much about the cells, I’ve just learned the way in and out.” She glances over at Emma, frowning. “Perhaps I should have come to scout on my own before bringing you here.”

“Definitely not,” Emma says. “This doesn’t seem like a one-person operation.” Milah shakes her head and Emma reaches out, grabbing her arm. “Hey. We are going to find him, and we are going to get him out of here. Together. Okay?”

“Okay,” Milah says. Emma releases her, and Milah smirks. “Do you ever use that princess voice on him?”

“What?”

“Keep it in mind,” Milah advises.

“Right.” Emma blinks rapidly, shaking her head. “So. Um. Lots of Vaults, two of us, one Killian. Any idea where we should start?”

“I was thinking that perhaps…” Milah trails off, staring over at her, and abruptly shoves her sword back into its scabbard.  

“That perhaps?” Emma repeats, keeping a firm grip on her own weapon.

“You have magic,” Milah breathes.

“Um. Yeah, I do,” Emma says. “What does that have to do with-”

“Emma, you have magic!” She begins digging through her pockets, humming under her breath. “Ah! Here we are. Have you ever done mirror magic?”

Emma stares at the object in her hand. “Is that a compact?”

“Is that what it’s called?” Milah tilts her head. “What an odd name. I found it at the diner a few weeks ago, and you never know when a spare bit of glass might be useful.” She pops it open and offers it to Emma, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “So. Mirror magic?”

“I’ve only done it once,” Emma says, looking down at her tiny reflection. “But I think I can do it again.”

Closing her eyes, she lets the faint buzz of magic rise to the surface of her skin, feeling it slowly seep into the mirror. She pulls her memories of Killian to the front of her mind, reaching for him through the distance. I will find you. I will always find you.

“Emma,” Milah whispers, and she opens her eyes. The surface of the glass ripples, the compact emitting a silvery light that warms her palm. As they watch, a figure swirls into focus, the image becoming clearer by the second. “That’s him.”

Killian sits on a tiny island of rock, his figure illuminated by the glow of what looks like green water around him. Slumped over his knees, he is utterly motionless, little more than a dark shadow against the stone. Emma’s heart clenches, a pulse of magic traveling from her hand to the mirror; Killian looks up for a moment, staring around him, before bowing his head again.

“Where is he?” Emma says softly. The mirror glows brighter, but the image remains static. “Show me,” she hisses, sparks flying from her fingertips, and the scene changes to show the tunnel in front of her. She takes a step forward, and the mirror copies her exactly.

“Brilliant,” Milah says, pulling her sword loose again. “I’ll guard, you guide. Stay close.”

The mirror leads them from the passageway to a larger cavern. As they move inside, the image swings to the right, and they follow along, ducking into an identical tunnel that slopes steadily downwards. Left, right, then left again, they cross swinging rope bridges and squeeze through narrow fissures of rock. The temperature drops slowly, the initial chill of the upper levels giving way to a bitter cold that burns Emma’s cheeks.

They’re in the middle of an enormous cavern when something hisses.

“What was that?” Emma whispers, staring out into the shadows, and the air around them explodes with shrieks and growls. Several large figures loom out of the darkness, their hooded cloaks falling back to reveal raw faces set with glowing white eyes.

 “Emma, duck!” Milah's voice rings out through the chaos. Emma drops instantly, feeling the swift swing of the blade over her head more than she hears it. The other woman rushes to her side, expertly parrying the next blow, and giving Emma enough time to stash the compact before pulling out her own weapon. “Damned things, always getting in the way.”

“What are they?” Emma pants, straightening up. She shifts until they're standing back to back, swords at the ready, watching the creatures form a loose ring around them in the mist.

“Reapers,” she replies. “People who sold their souls in life, and couldn’t take them back in death.”

“These are all people?”

“Were people,” Milah corrects. “There's not much left to them that's human.”

One lunges at them, teeth bared, and Emma lands a hard kick against its shoulder. It stumbles away, vanishing in a puff of gray smoke.

“Good form,” Milah says appreciatively. The familiar words catch somewhere in Emma’s chest, reverberating against her bones. “They’re a nasty bunch, but they aren’t impossible to defeat. Just have to stay on your toes.” She slashes the air as another Reaper leaps from a boulder, catching it just under the ribs and sending it flying in the opposite direction. “We must be getting close, Hades likes to keep them right by the cells.”

Emma blocks a Reaper with her sword, matching it blow for blow until she knocks the blade from its hands. “I will never understand the employment system down here.”

“Let’s hope not.” Milah dispatches an opponent with a few quick hits. Between the two of them, they make short work of the rest of the Reapers, the last one vanishing with an ear-splitting howl. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, Milah waves away the cloud of smoke. “How far away is Killian?”

Emma pulls out the compact with her free hand, glancing down at the tiny mirror. The image flies across the rest of the cavern, swiveling into a tunnel that splits into three paths. It hangs in the air for a moment, then takes the center choice, following a curve in the tunnel. Moving even faster, it zooms through a bright green light to reveal Killian, his head resting on his knees.

“Not far at all,” she says, nearly giddy as she meets Milah’s gaze. “One more tunnel and we’re there.”

Milah grins. “Well, let’s not keep him waiting, then."

A flurry of growls erupts behind them, and Emma shoves the compact back into her pocket as more Reapers appear, streaming towards them in a wide column. There are easily triple the number they originally faced, and Emma bites back a groan as they continue to fill the cave.

“I guess that was only round one,” she mutters.

Milah glares over at the approaching herd. “Hades must’ve figured out we’re down here. We need to get Killian out before he moves him somewhere else.”

“You didn’t bring any secret grenades or flamethrowers, did you?” Emma rolls her shoulders, hopping on the tips of her toes to warm up. “It’s going to take a while to clear them out.”

“Which is exactly why you should go,” Milah says. “Get a head start.”

Emma stares at her. “Wait, what?”

“Emma, go,” Milah snaps, giving Emma a shove as she turns to face the pack. “They can't hurt me, but I can slow them down.”

“I'm not leaving you,” Emma says fiercely, adjusting her grip on her sword, but Milah shakes her head.

“Don't be ridiculous, you have to get to Killian and you can't do that with Reapers trailing you like rabid puppies.” Milah pushes her again, nodding down the path. “Go on, rescue him, Swan. Isn't that what you do, in all those stories you told me? Rescue each other?”

“You deserve to see him again,” Emma insists, but she can't quite keep from glancing over at the entry to the tunnels across the cavern. Her skin buzzes with repressed energy, the hope bubbling in her chest threatening to overwhelm her because he's there, he's right there, all she has to do is keep going and she'll see his face again-

“Wait for me, then,” Milah says, pulling a dagger from inside of her jacket. “I'll meet you after I get rid of this lot. Now get out of here.”

“Milah-”

“Go!” 

Cursing under her breath, Emma swivels on her heel and begins to run, following the path she’d seen in the mirror. Milah takes off in the opposite direction, diving directly into the shadowy mass. The howls and cries of the Reapers echo menacingly in the dark tunnel, but it’s the sudden crack of Milah’s laughter that keeps her from turning back.

She comes to the forked path and pelts down the center, nearly losing her balances as she slides across the slick stones. Rounding a corner, she stumbles into the largest cavern she’s seen yet. She slows to a walk, boots sinking into dark sand as she reaches edge of a pool of glowing water. The greenish liquid casts long shadows across the walls, flowing ceaselessly in a perfect circle, and she realizes with a bolt of dread that the rock island at the center of the pool is empty.

“Killian?” she calls, squinting across the water. The sounds of the fight raging behind her dissolve into silence, broken only by the occasional soft splash. “Killian?”

“He can’t hear you, my dear.”

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

as we go on (1/?)

[read on ao3] [part 2]

(5B canon divergence, featuring: reunions! ladies kicking ass! and my really old theories from 5B spoiler pics because I started writing this back then and lost it until now! Part 2 will be posted soon.]

“Get out of the way!”

Emma barely has time to register the voice before a blur of something (someone?) hits her. They both stumble into an alley, Emma's shoulder hitting the bricks with a painful thud, and she curses under her breath. The faint light from the street lamps fades as they move into the shadows, the stranger gripping Emma's arm.

“What the f-” Emma starts, but a hand covers her mouth immediately, muffling her voice. The alley is narrow enough that there's only a few inches between them, and she can just make out a pair of bright blue eyes in a pale, pretty face.

“Quiet,” the woman hisses. “They'll hear you.”

She raises her eyebrows, staring intently at Emma until she finally nods. Taking her hand away from Emma's face, she quietly pulls a sword from the sheath at her waist, moving to the edge of the alley. Emma peers past her to the street, inhaling sharply as a column of hooded figures marches past.

“They're gone,” the woman says finally, though she doesn't lower her blade. “Come on, quickly, before the next shift.”

Emma follows her out of the alley and onto the abandoned street. “What are those things?”

“A bloody nuisance, is what they are,” the woman mutters. “And dangerous, for people like you.” She turns back to Emma, and out of the shadows there's no mistaking it- there's something about the slant of her chin and the shape of her eyes that's utterly familiar.

“Thanks for the help,” Emma says hesitantly.

“Part of the job,” she says, gesturing down at her outfit. “Sort of.”

“There are crossing guards here?” Emma snorts, staring at the woman's safety vest.

“Really? You’ve somehow ended up in the Underworld, and you’re curious about my job?”

“Well- no,” Emma says, crossing her arms. “What I actually want to right now is who the hell you are.”

“Interesting choice of words.” The woman smirks, and Emma huffs out a reluctant laugh. “But I’m the least of your worries right now. I don't know what someone who's still alive is doing down here, but you need to get back home before Hades finds you.”

“I'm not leaving without what I came for,” Emma shoots back.

The woman quirks an eyebrow. “Must be someone important to you, then.”

“Very,” Emma says softly. “And it's my fault that he's here. I have to fix this.”

“Listen to me carefully.” She slides her sword back into its scabbard, her mouth thinning in a hard line as she studies Emma’s face. “I’ve been here for ages now, okay? In all that time, I’ve seen very few people return to life, and none of them have managed it without an immense sacrifice. It doesn’t matter how you feel about this person- trust me, they aren’t worth it. The price is too high.”

“There’s no price too high,” Emma says. “I know it’s dangerous. I already sent my family back home, but I’m not leaving without him.”

“Fine,” the woman sighs. “Fine. I’m not sure why I bothered saving someone on a suicide mission, but- fine. Don’t try to blame me when you’re trapped here for all eternity.” Shaking her head, she turns to walk back to the crosswalk down the street.

“Hey, wait,” Emma calls, taking a few steps after her. “You never told me your name!”

“Milah,” she tosses over her shoulder, not breaking stride, and Emma feels the ground shift beneath her feet.

“What?” she croaks out, because there's no way, she can't possibly have just stumbled into her.

But her mind is racing now, remembering the notebook full of sketches Killian had shown her on the Jolly, the portraits of a woman with dark curls and laughing eyes and-

“It is you,” she breathes, and god, but she hadn't even considered the fact that Killian's first love might be down here, that she could run into Neal's mother, that she could ever have the chance to talk to this woman who created such tidal waves in her life.

Milah stops her retreat, glancing back at Emma suspiciously. Whirling on the spot, she pulls her sword out again, stepping forward to bring it just under Emma's chin. “You know me. How?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Emma says, raising her hands in surrender and taking a step away from the blade. “I'm not here to hurt you, I didn't even realize you'd-”

“Don't move,” Milah snaps, and Emma halts, shifting her weight between her feet. “Now. Why don't you tell me who you are and how you know me, because I've never forgotten a face and I don't recognize yours.”

“My name is Emma. Emma Swan. And I know you because-” She hesitates, weighing the odds of Milah believing her against the odds of getting stabbed over how utterly ridiculous the story will sound. “It's complicated.”

“I'm waiting,” Milah says, raising her eyebrows.

Emma sucks in a deep breath. “I knew your son, Baelfire. And- and I'm here for Killian Jones.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy in the air. “How?” she says finally, not lowering the sword. “It's been centuries, and you're clearly not from my time. How could you possibly-”

“Like I said, it's complicated.” Emma nods at the blade. “I'll tell you everything, I promise, but- could you maybe put the sword down?”

Milah narrows her eyes, staring at her for a long moment, before she finally replaces the sword in its scabbard. “I'm listening.”

It takes a while- and they have to take cover in the alley twice, even with Emma only telling the bare bones of the story- but Milah doesn’t interrupt her, face inscrutably blank, one hand always at the hilt of her sword. When Emma finishes (her voice catching slightly as she details Killian’s sacrifice, and god, it hurts), Milah stares at her for a long moment.

“You said you have his ring?” she says finally, her face still blank. Emma nods. “Show me.”

Slowly, Emma reaches for the chain around her neck, tugging the ring out from under her sweater and taking a step closer. Milah gently runs a finger over the engraved band, tilting it until the red gemstone catches the light.

“It’s true, then,” Milah says. She looks up, meeting Emma’s gaze for the first time in several long minutes.

“Yes.” Emma can’t keep the longing from her voice. “I have to bring him home.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Milah grins, the wide and vibrant smile that Emma recognizes from the sketches, and loops her arm through Emma’s. “Let’s go find him.”

“Wait, you- you’ll help me?” Emma says, blinking rapidly. “You’re not, I don’t know, angry?”

“Angry? Why would I be angry?” She begins towing Emma along the sidewalk.

“Because I-” Emma hesitates, nearly tripping over the edge of the curb as she stares at the other woman. “Because I’m in love with your, er, lover?”

Milah’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why would that make me angry?”

“Because I- because he-” Emma blows out a frustrated breath, nearly jogging to keep up with Milah’s pace. “Look, most of the people I’ve met from your world are a bit- possessive.”

“Right.” Milah nods, pursing her lips as she considers Emma’s words. “Well, you have met my husband, who is still just as possessive as ever.”

“No kidding,” Emma mutters. Milah flashes her a smile.

“But no,” Milah continues, glancing over her shoulder as they turn onto a side street, “I’m not angry. Killian was- is- gifted in many areas, but he’s not good at being alone. If you love him as he deserves- which it seems you do, as you’re down here to claim him- I’m glad of it.”

“Oh.” She lets the words settle over her for a few seconds. “Wow. Thanks?”

“Besides,” Milah continues, unlocking the front door to a slightly-charred house and steering Emma inside, “he’s not good at being alone. He needs something to devote himself to, whether it’s a cause or a person.” She slams the door behind them, shucking off her safety vest. “He does much better if it’s a person. Causes make him dramatic.”

“Everything makes him dramatic,” Emma says under her breath, and Milah laughs.

“That sounds like Killian.” She opens a small coat closet and begins to dig through it, voice slightly muffled. “Which reminds me, does he still do that thing in bed where he-”

“I, uh, wouldn’t know,” Emma cuts her off. Her face heats up as Milah turns to stare at her, and she’s fairly certain that even her ears are turning pink. “We haven’t exactly- I mean, there hasn’t really been a chance- we’ve, um, been-”

“Wait.” Milah’s eyes widen, and the expression reminds Emma so strongly of Killian that all of the air vanishes from her lungs. “You mean you haven’t?”

“It’s not like we aren’t trying to get there,” Emma insists. Milah shakes her head slowly.

“You’re in love with Killian Jones,” she says dramatically, “and you haven’t even experienced what he’s like in bed? What do you do, just look at each other?”

“We’re usually fighting monsters,” Emma mumbles.

“Gods, this is urgent.” She winks at Emma, diving back into the closet. “We need to get both of you home as soon as possible.”

“Thanks,” Emma says dryly. “I appreciate your support.”

“I haven’t seen him in town, so we’ll have to go find him ourselves.” Milah finally steps back into the hallway, several dark cloaks over her arm, and slams the door. “Which means we probably need to go to the Vaults, unfortunately. Here, put this on, you’ll blend in a bit more.”

“The Vaults?” Emma asks, taking the cloak the Milah shoves into her hands. “What exactly are the Vaults?”

“It’s where Hades keeps the important people,” Milah says, the happy look on her face fading, and rolls her eyes. “That’s where he kept Rumpelstiltskin when he came down here.”

“You’ve been there?”

“I was summoned,” she says, a note of disgust creeping into her voice as she pulls on her cloak. “Hades thought that seeing me would make my former husband unhappy, since he’d found love elsewhere. He was right.”

Emma sweeps the cloak around her shoulders, pulling her gun out of her inner pocket and checking the safety. “Do you think you can get back there?”

“It’s not going to be easy, but yes.” Milah leads the way down the hall and into a small, grotty kitchen. The scarred wooden table glitters with an assortment of swords and daggers, all carefully polished to a bright shine. “You’ll need better weapons. That gun won’t be much help if we encounter any Reapers.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Was it made in the mortal world?” she asks. Emma nods, and Milah shrugs. “Won’t work. Only weapons crafted here in the Underworld have any effect on them, and for some reason guns haven’t caught on.”

“Huh. Okay then.” She flips the safety back on, tucking it into an inside pocket, and surveys the blades spread across the table. “Swords it is.”

“Do you know how to use one?” Milah raises an eyebrow. “Do people even use swords in your time?”

Emma lifts one of the swords from the table, twirling it easily in a decent approximation of one of Killian’s showier moves. “Think so.”

“I knew I liked you,” Milah says, adding a pair of daggers to her own collection. “Take whatever you want. The swordsmith’s an old friend, and he gets bored easily- he’s always asking me to take new toys off his hands.”

Emma nods, giving the sword another experimental swing. Eyeing the table, she picks up a leather cuff that looks suspiciously similar to the one they’d used on Zelena. The familiar tingle of magic snakes up her fingers, and she carefully hooks it through one of her belt loops. Finally, she drops an oddly-modern switchblade down the side of her boot.

A bell rings out, low and eerie, echoing through the tiny house.

Milah freezes, tilting her head slightly. “Seven, not too bad,” she says quietly, reaching over to pull the hood of Emma’s cloak over her head. “New additions.”

“Will that change anything?”

She shrugs. “Anything’s possible down here. If they’re going to the Vaults, we’ll have to take the back way in, but at least the main guards will be focused on the fresh meat.”  Tugging up her own hood, she shoots Emma a wink. “Let’s go find our man, shall we?”

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

and thought I walk through the valley of the shadow (2/2)

[read on ao3] [part 1]

“Good. Now follow my lead, and when I say run- run.”

“Lead on, Swan,” he says, gesturing grandly to the path ahead with his hook. Emma smirks up at him, the tight lines of worry around her eyes easing somewhat as he winks at her. “Let’s go home.”

They take off together, hand in hand, just as a fireball whizzes past Killian’s head. Glancing over her shoulder, Emma lets loose a stream of expletives that even Killian would find excessive, were they anywhere except the Underworld, and begins to run even faster.

“Almost- there- keep- going-” Emma gasps, her grip on his hand tightening as they skid around a corner. “You’ll be able to see it- there.”

“That’s- the bridge?” he pants. “You’re- bloody- joking.”

Keep reading

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

and though I walk through the valley of the shadow (2/2)

[read on ao3] [part 1]

“Good. Now follow my lead, and when I say run- run.”

“Lead on, Swan,” he says, gesturing grandly to the path ahead with his hook. Emma smirks up at him, the tight lines of worry around her eyes easing somewhat as he winks at her. “Let’s go home.”

They take off together, hand in hand, just as a fireball whizzes past Killian’s head. Glancing over her shoulder, Emma lets loose a stream of expletives that even Killian would find excessive, were they anywhere except the Underworld, and begins to run even faster.

“Almost- there- keep- going-” Emma gasps, her grip on his hand tightening as they skid around a corner. “You’ll be able to see it- there.”

“That’s- the bridge?” he pants. “You’re- bloody- joking.”

It’s an intimidating structure, an enormous slab of dark rock arcing high into the fog. The river below emits a faint greenish glow as it oozes past, the moans and screams of the damned echoing dully against the stone. Killian’s fairly confident, looking at it, that he could sail a ship five times the size of the Jolly Roger beneath it with ease; crossing it, with what sounds like an army of lost souls hot on their heels, seems a rather more difficult prospect.

“Shut up and run,” Emma shoots back.

Something explodes behind them, sending chunks of rock flying, and Killian smells smoke.

“This is the part where you go ahead,” she pants, not slowing her pace. “No matter what you hear, just keep running. Don’t turn around, don’t stop, and don’t let anything touch you.”

“Emma-”

“Regina should be waiting on the other side of the bridge, if Hades hasn’t done anything to them,” she continues. “She’ll take you to Underbrooke. I’ll catch up with you there.” Another explosion splits the air behind them, smoke billowing towards them in a dark column. “You have to go,” Emma calls over the noise, coming to a halt. “Killian, go .”

“Love, I’m not leaving you here on your own,” he says, stopping beside her, and she groans.

“Seriously, we don’t have time to do this again,” she snaps. “You’re going, I’m covering you, end of story. I can handle the Human Torch and his minions, you can’t even look over your shoulder. Which one of us is better equipped for this situation?”

The walls shake ominously, a furious roar echoing towards them.

“You have to go,” Emma says again, shoving him towards the bridge. He loops his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and kisses her.

“I love you,” he breathes against her lips, tangling his fingers in her hair for a brief moment.

“I love you,” she says. She looks up at him, managing a tiny smile before she takes a step away, turning to face the path behind them. “Now go.”

Gritting his teeth, he obeys, directing his focus to the enormous structure in front of him. He picks up speed again, ignoring the loud clash of magic somewhere over his shoulder. She told him to run- she has a plan-

Emma screams.

He freezes, unaware of doing so, his heart hammering in his chest. If something’s happened, if she needs him-

“Killian, run!” she calls, her voice echoing strangely, and his heart slams back into a normal rhythm.

He starts again, racing towards the bridge, the shrieks and sighs of the river drowning out the sound of the battle raging behind him. His boots hit the first step and everything slows down; he’s still running as fast as his legs can move, but the world seems to flicker strangely around him. The walls of the cave are fading, replaced by an iron-gray sky, and he could almost swear that he can see rooftops ahead, swimming through a thick fog.

Killian takes the last few steps of the bridge in a single, huge leap, sending a puff of dust into the air. The silence hangs heavily around him, nearly forcing the breath from his lungs with its weight against his skin.

“Well, if it isn’t the One-Hand Wonder. Or should I call you Captain Corpse? ” a familiar voice drawls, breaking his concentration. Regina smirks at him from her perch on a half-broken park bench, getting to her feet as he approaches. “I thought we might’ve managed to get rid of you for good.”

“Aye, and I’d thought that after our last encounter, I’d never have to suffer through another one of your bon mots again,” he retorts. “And yet, here we stand.”

“Pity.” Her lips curl into a real smile, the relieved one she’d worn in Camelot when they’d talked Emma down from killing Merida, the one that had convinced him to allow her to watch over the dagger rather than attempt to talk Emma out of her decision.

(And though under pain of death- or, he supposes, the tortures of the Damned- he would never admit the words aloud, he feels a surge of relief at the sight of her face. As real as Emma had seemed, warm in his arms and wearing his ring, seeing Regina serves as proof that he hasn’t imagined all this; while he can very well picture the Underworld tormenting and tricking him with visions of Emma, he doubts they’d bring Regina into the mix.)

“Where’s Emma?” Regina asks, glancing past him. Sweeping her hair out of her eyes, she conjures a small fireball, squinting through the gloom at the bridge behind him. “I can’t imagine she sent you roam the Underworld alone, not after all she’s done to get back to you.”

“She sent me ahead while she dealt with Hades,” he says, struggling to tamp down on his frustration. “He was catching up to us, and she insisted.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Regina hisses between her teeth, and it would be startling (he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her curse, not even when Robin had nearly died in Camelot) but he’s too preoccupied by the thought of Emma putting herself in danger to actually care. “I was supposed to meet you after I cleared the way off the bridge, but-”

“His wife?” Killian interrupts. “Emma mentioned something about her being-”

“Very persuasive, yes,” Regina cuts back in. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, she groans under her breath. “You have no idea.” She pauses for a long moment, staring at the structure behind him, before she turns to lead the way away from the bridge. “Come on, I’ll take you to the others, then I’ll come back for her.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we have Emma with us,” he retorts.

“None of us are,” says another familiar voice. David appears out of the fog behind Regina, followed by Snow, Belle, and Robin. With a half-smile, he steps forward, extending his hand. “Killian. It’s good to see you again, mate.”

Killian can’t help a small chuckle, taking the other man’s hand and allowing himself to be tugged into a brief hug. “Likewise, Dave.”

“You’re all supposed to be waiting at the house,” Regina snaps, reaching instinctively for Robin as he comes closer. “This isn’t the plan.”

“The plan also didn’t include your mother showing up and ruining the timetable,” Snow fires back, and Killian snorts because of course, of course Cora’s still out for their blood, even after her own death. “When Hades left to see what was happening, we couldn’t just wait around.”

“What’s the point of having a plan if nobody’s going to follow it?” Regina says.  

“Enough of this. We have to go back for Emma,” Killian says. The words have barely left his mouth when Regina’s hands land on either side of his face. He reels backwards and she follows, maintaining her iron grip on his head. Even Robin, who generally reacts to Regina’s antics with what Killian considers an enviable amount of detachment, raises his eyebrows in alarm; this, even more than the power her can feel pulsing in Regina’s palms, makes Killian come to a standstill.

“Don’t even think about it,” Regina hisses. “If I see you so much as roll your eyes too far back in that thick skull of yours, I will knock you out so fast you’ll travel through time.”

“Regina-” Robin begins, but she ignores him.

“I know Emma told you the rule, even if she didn’t tell you anything else. No. Turning. Back.”

“I didn’t think you cared, Your Majesty,” Killian mutters through gritted teeth, using every shred of his (admittedly battered) self-control to keep himself from knocking her out of the way and taking off towards where he’d left Emma.

(Gods. He’d left her.)

Regina rolls her eyes, a humorless laugh spilling from her lips. “We’ve been looking for you for ages, pirate. Do you really think I’m going to let all that time go down the drain just because you’re feeling a bit fidgety?”

Ages. That word again.

He takes another look at Regina, at the deep circles under her eyes and the new hollows in her cheeks. Glancing past her, he realizes that the rest of the group looks similarly worse for the wear, all with minor wounds and puffy eyes. Belle’s got a nasty cut across her cheek, slicing up from chin to temple in a dark streak, and David’s sporting a half-healed black eye. The soft blue coat Snow wears hangs off her thin frame ludicrously, a rust-colored stain on the collar sitting just below a section of hair that’s been shaved down to the skin to show a line of neat black stitches. A makeshift splint covers Regina’s left wrist, and Robin has what looks like the remains of a broken nose, hastily repaired by magic.

A hot swoop of guilt burns his insides. He’d never expected- never even considered- that they’d come after him, that they’d risk their lives like this for him. When he’d realized what he needed to do, when he’d paid the price to get rid of the Darkness once and for all (or, at least, tried to- and when he gets his hands on the Crocodile again, he’s going to make him pay), he’d resigned himself to never seeing Emma again, let alone the odd assortment of people who make up her family.

“She’s right, Killian,” Belle pipes up, interrupting his train of thought. “If you try to turn around and go back, and Hades comes for you, there won’t be anything we can do.”

“Then you’ll really be trapped here, and I have a funny feeling that this place will be a walk in the park compared to what Emma will be like, moping around Storybrooke again,” Regina says. “You should’ve seen her after you died, it was-”

“That’s enough, Regina,” David cuts her off, and she closes her mouth, releasing Killian’s head to raise her hands in surrender. “What happened in Storybrooke doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is that we’ve got to find Emma and get back to the ferry as soon as possible.”

“I think we should take Killian to the house,” Snow chimes in. “He can stay there with Belle and-”

“I’m not going anywhere without Emma,” Killian insists, and Regina groans.

“Killian, please,” Snow says, taking his hand between both of hers. Her eyes look slightly hazy with exhaustion, and they’re the same shade of green as Emma’s, and gods, but that hits him hard. “I know you want to wait for her here, but it’s too risky. It’ll be safer to keep you out of sight until Emma’s back.” He opens his mouth to interrupt her, but she squeezes his hand, her lips thinning in a hard line. “You have to trust that we love her just as much as you do, and that we’re going to fight just as hard to help her.” She tilts her head, studying his face. “You aren’t the only one willing to die for her, you know.”

He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Aye, I do know that.”

“Good.” Snow smiles, releasing his hand and turning back to the group. “I think we should split up. Belle and Robin can take Killian to the house. The rest of us will go back across the bridge to find Emma.”

“Snow,” David begins, but she narrows her eyes at him.

“No,” she says, tone ringing with finality, and Killian wonders what it would’ve been like, had she been given the opportunity to rule as she should have. “I’m going after her.”

“Fantastic. Now that we’ve spent all this time chatting, can we actually get down to business?” Regina says, knotting her scarf around her neck. “Not that I don’t think Emma can handle herself, but-”

“Good luck, my love,” Robin interrupts, pressing a kiss to her lips as he begins to lead the way into town.

“Go on, Killian,” David says. “We’ll be back with her in no time.”

Nodding to his friend, Killian follows Robin and Belle, fighting every instinct telling him to turn around and race back across the bridge.

“There shouldn’t be too many Reapers wandering around right now,” Belle says, slowing her pace to walk beside him. “Most of them went off with Cora, after she alerted Hades, but you can never be too careful. And you can’t trust the Lost not to summon them- some of them are so paranoid.”

“The Lost?”

“Right, sorry, you’ve been in the tunnels. Most of the people here are the Lost- they’re dead but they can’t move on. This isn’t exactly Hell, more like a sort of limbo, but some of the Lost have been here for ages.” She rests a hand on the hilt of the dagger at her waist, squinting into the fog ahead of them. “The Reapers work for Hades. They’re a nasty bunch, but easy enough to fight.”

“So the place where I was- not everyone goes there.”

“No, they don’t,” she says, looking over at him thoughtfully. “It’s pretty rare, from what I’ve been able to find out since we’ve been here.”

“I have much to atone for,” he says softly. Belle steps closer to him, looping her arm through his.

“I think it may have been the circumstances of your death, actually,” she says. “You made quite a sacrifice, Killian.”

“After hundreds of years of evil deeds, and after nearly destroying Storybrooke,” he points out.

“It was heroic all the same,” she says. “But you tried to channel the Darkness, to get rid of it- and Rumple got in the way. I think that Hades wasn’t even sure what to do with you.” Belle squeezes his arm. “No matter what- I’m glad we got you back, Killian.”

The clock tower looms out of the fog in front of them, imposing even in its destroyed state. Killian sees the shell of Emma’s car sitting on the street corner, the yellow paint streaked with scorch marks. The town looks bleak and cold- nothing like the quaint place he’s grown to see as his home.

“Gods,” he mutters, as Robin circles back around to walk with them.

“Nobody’s out here,” Robin says, holding his bow at the ready. “It’s still as a tomb.”

“Fitting,” Killian says, and the other man smirks.

“Belle, what time have you got?” Robin asks. Belle glances down at her wrist, pulling back the sleeve of her jacket to reveal a watch similar to Emma’s.

“Looks like we’ve got plenty of it,” she says, frowning down at the stone face. “Charon’s not back yet, and the path will be open for a while.”

“Excellent.” Robin jogs ahead of them again, leading the way down a side street.

“What exactly is that?” Killian asks, nodding down at the watch.

“It’s a sort of reference clock,” Belle says. “Time doesn’t work the same way down here, so it’s difficult to keep track of things. This- and the one Emma has- keeps us on schedule so that we don’t miss our exit window.”

“Exit window?” he echoes.

She nods, shivering slightly as a breeze whisks down the street. “Getting in and out of the Underworld is a bit complicated. We had to leave the passage open for as long as Charon- he’s the ferryman- would let us. If it closes, it’ll be difficult to re-open.”

“And we’ll be trapped here,” he finishes.

“Not permanently. Well, probably not, at least.”

They turn down another street, and Killian feels a bolt of dread. “We’re going to my- to Emma’s home.”

“It’s the safest place down here,” she says. “Unoccupied, easy to defend. We’ve been using it as our base since we found it.”

Robin takes the stairs to the porch two at a time, dodging a hole in the planks easily, and vanishes inside. Killian and Belle follow him, Killian unable to restrain a wince at the sight of the house. It’s not just that it reminds him of how neatly his plans were destroyed- or how his heart was broken here, when Emma’s deceit was revealed- or how it hurt, to remember the cruel ways he’d taunted her when he’d embraced the Darkness. He’d wanted to build a home here, and even if it isn’t actually the same house, seeing it in tatters- with broken windows and faded paint- feels like he’s failed, somehow.

He wonders if Emma will still want to live in the house in Storybrooke.

The door creaks heavily on its hinges as Belle closes it behind them, locking it with a thick bolt. “Now we wait,” she says, leading the way to the living room and settling on the couch.

“Wonderful,” Killian mutters under his breath. He begins to pace in front of her, back and forth on the worn carpet, and Robin sighs heavily as he sits down in a battered armchair.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he says. “And if anyone can beat Hades, it’s Emma. She’s already taken him on a few times. She’ll be fine.”

“And if she isn’t?” Killian snaps. The walk through the fog had distracted him somewhat, with Belle’s conversation and the sight of the ruined town, but being trapped between four walls (and with nothing to do but wait) makes him feel worse than useless. Robin sighs again, letting his eyes drift shut.

“She will be,” Belle says, meeting his gaze calmly. “Have a little faith, Killian.”

“I have plenty of that.” He pauses in his pacing for a moment. “Why does the Underworld look like Storybrooke?”

She shrugs. “We’re not entirely sure, but my theory is that this realm reshapes itself based on who is down here, as a defense mechanism.” Toying with the band of her watch, she tucks her legs up underneath her. “It certainly threw us off when we arrived.”

“And when was that, exactly?” Dust puffs up around his feet as he resumes his pacing.

“How long would you say, Robin?” Belle asks. Robin shrugs, not opening his eyes. “We didn’t get the watches until after we’d been here for- well, I want to say a few weeks, but it could’ve only been a few hours.”

“Why couldn’t I stay with Emma?” he asks brusquely. His question is met with silence, and he turns to see Belle and Robin exchanging a significant look. “What is it?”

“To be honest, we don’t know,” Belle says at last. “Emma went off on her own after we got here- don’t look at us like that, it’s not like we let her, she snuck away while we were sleeping- and when she came back, she…” She trails off, glancing over at Robin.

“She what?” Killian snaps, staring from one to the other.

“She knew things,” Robin finishes. “How to find you, how to distract the Reapers, how to get home safely.” He shakes his head, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. “Everything. She came back with an entire plan, and she made us swear that if she got you out of the tunnels, we wouldn’t let you turn back. She said if you turned around, the Underworld itself would take you, and it would be even harder for her to find you again.” Shrugging, he lets his eyes drift closed again. “I realize I have no room to talk, but that woman of yours can be terrifying.”

“Always told her she’d be a hell of a pirate,” Killian says under his breath.

“She found the way here herself, you know,” Belle says. “I mean, I helped with some of the research, but she actually did everything.” She smiles up at Killian. “Just wait until she tells you the whole story. She’s been incredible.”

“She’s always incredible,” Killian says. “She’s-”

All three of them jump as someone knocks on the door, a rhythmic series of taps that sends Belle flying to her feet. “Stay here,” she hisses at the two men, shooting them a formidable glare before vanishing into the foyer.

“Killian? Belle? Robin?” Snow’s voice carries easily through the silence of the street outside.

“We’re here, Snow,” Belle calls back, and Killian hears the door swing open. Several pairs of feet clatter inside before the door slams shut again, a flurry of hushed voices spilling into the living room.

“…the bed,” he hears Regina say, followed by more heated whispers.

“…stairs…too far. We’ll use the couch,” David says, his words becoming clearer as the group enters the room.

They look, for the most part, only slightly worse than they had when the group had split up. One arm of Regina’s coat is singed, the cuff in tatters, and she’s glaring down at the burn as if it has personally offended her. Snow and David both look like they’ve crawled through a chimney, ashes clinging to their faces and hair, but otherwise appear unharmed.

It’s Emma who draws Killian’s focus, held up between her parents and swaying on the spot. Her arms hang loosely around their shoulders, her head drooping slightly, her eyes half-closed and unfocused.  She has ashes in her hair and a gaping rip across the front of her leather jacket, and the faint wheeze of her shallow breathing sounds, to his ears, like broken ribs. Her parents help her to the couch, easing her down onto the cushions, and Killian finds himself on his knees at her side, wrapping his hand around hers.

“What happened?” Robin asks quietly behind him.

“She almost had it under control, but-” Snow says, her voice fading as she settles on the arm of the couch.

“He had more than just Reapers back there,” Regina says grimly. “I don’t know what that thing was, but it was big. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Killian hears her moving across the room, the old armchair protesting as she drops into it.

“Was she already hurt when you found her?” The armchair squeals again as Robin sits down.

“No,” says David, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and pride. “If Hades hadn’t managed to get in that hit when we arrived, I think Emma might have managed to finish off that monster by herself.”

“And the rest of you are all right?” Belle asks. “Regina, do you need anything for that burn on your arm?”

Emma’s eyes flutter open, slowly focusing on Killian’s face, and she manages a small smile. “Hey there, sailor.”

“Emma,” he breathes, and her smile widens. She tries to sit up, wincing as she presses one hand to her injured ribs.

“Take it easy,” says David, hovering over her behind the couch. “Hades got you pretty good, kiddo.”

“I can’t take it easy,” she says, struggling to catch her breath. Killian stays where he is, kneeling in front of her, and she squeezes his hand. “We have to get out of here.”

“You can’t go anywhere like this,” Snow argues. “Hades just hit you with a boulder and you can barely keep your eyes open. We’re staying until you’ve had some rest.”

“We don’t have time for me to rest, Hades could show up here any second.” Emma manages to lever herself up into a sitting position, a stream of profanity leaking out between her gritted teeth, and her gaze lands on Regina. “Do you still have that potion?”

“I don’t think-” Regina begins, but Belle cuts her off.

“I have something better.” Pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket, she shakes it gently, squinting at the contents.

“What is this, exactly?” Emma asks, fingers closing around the bottle as Belle offers it to her.

“This and that, but mostly phoenix tears,” she says, clasping her hands in front of her. “Should fix you right up.”

“Where did you get phoenix tears?” Regina sounds almost impressed, and Belle laughs.

“After we got back from Camelot, I raided Rumple’s cabinet. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”

“Well, it’s raining now,” Emma mutters, tugging Killian up to sit beside her. She tips the bottle toward him with a wink. “Cheers.” Bringing the potion to her lips, she tosses it back in one swallow. Instantly, a halo of light settles over her, spreading across her skin in a blaze of gold, before fading to a faint shimmer.

“There you are, love,” he says softly, watching as the tension in her face eases with each breath. The tight knot in his chest loosens just a bit.

“The glow will disappear in a few minutes,” Belle says. “How do you feel?”

“Like the Lord of the Underworld didn’t just try to take me out with a boulder.” Emma rolls her shoulders, stretching her arms and shaking out her hands. “Thanks, Belle.”

“Did you have that the whole time?” Robin asks, sounding slightly irritated.

Belle gives him a stern look. “We had other potions and amulets to use for everything else, and I only had one bottle of that. It’s for times of dire need.” Tapping the face of her watch, she raises her eyebrows at him. “I would say this more than qualifies.”

“Enough arguing about the deus ex magica, guys. We have to go,” Emma says, getting to her feet. Turning, she offers her hand to Killian, who takes it as he stands up next to her. “Charon isn’t going to wait forever, and the sooner we get out of Hades’ control, the better.”

“There aren’t many Reapers out,” Robin offers. “I did a sweep of Main Street when we were on our way here, and I didn’t see any Lost wandering around, either.”

Snow moves off the couch, pulling aside the ragged curtains over one of the windows and peering out into the street. “The coast looks clear around the house, too. We should get moving.”

“Robin and I will take the lead,” says Regina, climbing out of the armchair and helping Robin up behind her. “This house is giving me the creeps. Let’s go.”

Emma rolls her eyes, meeting Killian’s gaze with a smirk, but follows Regina and Robin outside without comment, her hand still tucked into his. Belle takes up a position on Killian’s other side, dagger at the ready, and Snow and David bring up the rear. They begin to walk quietly down the street, weaving between the rusty corpses of old cars as they move.

“Heads up,” Robin calls back, flinging out an arm to stop them as they pass by the shattered clock tower in front of the library. “Looks like someone found their way back to town.”

Killian catches sight of the threat almost instantly, gaze settling on a man standing motionless in the middle of the street. He’s tall, dark hair hanging in lank curls around his face, dressed in filthy tunic embroidered with a coat of arms that Killian remembers from Camelot. Staring blankly into space, he looked like little more than a poorly-placed statue.

“One of the Lost?” he says quietly, and Emma nods.

“Looks like he’s alone, though.” Glancing down at the watch on her wrist, she bites her lip. “What do you think, Belle?”

“Fighting will only attract Reapers,” Belle points out. “If we move quickly, we can get past him and to the ferry before he can summon anyone else.”

“Good point. Regina?” Emma says, and the other woman nods.

All of them move at once, picking up the pace slightly as they pass by the man and continue down the street. The eerie silence bears down on them, and Killian has the distinct feeling of being watched, but nothing else moves.

“He’s not following us,” Emma says softly, glancing behind them to check. “That’s good.”

The remainder of their journey proves uneventful, the quiet of the town giving way to the cries and moans of the river as they arrive at the shore. Killian eyes the tiny ferry distrustfully, watching as it bobs placidly in a stream of screaming souls, and finds himself thinking- perhaps for the first time in his life- that he’d prefer to stay on dry land.

“Okay.” Emma frowns, shifting closer to Killian as she surveys their group. “Do all of you still have the tokens I gave you?” The group nods, each of them reaching into their pockets or around their necks to reveal tiny bronze discs. “Good. Give those to Charon when you board, and once the boat leaves, don’t-”

“Look back,” the others chorus.

“Exactly.” She glances up at Killian, toying with Liam’s ring with her free hand. “We’re taking a different way out.”

“Good luck, both of you.” Regina makes a stunted half-movement towards them, arms almost opening, but instead offers them both a regal nod. “I’d hate to have to come back here for round two.”

Robin claps Killian hard on the shoulder. “Best of luck, mate. We’ll see you back in Storybrooke.”

“Don’t forget the rules, Emma,” Belle says, embracing her gently. Turning to Killian, she smiles, pushing up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “And you. You still owe me three books for the library and a round of lessons with that spare pistol.”

“Aye,” he agrees. “Remind me never to play darts against you again.”

“As soon as you’re safely home, I will.” Belle gives both of them a small smile. “Be careful.”

She joins Regina and Robin as they ease down into the boat, nearly vanishing as a gust of wind sends a cloud of mist over the riverbank.

Emma releases his hand as her father gathers her up in his arms, murmuring something Killian can’t quite make out. He takes a small step away to give them a moment of privacy, nearly bumping into Snow as she appears at his side.

“Be safe,” Snow says, pulling Killian into a tight hug, and he flounders a bit before returning it. “Don’t make her- make us lose you again.”

“I don’t intend to,” he says solemnly.

“Good.” She steps back, eyes bright with tears as she surveys him. “We’ll be waiting for you with Henry at Granny’s once you arrive. Make sure you both make it back in one piece.” She’s gone before he can respond, reaching out to cup Emma’s face between her hands, and David shifts over to stand by him.

“Does this finally make us even for the alternate universe?” David asks, and Killian snorts. “You know, one death, one resurrection, seems pretty fair to me.”

“I’d say we’re more than even, mate,” Killian says. “Thank you.”

“I won’t tell you to be careful, because I know that if anything puts Emma at risk, all of your promises will go right out the window.” David grins, though the tension around his eyes doesn’t fade. “But Storybrooke wasn’t the same without you- not for Emma, and not for any of the rest of us, either. So do your best not to get too damaged on your way back, all right?”

“Aye,” Killian says, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

David nods once, extending a hand to Killian and yanking him in for a hug. This time, Killian’s ready for it (he thinks that he’s starting to get a handle on the Charming family method of attack-hugs), slapping the other man’s back forcefully.

“Time to go,” Emma says softly as they separate. Snow adjusts her grip on her bow, moving to David’s side, and they both look at Emma for a long moment. “We’ll see you both soon, okay?”

“We always find each other,” David agrees. “Granny’s. Don’t be late.”

They step into the ferry, passing off their bronze tokens, and settle in their seats. An loud chime wells up from somewhere under the river, the echo reverberating all the way down to Killian’s bones. Within moments, the boat glides smoothly away from the shore, a ribbon of light snaking across the surface of the water to guide their way.

“Okay,” Emma says, tearing her gaze away from the ferry to look up at him. “You know how I said earlier that things were going to get complicated?”

“Aye, right before you went to battle with the Lord of the Underworld,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Right.” Emma pauses for a moment. “Well, things are about to get even more complicated. Sort of. Getting you out of the Underworld requires a… a test.”

“Honestly, love, I’d be a bit suspicious if all it took to come back to life was waltzing out of the right doorway,” he says. The corners of her mouth tip up in a smile and she snorts, bumping him lightly with her hip. “What do you need me to do?”

“It’s not just you, it’s both of us. It’s a test of faith.” She points ahead of them. “See that path, right along the shore?” He follows the line of her hand, nodding as his gaze falls on the small footpath running parallel to the river. “That’s how we’re getting out of here.”

“I’m assuming this is not as easy as strolling along hand in hand,” he says dryly. In the oppressive near-shadow of the Underworld, with the ominous swirl of the Styx alongside it, the path is nearly invisible; he doubts he would have noticed it if Emma had not called his attention to it.

“Not quite.” She runs her free hand through her hair, tugging at the ends anxiously. “I have to go first, and you have to follow behind me- no looking back.”

“Just like when you found me.”

“Exactly. Hades didn’t create it, but since it’s part of his realm, it has to bend to his magic.” A muscle jumps in her cheek as she grits her teeth. “His way of keeping people here. It’s easy to get lost if you can’t look back at where you’ve been before.”

He squeezes her hand. “This test sounds simple enough.”

“In theory, yeah,” she agrees, “in practice, not so much.” Swaying forward, she wraps her fingers around his hook, her gaze intent on his. “This isn’t a very friendly place, especially if you’re attempting to leave. It’s going to try to trick us.”

“Aye, but that’s where they’ve underestimated us,” he says, bending to brush a kiss against her forehead, “because if there’s one thing I believe in- one thing I know I can trust- it’s you, Emma Swan.”

“How inspiring,” drawls a voice from a few feet away. They both look over to see Hades smirking at them, leaning against thin air with exaggerated nonchalance. “How sweet. It’s as easy as that, is it, Captain?”

Emma steps in front of Killian in one smooth movement. “We’ve already been through this, Hades. The price has been paid.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly.” He raises an eyebrow, checking his pocket watch before making it vanish in a puff of smoke. “And I allowed the rest of your motley crew to depart, didn’t I? But you have one of my souls, Miss Swan, and I can’t allow you to walk out with the merchandise.”

“The price has been paid,” she repeats, light beginning to pool in the palms of her hands.

“You tricked my wife into eating the seeds,” Hades agrees. “And for that, I granted you safe conduct.” He ignores Emma’s derisive snort, examining his fingernails. “It wasn’t a flat fee for everything you want.”

“I didn’t say that I only paid you,” Emma points out. Hades looks up sharply and she laughs, low and cold. “You aren’t the only one with power down here.”

“The Fates,” Hades hisses, and Emma laughs even harder. “What could you possibly have that they would want?”

“That’s for me to know.” She presses her wrists together, the light in her palms growing brighter, and takes a small step forward.

Hades licks the tip of his finger, holding it up in the air, and scowls. “Fine.” He redirects his gaze to Killian, baring his teeth in a grotesque smile. “I’ll particularly enjoy adding you back to my collection, loverboy.” With a loud crack and a burst of flames, he vanishes from sight.

“You traded something to the Fates?” Killian asks at once.

“Nothing I couldn’t afford to give them.” She whips back around, eyes slightly wild. “We need to go, before he comes back to make it more difficult.”

“What did you trade?”

Reaching for his hand, she doesn’t respond immediately, the faint buzz of power in the air sending chills across Killian’s skin. He wants to push- needs to know that she hasn’t done something to herself, to her life, to get this chance- but holds back, rubbing circles across her skin with his thumb.

“A memory,” she says at last. “They asked for one happy memory with you, in return for the chance to bring you home. I think they’re old romantics at heart.” Meeting his gaze almost cautiously, her lips quirk in a faint smile, and he’s torn between gods, what have you done and gods, I love this woman.

He quells the desire to ask which memory, instead pulling her in to press a brief kiss to the crown of her head. “With any luck, we’ll have more than enough of those to make up for it, love.”

“Exactly,” she says. “I’ll start first, like I said, and you’ll follow after me. The path itself should be pretty straightforward, but there will be all sorts of distractions trying to trick us into turning around.”

“I shall continue not looking back,” he promises. “You’ll be safe, on this path?”

“As safe as it’s possible to be as a mortal crossing the borders of the living and the dead,” she says cheerfully. “It’s slightly less dangerous than the place we’re standing right now, I think.”

He finds this less reassuring than she does. “Onwards and upwards, then, love.”

Emma nods, and he pulls her closer, crushing her to his chest as he bends to kiss her. Letting go of her hand, he tangles his fingers in her hair, relishing the low moan he draws from her throat. He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, wrapped tightly around each other, but at last they draw apart, foreheads pressed together.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” she says, her hands tight on the lapels of his jacket even as she takes a tiny step back. Reluctantly, she releases her grip, squaring her shoulders as she turns to the challenge at hand. Inhaling deeply, she steps onto the path.

And promptly vanishes.

Killian follows at once, walking onto the trail without hesitation. The next instant, everything around him shifts, the trees and sky and river blinking out of existence like little more than a dream. High stone walls rise around him, unmarked and endless, arching up into darkness. Silence presses in on him, and though he can see for what seems like miles ahead, there’s no sign of Emma anywhere.

“Run out of ideas, then?” he says under his breath, barely breaking stride. “Finished the tunnels and couldn’t come up with anything better?”

He’s barely gone fifty feet (he thinks- he’s better at measuring out space than most, but the vastness and the lack of any defining markers makes moving through this space feel like he’s walking in place) when he hears footsteps.

“Killian?” Emma’s voice echoes from behind him. “Killian, wait, I think something’s gone wrong, I shouldn’t be able to see you yet.” He pauses for a moment, and she calls again. “Come back to the entrance, we’ll figure something out.”

Don’t turn around. The memory of Emma’s face when she’d found him winds through his head, cutting through the cries. Whatever happens- whatever you hear- don’t stop, and don’t look back.

“Killian!”

He ignores her, plunging forward until silence buzzes in his ears again.

A figure appears on the path ahead, leaning casually against the rock wall. It turns as he approaches, brushing nonexistent dust from its coat, and his heart catches in his chest as Liam swims into view. He grins down at Killian, young and healthy as the day he died.

“Little brother!” he crows, and it hurts, to hear what he sounds like after all these years, when the memory of his voice faded so long ago. “Thought I might’ve missed you on your way out.”

“Liam,” Killian whispers, unable to tear his eyes from his brother’s face.

“I met your Lady Emma as she passed by.” Liam’s smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he chuckles. “Quite the firecracker you’ve got there.”

“You’re not real,” Killian says slowly. “This is all just another trick.”

“I’m as real as you are, brother.” Reaching into his pocket, Liam pulls out a small flask and flips it open. “Have a drink with me, won’t you? We’ll toast to your lady love.”

And that’s…wrong, it’s wrong, and now Killian can see where Liam’s edges are blurred, as if he’s fading slightly into the background. His hands look distorted, fingers blending with the flask, and his stance is too predatory. The smile is right, but the warmth behind his eyes is missing. Reaching out, he tries to grasp Liam by the shoulder, but his hand passes through little more than air.

“I’ll get you yet, Captain,” the thing that looks like Liam hisses, his face contorting as he fades from view.

Killian starts to run.

He ignores the gentle hum of his mother’s voice, the sea shanties of his childhood curling around him and calling him back; he pays no heed to the figure of his father, who runs alongside him for a time, begging for mercy. The path hurls Emma’s voice at him again and again, filling the sound with anguish, with pain, with anger, with loss, with longing, with every emotion that should bring him to his knees.

(And it hurts, but he thinks privately that none of it is worse than watching the Darkness take her, that night in Storybrooke- let the Underworld do what it will, but they’ve already survived far worse.)

The tunnel floor starts to rise bit by bit, and he knows he must be nearing the exit. He can see the high arch of the walls beginning to slope lower, the ceiling slowly coming into view, when he notices the woman sitting calmly in the middle of the path ahead. She climbs to her feet, shaking out her dark hair as she meets his gaze with a challenging smile.

Milah.

“Killian,” she says softly, and he stops several feet from her. She’s in her full pirate regalia, the leathers and jewels she’d loved so much, the custom pieces he’d stolen and bartered for and dug out of rotting treasure chests. “Finally.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t think he can pull the words out through the hard knot in his chest. She’s standing here, in front of him, looking like she’d never died, looking like the Crocodile had never tried to hurt her, looking at him the way she always did when she had a surprise waiting for him. Gods, but she’s more beautiful than he’d remembered.

(Time is a cruel mistress, especially to a man who has escaped her clutches for centuries.)

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Milah says. She steps forward slowly, like he’s a skittish animal. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time.”

“Milah,” he croaks.

“I’m here,” she breathes. “Stay a while. You’ve been running for such a long, long time.”

“Yes.” A faint buzzing fills his ears.

She’s looking up at him, one eyebrow raised, and her eyes are so, so blue. “We’ve both waited for so long.”

“Yes.” He vaguely realizes that he can’t remember how he got here, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it.

“I can help you rest, my love,” Milah whispers. Her hand comes up, hovering near his cheek, not quite touching him. “Trust me.”

You have to trust me.

He blinks, shaking his head as the voice breaks through the haze.

Emma.

“No.” It takes every bit of his self-control to step out of her reach, but he manages it. “This isn’t- you’re not really here.”

“You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?” she says placidly. As he watches, blood drips from the corner of her eye, leaving a dark streak across her pale cheek. “Not here. Not Lost.” Another drop slides from the edge of her mouth. “After all those years, you’re willing to leave me here.”

“No,” he says again, ignoring the way his stomach twists with every word she speaks.

“You let me die,” Milah continues, “and now you’re leaving me to rot.”

“You aren’t Milah.”

Milah laughs, but the sound is harsh and unforgiving, utterly absent of warmth. “Are you certain of that, Killian Jones? Are you quite certain that I will not be there, tortured in the tunnels, even as you try to forget me? What were your vows worth, to avenge me, to remember me, to love me, if you’re willing to risk leaving me with Hades?”

Something in her face flickers, shifting for the briefest moment, and Killian catches sight of Hades’ twisted scowl.

“No need to talk about yourself like that, Hades,” Killian says, forcing levity into his tone as he takes another step away. “I’d say you should work on your self-esteem a bit, mate.”

The illusion shatters all at once. Milah vanishes, flying apart in coils of smoke; Hades, draped in black, stands in her place.  “You’re not leaving, Captain,” he snarls, diving for Killian’s legs. Killian dodges, vaulting over him, and takes off down the tunnel. “Get back here!”

He ignores the shouts from behind him, keeping his gaze focused straight ahead even as a shrill scream pierces the air. A faint circle of light appears ahead of him and he puts on another burst of speed, diving through it, and he’s flying through the air, falling-

-onto grass.

Swearing under his breath, he sits up, rubbing his shoulder where it smacked into an unfortunately placed rock. He can hear the faint sound of the town clock chiming out the hour, ringing out over the gentle lapping of waves against the lakeshore. The sun is just beginning to rise, dusting the world in a golden haze, and a faint breeze stirs the treetops.

“Killian?”

He’s on his feet in an instant, turning to see Emma sprinting towards him. She hurls herself into his arms, nearly sending them both toppling as she drops kisses along the line of his cheek. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he presses the curve of his hook against her spine, tugging her closer as he attempts to press his lips to every bit of her that he can reach.

“You made it,” she gasps, burying her face in his neck. “You’re here, you did it-”

“Did you ever doubt I would?” He feels her smile against his skin, here and alive and safe, and can’t resist the urge to take a small step away, just far enough to cradle her face in his hand. For a long moment, they simply look, drinking each other in with an intensity that makes the rest of the world fade away. “You’re a bloody hero, Swan,” he says softly, bending to kiss her.

And it’s like the time she’d slammed his heart back into his chest- the same rush of feeling sweeping from his lips through the rest of his body, the overwhelming urge to fall into her and never climb out, to live out his days in a world of Emma Swan.

“Wow,” she breathes, looking slightly dazed, and he chuckles. “That was-”

“Not a one time thing,” he says firmly, leaning down to kiss the laugh that bubbles across her lips.

The sun is well and truly risen in a brilliantly blue sky when they finally manage to tear themselves apart and head into town, hands clasped. Grumpy catches sight of them before they hit Main Street and takes off, shouting the news of their arrival at the top of his voice, and they arrive at Granny’s to see most of the town peering through the windows at them. Henry comes flying through the door, wrapping both of them in an enormous hug.

“You’re both safe?” he asks, looking from one to the other. “No magical loopholes? No enemies you accidentally brought back to Storybrooke? No weird rules about only being allowed to visit during certain seasons?”

“Yes, no, no, and no,” Emma says, hugging him tightly. “We’re home for good, kid.”

Henry raises an eyebrow at Killian. “You’re not evil anymore? And you’re staying?”

“Aye, lad.” Killian smiles and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “If your mother will have me, you’ll never get rid of me.”

“Good,” says Henry. Grinning, he hugs both of them for another moment, then wriggles his way to freedom. “Come on, Grandma and Grandpa are waiting. I’m pretty sure Granny’s going to lock them up if Grandpa doesn’t stop trying to demonstrate his perfect pancake recipe.”

“Right behind you,” Emma says, reaching out to ruffle his hair fondly. Turning to Killian, she pulls him down for a quick kiss, her lips warm against his. “Ready?”

“For anything, if I’m by your side,” he says. “Lead on, Swan.”

They walk into the diner hand in hand.

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

so I’m going through my Google drive right now and I just found 2 spec fics from S5 that I thought I lost (the week 5B premiered, I moved to a new state, started a new job, broke 2 ribs, and spilled an entire bottle of water on my laptop)...would it be ridiculous for me to post them at this point?

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

Hello! Just dropping in to say that I've discovered a fic of yours a few moments ago, and it was absolutely brilliant! I love your prose and your characterization, everything is so vivid and alive and true to canon. Wow. Wow wow wow! I can't wait to read more of your work Xx

Thank you so much! Reading stuff like this is so so so encouraging. I have a few things I’m hoping to start posting soon, I hope you like them once they go up!

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

Just read your Normal Problems and it was so... normal!!! And domestic!! And fluffy!!!! And cute!!! Thank you so much! Well done!

Thank you so much, I really appreciate it! The sneak peek for tonight destroyed me- I’m all about domestic CS. Here’s hoping we get EVEN MORE in the actual episode!

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

normal problems

[read on ao3 / read on ff.net]

Emma can’t sleep.

She’s tucked up against Killian in their usual tangle of limbs, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. The house is quiet, without even the usual creaks and groans of the boards settling to distract her; outside, the faint breeze is barely enough to stir the branches of the trees she can see through the window. It should be peaceful- it is peaceful- but the ball of anxiety in her stomach only tightens, because what if-?

“Emma,” Killian says softly, his voice bringing her out of her reverie, “what is it?”

“I thought you were asleep.” Tipping her head up, she meets his gaze, unable to keep a smile from tugging at her lips as he smothers a yawn.

“If you were thinking any louder, the neighbors would be coming over to complain,” he says dryly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “What’s wrong?”

She sighs, toying with the neck of his shirt. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Out with it, Swan.”

“It’s…well.” Shifting slightly, she props her chin on his chest, letting her arm slide low around his waist. “It’s the wedding.”

Keep reading

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

normal problems

[read on ao3 / read on ff.net]

Emma can’t sleep.

She’s tucked up against Killian in their usual tangle of limbs, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. The house is quiet, without even the usual creaks and groans of the boards settling to distract her; outside, the faint breeze is barely enough to stir the branches of the trees she can see through the window. It should be peaceful- it is peaceful- but the ball of anxiety in her stomach only tightens, because what if-?

“Emma,” Killian says softly, his voice bringing her out of her reverie, “what is it?”

“I thought you were asleep.” Tipping her head up, she meets his gaze, unable to keep a smile from tugging at her lips as he smothers a yawn.

“If you were thinking any louder, the neighbors would be coming over to complain,” he says dryly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “What’s wrong?”

She sighs, toying with the neck of his shirt. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Out with it, Swan.”

“It’s…well.” Shifting slightly, she props her chin on his chest, letting her arm slide low around his waist. “It’s the wedding.”

“Do you have- what did Henry say?” He frowns. “Cold feet?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she murmurs, already moving to kiss him. His lips are warm against hers, and for a moment she forgets all about the wedding, losing herself in the feel of him, solid and strong and here. Pulling away reluctantly, she smiles down at him. “The only part of all this that I’m sure about is you.”

“This isn’t about the flowers, is it?” he asks. Even in the dim light of their bedroom, the only illumination coming from the moon streaming through the windows, his eyes look almost shockingly blue. “Because I love you, and I will always fight at your side, but I don’t know that it’s worth going another round with your mother over the-”

“It’s not the flowers.” She grimaces, shaking her head as she remembers that particular battle. “The flowers are fine. Mom was almost calm when got back to the loft, and Dad even apologized to Granny today. The caterers are booked, the fairies are handling security, and everything- everything is right on track.”

“Aye, and that’s all good.” He reaches over to tug the ends of her hair, coiling the strands gently around his fingers. “But something is bothering you.”

“It’s just…” she says, hesitating for a long moment. Glancing down, she fidgets with her ring, twisting the band back and forth.

He stops playing with her hair, his hand landing on hers. “Emma.”

“Don’t you think everything is going a little too well?” she blurts out, stumbling over her words. Killian tilts his head slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but she plunges on. “I mean, it hasn’t been completely smooth sailing, with my parents being…well, my parents, and Granny banning us from the diner, and the whole issue with the cake-” He snorts, and she can’t help pausing to grin. “But those aren’t the types of problems we usually have, those are normal problems. They’re the kinds of problems that we’d be having even if we weren’t living in a weird magical town full of storybook characters.”

“The fact that they’re normal problems doesn’t mean you can’t worry about them, love.”

“What if they don’t stay normal, though?” She bites her lip. “My family doesn’t have the best luck with big events. Remember when Neal was born, and we were trying to stop Zelena from kidnapping him? Remember that big naming ceremony my parents tried to have, before we went back in time?”

“I’m not likely to forget it,” he mutters. “Your first royal ball was rather memorable.”

“And look at my parents! Their wedding was interrupted by Regina. I just want this one day to be…” Emma pauses again, feeling her cheeks heat up as she looks away from Killian’s gaze.

His fingers slide under her chin, tilting her face upward until he can meet her eyes. “To be what, love?”

“Perfect.” She sighs, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, that sounds so cheesy when I say it out loud.”

“Far from it.” He runs his hook gently down her spine, the metal cool against her skin. “I doubt anyone would fault you for wanting the day to go well.”

“I feel like we’re being lulled into a false sense of security,” she mumbles. “Like everything is going to be normal until someone bursts into song, or a bunch of flying monkeys pop out from under the chairs.”

“You were quite fond of flying monkeys at one time,” he teases, and she lowers her hands, narrowing her eyes at him. “But,” he continues, reaching up to cup her cheek in his palm, “I understand your fears, love. Perhaps you’re right, and we’ll end up fighting all manner of monsters before the day is over. But think about the one similarity between those events you mentioned.”

“They were all interrupted by an evil scheme?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“No. Well, yes, but they continued on each time, in spite of the interruptions,” he says. “Your parents were married, your brother was rescued, and after our little adventure, you still arrived in time to hear the naming ceremony.” He sweeps his thumb gently across her skin. “Believe me, it would take far more than a few flying monkeys or evil fairies to keep me from marrying you.”

She smiles. “Yeah?”

“Emma Swan, there is nothing in this realm or any other that can stop me, if you want me.”

“I love you.” Emma leans down to kiss him, feeling the knot of nerves in her stomach slowly begin to unspool.

“And besides all that,” he says, when they finally part, “Your mother has planned this down to the second. If anything should interrupt, I feel certain that her wrath would be formidable.”

“That reminds me.” She rolls off of him, cuddling back against his side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “My parents want us to meet them at Granny’s in the morning. Something about the music, I think?”

He groans. “We could still elope, you know. The Jolly Roger waits in the harbor, and I feel that Henry would be quite sympathetic to our plight.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

home is wherever I’m with you

[read on ao3]

She isn’t one to back down from a fight, but Emma knows the feeling of the tide turning against her well enough to recognize the choice to drown or get out of the undertow.

Facing down the Black Fairy after getting hit so hard by a giant spider that she’s still seeing double – when her only ally here is someone who tried to murder her and banished her True Love to another realm- seems like something of a poor decision. And continuing on when said ally collapses into little more than a pile of robes beside her, while the Black Fairy monologues unceasingly about her overcomplicated plan to take over Storybrooke, is something Emma Swan simply does not have time for at the moment. A strategic retreat is definitely in order.

Keep reading

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

home is wherever I’m with you

[read on ao3]

She isn’t one to back down from a fight, but Emma knows the feeling of the tide turning against her well enough to recognize the choice to drown or get out of the undertow.

Facing down the Black Fairy after getting hit so hard by a giant spider that she’s still seeing double – when her only ally here is someone who tried to murder her and banished her True Love to another realm- seems like something of a poor decision. And continuing on when said ally collapses into little more than a pile of robes beside her, while the Black Fairy monologues unceasingly about her overcomplicated plan to take over Storybrooke, is something Emma Swan simply does not have time for at the moment. A strategic retreat is definitely in order.

She pulls a tiny bottle out of her pocket, eyeing the glittery contents dubiously. Belle had pressed it into her hand almost as soon as she’d arrived at the Sorcerer’s mansion, disguising the movement with an awkward hug.

“If you can’t get back, use this,” she’d breathed, closing Emma’s fingers around the bottle. “Throw the powder and think of home.”

She’d stepped back almost immediately, her attention going to her son before Emma could so much as ask what the hell is in the bottle. It goes against her better judgement to use something she doesn’t understand at all, but Killian trusted- trusts- Belle, and in all honesty, she doesn’t have another plan right now.

Yanking out the stopper, she leans down to grab Gideon’s arm, tossing the powder over the pair of them. “I don’t think either of us is up for clicking our heels,” she mutters, “but I hear there’s no place like home.”

Home. I want to go home.

Her thoughts spiral out, conjuring up images of meals at Granny’s, her father shuffling papers around at the station, her mother helping her dress for a date, Henry grinning over the edge of his storybook, drives around town in her bug, nights at the house with Killian…

Killian.

His face sticks in her mind’s eye, and she feels the moment the magic takes hold.

I’ve never known you to fail.

Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.

I’m a fan of every part of you.

Emma Swan, will you marry me?

I would never leave you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

The air shifts around her. The world rearranges. The fabric of the universe flutters ever so slightly.

Emma opens her eyes for the briefest moment before her legs buckle underneath her, taking in a sky spattered with stars, and mutters a curse under her breath as she slips out of consciousness.

She’s seen those stars before.

“Wake up.” Something thumps against her leg, and Emma groans. “What, can the Savior not handle a little realm-jumping?”

“You’re welcome,” Emma mumbles, sitting up as she opens her eyes. Looking around, she takes in the constellations in the sky above them, the jagged line of jungle trees along the beach, and the all-too-familiar rock formation a little ways down the coast. She groans again.

Gideon stomps a few feet away, crossing his arms and glaring over at her. “What am I supposed to be thanking you for?” he sneers. “I seem to recall a deal to kill the Black Fairy, not to go on a tour of the realms.” 

“Yeah, well, your grand plan didn’t work out so well.” She gets to her feet, brushing sand off of her clothes. “Granny Dearest knocked you right out, and I thought you wouldn’t want to wake up wherever she kept you. So again, you’re welcome.”

Gideon huffs, clearly irritated. “And how exactly did you get us here, wherever here is?”

“This.” Emma pulls the tiny bottle out of her pocket again, waving it at him. “Gift from your mother. Some kind of…magical travel powder.”

“And she gave it to you?”

“Wonder why she wouldn’t trust you with something like this,” Emma says sarcastically. Gideon doesn’t respond, and Emma takes his silence as a personal victory. “But I don’t think she really understood it, because it didn’t do what it was supposed to.”

He summons the bottle out of her hand, ignoring her halfhearted protest, and eyes the shimmering film still clinging to the inside of the glass. “This should have taken us wherever your heart desired.”

She frowns. “Then how did we end up in Neverland?”

For a long moment, the only sound is the quiet breaking of the waves behind them, and the rustle of the breeze through the jungle.

“Neverland?” he hisses finally, pocketing the bottle and stalking over to her. “You brought us to Neverland?”

“Look, pal, it’s not like I want to be here, either,” she snaps, standing her ground as he advances. “My last visit wasn’t exactly a vacation.” 

“Then why are we here?” he asks, spitting out his words through gritted teeth.

“Belle said to think of home, I thought of home. I don’t know why-” she begins, and he cuts her off.

“What did you think of?”

She rolls her eyes. “Storybrooke. You know, my family, the people that-”

“Hook?” he sneers, and she restrains herself from decking him with extreme difficulty. “You weak, pathetic-”

He stops abruptly, his face losing color, and Emma stares as his hand fades from view.

“What the hell,” she breathes.

“It’s- her,” he manages. “We’re not out of reach of her magic, she can-”

He vanishes.

“Okay. Okay.” Emma looks at the place where Gideon had faded from sight, knotting her fingers in her hair as she contemplates the now-empty beach. “Shit.”

Eyeing the tree line warily, she mentally reviews what she can remember about the layout of the island, which- after several years and several realms- is much less detailed than she’d like. A loud whoop echoes through the jungle somewhere to her left, and she shakes herself. She needs a weapon, and a place to think, and hopefully for everyone here to leave her alone. Taking a deep breath, she plunges into the trees.

She gets lucky with the weapon.

As soon as she enters the jungle, she picks up a heavy stick, not wanting to risk getting caught without a way to defend herself before she finds something sharp. Making her way down a narrow path, she catches sight of a blade stuck deep in a tree, shimmering slightly in the dim light. With her magic, it’s the work of a moment to free it; she tries not to think about the fact that the other marks on the tree appear to be fairly new.

It’s a stroke of luck, and she’ll take it.

Less lucky is the fact that she’s barely been walking for another ten minutes after that when she stumbles upon someone else.

He doesn’t notice her quiet approach, bent over something on the ground, and she’d try to sneak away to take another path but she recognizes this place. It was one of their many camps, and this time the familiarity is comforting- if she can find her way back to the cave where Neal had hidden out as a child, she might be able to come up with a plan without needing to watch her back every second. She has to go this way. 

Edging closer to the man, she eases her way over until she’s only a few feet behind him.

“Don’t move,” Emma says quietly, her sword coming to rest under the edge of the man’s jaw. He straightens up, dropping the coconut in his hands, but otherwise remains obediently still. “Good,” she says. “Now turn around, slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

He turns, hands raised in surrender. “What’s a lass like you doing in a realm like this?”

“Funny,” she says, voice icy as she tilts the blade closer to his throat. “Who are you?”

“Captain Blackbeard, at your service,” he grits out, offering a half-bow in her direction.

“Of course you are.” She takes in the red coat, the long hair, and the hat, and finds herself choking down a joke about waxed perms that probably wouldn’t land with this particular audience. “And how long have you been here?”

“In this spot? Probably an hour,” he says, smirking, and she rolls her eyes.

“In this realm. You look a bit old for Neverland.”

“Now, that’s just poor manners,” he says, with an exaggerated pout. Emma presses the sword a bit closer. “No need for that, no need for that! We’ve been here for about three days.” 

“We?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Who else is here?”

He tuts. “Not going to introduce yourself, then? Not that I need to ask who you are,” he grunts, giving her a lascivious once-over that earns him a nick on the jaw.

“Oh?” She makes the word sound dangerous, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “And why is that?”

The pirate spits to one side. “A woman in Neverland, swinging a sword around and wearing a shell around her neck?” He nods to it and Emma brings her free hand to the shell, fingers brushing Killian’s ring where it hangs on another chain beside it. “You must be that bloody Swan woman Hook was going on about.”

Time seems to slow, and there’s a roaring in her ears as she stares at him. “What?”

“Emma, isn’t it?” he says mockingly, grinning over at her, and she redoubles her grip on her sword as she takes a step closer. “Always whispering into that shell, like I couldn’t hear him. Embarrassing, that is. Not becoming of a pirate at all.”

“Is he here?” she snarls, keeping one hand wrapped tightly around the shell. “Did you bring him here?”

“Did I bring him?” Blackbeard snorts. “He brought me here, Miss Swan. Traded me the location of the Jolly Roger for a magic bean. Swore up and down that it would be waiting for us on the other side, and we washed up here.”

“Where is he?” she hisses.

The pirate shrugs theatrically, keeping his hands in the air. “We, ah, parted ways after a run-in with the Lost Boys. Nasty bunch. Haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

Emma watches him carefully, but nothing he says pings her inner lie-detector, which means-

Which means-

Dread twists in her stomach, and she brings the shell to her lips. He hasn’t tried to get a message to her since yesterday. If the Lost Boys had attacked him, there was no telling where he might go- he must have hiding places she’s never seen, places they hadn’t visited the last time they were here.

Or he could be-

“Killian?” she says into the shell, keeping her sword at the ready. There’s no response, and she lets the shell drop, glaring over at Blackbeard. “You will take this path down to the beach. Don’t follow me, don’t bother me, and consider yourself lucky. If he’s hurt, I’m going after the Lost Boys, but then- I’ll come after you.”

He grins lazily. “I can see why he likes you. Always preferred the ladies with spirit, myself.”

“Go,” she snaps, and he does, vanishing into the trees. 

“Emma?”

She jumps, her heart nearly missing a beat at the tinny sound of Killian’s voice coming from the shell. “Killian?”

“Emma,” he says, sounding exhausted, “I don’t know if you can hear me, love, but perhaps it’s for the best. I’ve done something rather stupid.”

“Killian,” she tries again, her lips almost pressed against the shell. “Killian, I’m here, I’m here in Neverland.”

“I’ve managed to end up in Neverland again,” he continues. “It’s not all bad, though. There are a few good memories from last time around. Well. One good memory.” He pauses, and for a moment she’s afraid he’ll stop speaking again. “I’m going to get back to you, Emma, I swear it. I love you.” 

“I love you,” she whispers. The shell is silent.

Letting the shell drop back against her shirt, she rubs her face with her free hand. One good memory. A half-smile curves across her lips, and she slides her sword into the makeshift pack she’s fashioned out of her heavy winter coat. One good memory.

She knows exactly where to go.

He’s not here.

He’s not here, and Emma knows it’s silly to be upset, that he’s probably set up camp somewhere safer, somewhere with better access to water, somewhere that’s easier to defend against the remnants of the Lost Boys. That’s sensible, after all; it’s what she should be doing, instead of standing around feeling bereft.

She brushes her fingers across her lips, remembering the searing heat of Killian’s mouth on hers, the way the lapels of his jacket felt against her hands as she’d pulled him closer, the dazed look on his face when they’d parted.

God, she misses him.

She’d been so sure, after hearing his voice through the shell. She’d managed to find her way back here, and it had been easy, almost like muscle memory bringing her to this spot. Almost like going home.

But he’s not here. He’s not here, and she needs to find somewhere to go rest. Once she sleeps off the rest of her realm-jumping headache, she can start again, try to get the shell working on her end so that they can communicate, and then-

“Emma?”

The voice behind her is quiet, but it drowns out every other sound in the jungle, reverberating in her ears as she halts in her tracks. She turns around slowly, her heart in her throat, and he’s standing there, just across the clearing, looking tired and dirty and absolutely, completely real.

“Killian,” she breathes, and she’s moving before she finishes saying his name, closing the distance between them in a few swift strides. His arms are around her and her face is buried in his neck and he’s here, he’s here, filling every one of her senses, and she’s kissing every bit of him she can reach.

“I’m so sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean to leave you, I tried to get a message to you-” He pulls her closer, pressing kisses into her hair, the thud of his heartbeat loud in her ears.

“I heard you,” she says, shifting back just enough to show him the shell hanging around her neck. “I couldn’t get through to you, Gideon did something to it to keep it from working, but he couldn’t stop me from hearing you.” She runs her hands along his shoulders and down his arms, looking at him closely. “The Lost Boys, did they hurt you? I was so-”

“A few bruises, but they were nothing I couldn’t handle. How do you know about that?”

She can’t help a small smirk, even as she leans closer to him, breathing him in. “Ran into Blackbeard. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“How did you get here?” he asks, voice slightly muffled as his lips press against her neck, against the line of her jaw, against her cheek, like he can’t fathom breathing air that hasn’t touched her skin. “Ariel said the walls around your realm were closed, that she couldn’t get through and you couldn’t get out-”

“Gideon trapped us, but we went to the Sorcerer’s mansion, and Rumpelstiltskin found a portal to the Black Fairy’s realm- she’s his mother- and-”

“What?” His head snaps up, eyes wide.

“I couldn’t beat her, she was too strong, but Belle gave me some kind of fairy dust, she told me it would bring me home when all else failed, so I,” she hesitates for a moment, shrugging. “I…well. I used it.”

“And it brought you here?” He raises an eyebrow at her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“It brought me to you,” she says, leaning into his touch as he sweeps his thumb across her skin. “Don’t you know, Killian?” Her smile widens, and she rolls up on her toes, pressing her forehead to his. “You are my home.”

Something shifts in his eyes, and before she can say anything else he’s bringing his mouth to hers, lifting her up off the ground with the arm still wrapped tight around her waist, his hook cool against her spine as it sneaks beneath the hem of her shirt. His lips are warm, insistent, sending heat racing through her body, and she tangles her hands in his hair, sinking into him, the rest of the world be damned.

When they finally resurface, he chuckles a little. “Something about this place, eh, Swan?”

“Shut up,” she says with a grin, swatting his arm playfully. They stand in silence for a moment, catching their breath, arms tight around each other.

“I want to show you something,” he says at last, reluctantly taking a step away from her. She wraps her hand around his, entwining their fingers, and he leads the way through the clearing. “When I came back here, I realized it looked a bit different, but I couldn’t see why. Until I found this.” They move onto a small path leading out of the clearing, and Emma comes to an abrupt halt.

“Is that what I think it is?” She tilts her head back, staring up through the tree canopy.

“Aye, love. It’s a beanstalk. And what’s more,” he says, grinning down at her, “it’s growing out of the place where you kissed me.”

Emma stares at him, eyes wide as an incredulous giggle bursts out of her. “Are you telling me that instead of a sapling…we made True Love’s beanstalk?”

“So it would appear,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Never do anything small, do we?”

“Literally,” she says dryly. “True Love’s beanstalk. Huh.” Shaking her head, she squeezes his hand. “Seems appropriate, really.”

“Indeed.” He steps forward, tapping the thick base of the beanstalk with his hook. “And since this one does not appear to have the restrictions of the last beanstalk we faced- what do you say?”

Emma smirks over at him, letting go of his hand and swinging herself up onto the enormous vine. “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

He pulls himself up beside her. “I would despair if you did.”

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

okay it’s 3AM so I’m going to sleep, but tomorrow I’m posting my Neverland reunion fic, complete with ‘you are my home’ revelations and LOTS OF FACE KISSES. 

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

beyond the sea (1/?)

[read on ao3]

Her plan works like a dream.

It's true, Emma's stacked the deck in her favor- she's fairly certain that between her magic, Belle's research, Melody's combat training, and Elsa's powers, there isn't a crew in any realm that could handle them- but all's fair in love and war, after all, and she desperately needs this ship. She's heard about the Jolly Roger in every tavern between Misthaven and Agrabah, about her speed, about the magic soaked into her boards, about the sails that can bring her into the sky. Emma doubts that last bit, in spite of how often she's heard it, but it hardly matters. More than flight, she needs speed, and the weapons allegedly hidden aboard the ship. 

It's her best chance.

Which is why she's standing in the captain's quarters, soaked to the skin from their battle in the rain, while Belle makes her report about the men they've lashed to the mast.

“They could be useful,” Belle points out. “They're used to this ship, and we could use the manpower.”

Emma hums noncommittally, studying the papers spread out across the desk under the window. “If they can be trusted, perhaps.”

“Plenty of weapons,” Elsa calls down the ladder, climbing into the gloom. “We've found their stash and taken their personals. There's more than enough for all of us, even once we meet up with everyone else.”

“And gold?” Emma asks, raising an eyebrow.

Elsa grins. “You'd better believe it.”

“Good,” Emma says, smiling back at her friend. “We're going to need that. Belle, can you go make a record of the treasure they've got on board? The usual- gold, jewels, anything we can use as a bribe, but keep an eye out for the cuffs, as well.” Belle nods, tucking her notebook into an interior pocket of her tunic as she disappears up the ladder. “Elsa, what's the crew saying?”

“The same thing they always do,” Elsa smirks, twisting rainwater out of her braid. “Can't believe they were taken down by a bunch of ladies, won't give their allegiance to anyone but their sworn captain, promising us the world if we'll just free them.”

Emma snorts, rolling her eyes, and drops into the chair behind the desk. “And the Captain?”

“Won't stop trying to flirt with everyone. Oh, and he has a hook for a hand, just like they say. Want me to bring him down?”

“Might as well,” she says, and Elsa disappears back up to the deck. Emma can hear Belle shouting something at the crew, her voice nearly overwhelmed by a loud crash of thunder, and smiles to herself. Fearsome as the pirates may think themselves- and she knows they have a long and bloody history to back up their reputation- she highly doubts any of them will dare to pull anything while guarded by an extremely irritated, armed, and soaked Belle. She’d been a maid for the Dark One before he vanished, and while she preferred reading to fighting, she had a vicious streak that made her one of the fiercest members of Emma’s crew.

Emma gets up out of the chair, eyes falling again on the papers across the desk. The captain's quarters are far more organized than she'd expected them to be, clean in a way she associates with the military officers she'd encountered in the time before . Every floorboard and windowpane has been scrubbed to a shine, the solitary bunk has been carefully made, and she can't find a single mote of dust anywhere. The only exception to this orderly little world is the desk, covered with maps of strange realms, journals with ragged corners, and stacks of ink-blotted papers.

Opening a drawer at random, she pulls out a tattered book of star charts, a sketch of the ship, and a strip of bright red ribbon. She tugs at the ribbon, which reveals itself to be tied around a neat stack of letters, some beginning to yellow with age. From a sweetheart, no doubt; as odd as she finds the concept of a fearsome pirate captain sitting down to re-read letters from his lover back home, she has to admit that she hasn't met enough pirates to know if it's actually strange. Smiling to herself, she pulls out a letter at random and unfolds it.

The ship shifts under her feet.

“Hey, Swan?” At the sound of Elsa's voice from the top of the ladder, Emma drops the letter. She knows the captain must be standing there- Elsa insists on using their real names unless it's dangerous to do so- but wishes she didn't have to respond, that she could spend just a bit longer poking around before she has to deal with this man.

“Bring him down,” she calls back, turning to stare out of the window as Elsa climbs down. She hears the heavy thud of boots against the wood, followed by two pairs of lighter footsteps.

“On your knees for the Captain,” Elsa snaps.

“With pleasure,” the man says. “Perhaps for you as well, my lady?”

Something about his voice makes the hair on Emma's neck stand on end. He sounds like-

No.

“Down, boy,” Melody says, a hint of amusement in her voice as she snaps a pair of shackles back around his wrists. “Swan, he's set. Do you want us to stay?”

Emma turns around, raising an eyebrow at the scene in front of her. A man kneels on the floor in the middle of the room, arms shackled behind him and his head down. She can't make out any details of his face, the angle of his head allowing his fringe of dark hair to hide his features from view. Melody and Elsa stand on either side of the prisoner, Melody smirking slightly while Elsa frowns in irritation, a small flurry of snowflakes circling the cabin.

“No, that won't be necessary,” she says at last. “I'll take it from here.”

“Typical,” Melody snorts, dropping the key to the shackles into Emma's outstretched hand. She winks at her friend as she swings back onto the ladder. “Call if you need us, yeah?”

“Of course.” Emma nods reassuringly to Elsa, who hesitates with one foot on the lowest rung before climbing out of sight.

Emma tucks the key into her pocket and waits for a few long moments, letting silence settle over the cabin once again. Walking around to the front of the desk, she leans back against it, crossing her arms as she studies the man in front of her. He doesn't move, but she hears him chuckle under his breath, the faint sound ringing like thunder in the quiet room.

A hot rush of anger fills her stomach. How dare this man- this man, who could have destroyed her chances, who fought her women tooth and nail, who could be waiting for his death sentence- how dare he laugh at her?

“Your crew has been ousted, and your services as Captain are no longer needed,” she says, forcing herself to keep her voice cool and detached. “I will be taking the ship for myself, as well as any treasure I deem useful. If your men will pledge an oath to me, they may stay on with my crew. If not, they will be left at the next port. Any insubordination will result in a swift execution.”

“A pretty plan,” the man says. “Might I ask what fate awaits me, my lady? Am I to join the ranks of your traveling circus, as well?”

“No,” she snaps, voice low. “You are the vilest of men, and cannot be trusted. You will remain in the brig until I have decided what I would like to do with you.”

“The vilest of men,” he repeats. He lingers over the words, considering them. “What have I done to deserve such a title, while my bloodthirsty crew receives a reprieve?”

“I had planned to set you free,” she admits. “You may be a pirate, but your reputation also paints you as a man of honor. I had no wish to kill you, if I found that to be true.”

“But you haven't,” the pirate says, keeping his gaze on the floor. “And what is it that I've done to receive this judgement?”

“You killed the man I loved.”

Silence stretches over them, the atmosphere suddenly electric.

“Occupational hazard, that,” he says at last. “How are you so certain that I killed him? I've killed many men, I'll grant you, but-”

“You have his letters,” she snaps. “The letters I sent to him, the letters he kept close to his heart. I heard that he was killed by a pirate, but not which one. What good fortune to have stumbled upon you.”

“I think you’re confused, Lady Bloodthirsty. The only letters I possess are my own.”

“Not these,” she hisses, reaching behind her for the letter she'd dropped on the desk. She slides it across the floor to him with her boot. “Here. One of the letters from your drawer. Quite a prize, aren't they, love letters from a princess? No doubt you thought you could use them for blackmail.” She laughs, the joyless sound catching in her chest. “I'm sorry to tell you that you won't get very far with those. Misthaven was captured by the Evil Queen quite a while ago, and-”

“I’m well aware of the worth of the letters,” the pirate says dully, his theatrical flair fading for a moment. “But I must say, if those are from the man you loved, you’re better off without him. He was quite gone on- on her .”

“How dare you.” The words edge through her teeth, low and sharp. “He was a far better man than you could ever hope to be, and he loved me far more than I deserved. He tried to save me- he-” Emma cuts herself off, bringing a hand to her cheek and furiously wiping away a tear. Stepping away from the desk, she goes back around to the window, wrapping her arms around herself and staring out at the sea.

“It's not possible,” he breathes. “I don’t- you’re not-”

She's not entirely sure what she'd expected him to say- perhaps some sort of plea for his life, or a stubborn, pirate-y comment that would make her want to run him through and have done with it- but it definitely wasn't this hesitant stutter of anger and hope.

“Excuse me?” Emma snaps, not turning around. “What was that?”

“You can’t be who I think you are,” he says slowly, each syllable crackling with rage. “She’s dead.”

“I’m a ghost, myself. We’re more common than you might think.” Shaking her head, she watches his reflection in the window, distorted by the glass but clear enough to satisfy her desire to never leave her back open to an enemy. “But if you’re thinking of the Princess- you’re right, I’m not her. She's gone.”

“Gone,” he echoes, shifting slightly on his knees. Emma lets her hand drift to the sword at her waist but otherwise remains still. “That’s an interesting word to choose.”

“Is it? It seems fairly definitive to me,” she says airily.

“Well, no. ‘Dead’ only means one thing, but ‘gone’- that can be taken any number of ways.”

“And who cares about that?” she asks, turning to peruse the letters still stacked on the desk. “The girl in these letters- she doesn’t exist, not anymore.”

“ I care,” he says, voice low. “Love, I-”

“You’ll address me as Captain Swan, not love ,” Emma snaps, ignoring the way the rumble of his voice sends goosebumps across her skin. She knows better, she does, there's absolutely no way -

“Emma.” It’s quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

Slowly, she looks up, letting her hand fall from her sword as her gaze lands on the pirate. He looks back up at her, shaking his hair out of his eyes, and he smiles.

“Killian?”

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

today was a fairytale

Reposting to the fic blog. This was written for @cssecretsanta, so it was originally posted to my main blog. Oodles of Lieutenant Duckling wedding fluff ahead- hope you enjoy!

[read on ao3] [read on ff.net]

“Oi, let's see it, then,” calls the barkeep, pounding on the bar until the tavern quiets down.

Emma winks at her opponent before turning back to the target, letting the dart fly with an easy flick of her wrist. It soars through the air, landing neatly at the very center of the board, and the tavern erupts around her. Someone shoves a tankard of beer into her hand, nearly spilling it with their enthusiasm. A hand-no, several hands thump her on the back, and she can just hear the clatter of glasses smashing together over the roar of excited voices. Working her way back over to the corner booth, where she can see Elsa is doubled over with laughter, she walks straight into a man's shoulder.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, letting them reach out to steady her, “didn't see you there.”

“And I didn't expect to see you here, Your Highness.” The familiar voice, soft as it is, cuts easily through the mayhem around her, and Emma mentally swears a blue streak as she looks up.

“Captain Jones,” she says, immediately baring her teeth in her most dazzling, princess-y smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Indeed, Your Highness.” He inclines his head in a slight bow, biting back a smile of his own, but she can see the dimples flashing in his cheeks. “It's not often that one gets to see their future Queen in the local tavern, much less winning at darts.”

“It's hardly the first time you've seen it,” she points out, bumping her tankard against his chest.

“That's true.” Drawing her over to the side of the room, he puts himself between Emma and the crowd (now singing a bawdy song about her parents, much to her embarrassment). “Might I assume that Queen Elsa is here, as well?”

“You can assume whatever you wish.” Raising an eyebrow imperiously, she crosses her arms, trying not to blush as the crowd begins the second verse of the song. “Now, Captain Jones, if you don't mind, I'll return to my seat.”

“Certainly.”

“And I'll thank you not to mention this to your brother.”

Silence.

He isn't smirking at her- Emma has never seen Liam Jones smirk, not once- but she can feel it in the way he's looking at her, even if his face isn't betraying him.

Suspicion rises immediately, and she frowns, narrowing her eyes. “Captain Jones.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“He sent you, didn't he?” she says, heaving a sigh.

“On the contrary,” Liam beams down at her. “He came after you himself. I'm merely here for the darts.”

“What?”

“I'm rather good-”

“Not the darts-” She peers around him, squinting through the dim light of the tavern and the excitable crowd. “He's here?”

“Fortunately, I persuaded him to wait outside. Bad luck, and all that,” Liam says cheerfully. “But he insisted that we come.”

“Why? It's perfectly safe, nobody recognizes me without the tiara. Although,” she mutters, lowering her voice as someone glances in their direction, “with you here Your Highness-ing me left and right, that might not be the case for much longer.”

“He was worried about you.” He takes the tankard out of her hand, reaching over her head to set it on top of a nearby shelf. “Quite honestly, he's right. With everyone arriving-”

Emma's eyes flash. “I can handle myself.”

“As the many bruises I've received from you over the years will attest. You're a marvel with a sword, Your Highness,” Liam agrees. “That doesn't mean that it's safe for you to come gallivanting down to the tavern with nothing but gambling money and another queen, especially when both of you would certainly fetch an enormous ransom.”

He's right, she knows it, and she grimaces. She knows better, truly she does- with Regina still on the periphery of their lives, lost to the madness of a failed curse but still filled with power; with half the other kingdoms still in an uproar over Emma's choices; with the future of Misthaven resting on how she handles the next few weeks- gods, she's missed her freedom over the past year. But she'd promised everyone that she wouldn't go out without back-up, and she's kept her word, until tonight.

The problem, of course, is that she couldn't bring her usual back-up with her tonight.

“He's outside?” she asks, meeting his gaze again.

“Yes, Your Highness. Around the back. I'd be happy to-”

“Captain Jones, why don't you go check on Queen Elsa?” she interrupts, smiling as he flushes at the mention of Elsa's name. “I'll go speak with him.”

“As you wish.” He offers a short bow before disappearing into the crowd, heading for Emma's friend. She waves at Elsa, pointing to Liam (and grinning when the woman immediately begins fussing with her hair) before fighting her way to the tavern door.

The midsummer air, warm though it is, feels cool against her flushed cheeks. With the door closed, she can barely hear the chaos from the tavern; it's so quiet, she can almost hear the faint crash of the waves nearby. Emma sweeps her hair out of her face, turning the corner to the back of the tavern in a few quick strides. Under the silvery light of the full moon, she can just see the back of Killian's head as he stares out over the harbor.

“Afraid I'd change my mind?” she calls. “Were you thinking I might take to the sea?”

“I do know your type, love, and it's dashing sailors,” he says, not turning around.

“Mmm,” she agrees, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Scoundrels, too. Particularly ones who help princesses sneak out of their towers to go on adventures.”

“Can't imagine what you'd want with a man like that.”

“Nor can I,” she says. “That's why I was running off with Captain Liam Jones, the most respectable man in the entire kingdom. You've foiled our elopement, Killian.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” He keeps his eyes averted from her face, but she can see a smile tugging at the corner his lips.

“Oh, well.” She heaves a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I must go through with the wedding after all.”

“You don't have to, you know.” Killian's voice loses its teasing tone, utterly serious. “There's still time, if you want to recon-”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Emma says, rolling up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “We've been over this. I don't care how much King Midas rants and rails about alliances and power matches. I love you, Killian.” She feels him relax at her words, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Although, with the way you keep questioning me about it, perhaps it's you who doesn't want to marry me.”

“Now who's being ridiculous?” he fires back. “The only thing that will keep me from marrying you is if you decide against it. Otherwise, I would've sailed away and become a pirate the day that I asked your parents for their blessing.”

“You're so dramatic. My parents adore you.” She rests her head against his shoulder.

Killian shudders, gaze still resolutely focused on the sea. “A lesser man than I might find that statement somewhat suspect, owing to the fact that your lady mother insisted on shooting an apple off the top of my head as part of a ceremony that I'm fairly certain she invented, and your father has not stopped glaring at me since the first time I asked you to dance.” Closing his eyes, he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, giving her hand a slight squeeze. “Knowing you as I do, however, I know that your family chooses to express affection in rather, er, bloodthirsty ways.”

“Oh, bloodthirsty,” she says, giving a little shiver of delight. “I like that one. Are you sure that you don't want reconsider piracy? I think I'd quite enjoy it.”

“You'd make a hell of a pirate, love,” he agrees.

They stand in silence for a long moment, watching the moonlight dance across the waves. The tavern door swings open around the corner, voices drifting out into the night, and Emma rolls her eyes as she hears a verse of a song about her (which, to be fair, isn't terrible- and is far kinder to her than the songs about her mother- but it's still embarrassing to hear).

“I'm sorry if I worried you,” she says finally. “I know you hate it when I come down here without an escort. I just miss-”

“Your freedom?” he interrupts. “Aye, I know, love. I wish it didn't have to be this way. It's my fault.”

“It's Regina's fault, Killian. Or King Midas' fault, or even mine. I could have been a bit more diplomatic when I rejected his son, after all.” Emma sighs, tucking her free hand under Killian's elbow.

“That bastard had it coming,” Killian growls. “Trying to put his filthy hands on you-”

“But he didn't,” Emma says quietly. “And I'm fine.”

The tavern door swings open again, and she hears Elsa calling for her.

“I suppose I'd better go,” she sighs.

“Liam will take you back to the castle,” he says, pressing another kiss against her hair. “I know you hate it, but-”

“Killian, it's fine. Any other day, I'd probably be a bit irritated, but- you're right. The night before my wedding? I'll be surprised if it turns out that Regina doesn't have spies everywhere, just waiting for the perfect moment.” She releases her grip on his hand, sliding her arms around him. “Now, kiss me goodbye, and I'll be a good little bride and go to bed.”

“It's bad luck,” Killian says weakly, though he's already turning to take her in his arms.

“To see me, sure,” Emma agrees. “So close your eyes.”

He shuts his eyes immediately, bending his head to bring his lips to hers. Emma slides her arms around his neck, swaying against his chest, and smiles as she feels his hand tangle in her hair. Killian pulls her closer, his other hand tight around her waist, and-

“Enough of that,” Liam calls, his words punctured by a piercing wolf whistle. Emma and Killian break apart, looking over to see Liam and Elsa grinning by the corner of the tavern. “As best man, I must intervene. There are some things a man shouldn't have to watch his little brother do, and canoodling by the harbor is one of them.”

“Canoodling?” Emma says, just as Killian snaps “Younger brother!”

“Pre-marital canoodling, at that,” Liam says gravely. “As the pair of you can't seem to follow the very basic rule of not seeing one another before the ceremony-”

“My eyes were closed!” Killian insists, but Liam ignores him.

“-I'm going to have to separate you by force.” Stepping forward, he bows to Emma with more ridiculous flourishes than she's ever seen, offering his hand to her. “Your Highness, if you please?”

“See you tomorrow.” Emma releases her hold on Killian reluctantly. “I'll be the one wearing white.”

“I'll be the one at the altar.” Killian shuts his eyes, shooting a smile in her direction, before he turns back to the harbor.

“And I'll be the better-looking one at the altar,” Liam says brightly, taking Emma's hand. He leads her over to Elsa, who is also treated to an over-the-top bow. “Your Majesty, would you care to join us?”

“Certainly.” Elsa takes his free hand, blushing as his fingers close over hers. He leads them to a nearby carriage, helping them in one by one before climbing in to join them. With a call to the driver, they slowly roll towards the castle, Emma staring back at Killian until he fades from sight.

“Oh, Emma,” Snow breathes, her hand coming to her mouth as tears well in her eyes. “Just look at you.”

“Is it- do I look okay?” Emma asks, reaching up to fidget with the edge of her veil.

“You're absolutely gorgeous.” Elsa's smile looks rather watery as she hands Emma her bouquet. “Wait until Killian sees you, he's going to faint dead away.”

“I hope not. Liam would never let him live it down,” Emma says, bringing the flowers to her nose and inhaling deeply.

A soft knock echoes against the door. “Emma?”

“It's your father,” Snow says quickly, wiping her eyes as she goes to let him in. “David, there you are.”

He steps into the room cautiously, closing the door quietly behind him. His face lights up as his gaze lands on Emma, and she reaches out to him with her free hand.

“Sweetheart, you look breathtaking,” he says, squeezing her hand as he takes in her ensemble. “Far too beautiful for that sailor you're marrying.”

“Father,” she says, smiling and swatting him with her bouquet. “Did you see him? How is he?”

“Of course I saw him. As your father, it's my natural right to give your intended one last threatening talk before I walk you down the aisle.” Emma groans and he grins, shooting her a wink. “He's fine, Emma. So nervous that I'm surprised he's still standing, but he's fine.”

“Good.” Emma reaches up to touch her veil once again, running her fingers over her tiara. Another knock interrupts them, and Snow once again goes to the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” says Red, peering into the room with a smile, “but it's nearly time, if you'd like to take your seat.”

“Of course. Thank you, Red.” Snow turns to Emma, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “My darling, you look so beautiful.” She pulls away, gently cradling Emma's face in her hands. “I wish you every happiness in the world.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Emma says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. With a smile, Snow turns, kissing David quickly before disappearing into the corridor.

“I should go, too,” Elsa says. “Anna's saving my seat, but you know how pushy people can be.” She hugs Emma, stepping back and adjusting her veil slightly. “Perfect.” She sweeps out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.

“Almost our turn.” David rocks back on his heels, glancing over at Emma. “It's not too late, you know. You can call the whole thing off. You don't have to marry anybody.”

“I'm not calling anything off,” she says, twisting her engagement ring around her finger. “I love him, Father.”

“I know you do.” He heaves a sigh. “And I'm glad, but I wish- you're my little girl.”

“And I still will be, after I'm married.” She smiles, stepping over to kiss him on the cheek. “Nothing's going to change that.”

“Since you're set on getting married, I supposed I'll just be happy that you've chosen someone who loves you the way that Killian does,” he says. “If there has to be another man in your life- well. He's a good man, Emma.”

“He is,” she says softly.

Red knocks on the door again, peering inside. “It's time, you two.”

Emma takes a deep breath, tightening her grip on her bouquet as she follows her godmother down the corridor to the ballroom. Even with the enormous doors shut tight, she can hear voices in the room beyond, music occasionally drifting over the chatter. She arranges her gown with one hand, Red adjusting her train behind her. Her father steps up to her side, offering his arm.

“Ready?” he asks, squeezing her hand as she settles it on his elbow. Red darts through a side door, no doubt rushing to her seat, and Emma nods.

“Yes,” she says, feeling a smile unfurling across her face even as her stomach flips nervously. Her father nods to one of the guards, who passes the message into the room, and a loud fanfare suddenly plays.

“This is it,” her father murmurs, and the doors swing open.

Thousands of faces look back at them, bright with expectation. A gasp rises from the crowed as she steps forward, nearly drowning out the music as she enters the room. Emma can see the back of Killian's head at the other end of the aisle, sees him fidget slightly as the sounds of their guests fade into a respectful silence. Swallowing hard, she keeps smiling, eyes fixed on Killian. Liam glances back over his shoulder at her, shooting her a wink; she winks back, and he leans over to whisper something in Killian's ear.

It's easily the longest walk of her life, and Emma thinks that she would happily sprint the length of the aisle if not for the slight pressure of her father's arm on her hand. Finally, finally they arrive at the altar, and Killian meets her gaze. His eyes widen as he takes her in, mouth falling open; if she could have written a script for him to follow when he first saw her, she couldn't have done any better.

“Emma, you look-” he begins, blinking rapidly.

“I know,” she smirks, and he laughs. Her father gently places her hand in Killian's, and together they step forward to stand in front of Sir Lancelot.

It's later- thought not much later- and they're standing near the public balcony, peeking through the curtains at the crowd assembled outside of the castle. The people of the kingdom (and, by the looks of it, several other kingdoms) sing and cheer, drinks in hand, as they wait for the pair to make their first appearance as husband and wife.

“Gods, there are a lot of them, aren't there?” Killian says, his arm tight around her waist.

“It's about what my parents thought we should expect,” Emma says. She leans over to kiss him, smiling against his lips. “Apparently there were even more when they got married.”

“More than this?” His eyes widen. “I feel like we ought to give them dinner and a show, there's so many people out there.”

“They are getting dinner. The castle chefs are serving to anyone who comes to the gates,” Emma points out. “As for a show- well, that's what we're here for.”

“Is that so?” He practically purrs the words, his lips barely a breath away from hers. “In that case, my lovely wife, perhaps we shouldn't keep them waiting.”

“What are you thinking, my handsome husband?” Emma whispers back, sliding her arms around his neck. “Surely nothing scandalous.”

“Mmm, you're right. Perhaps I'll save those thoughts for later.” He kisses her deeply, one hand coming up to cradle her face, pulling a low moan from the back of her throat.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Liam calls, voice echoing slightly in the overlarge chamber. Killian sighs, ending the kiss but pressing his forehead to meet Emma's, arms still wrapped tightly around each other.

“You need to learn how to knock, brother,” he says, glaring over at him.

Liam chuckles. “Little brother-”

“Younger brother!”

“-the Queen herself sent me to tell you that if you don't go out on the balcony now, she's going to start the dancing without you.” Emma looks over just in time to see Liam waggle his eyebrows at her. “And she's threatened me with the prospect of keeping me from the beautiful Queen Elsa, so I'm here to absolutely insist that you give the people what they want.”

“When you put it that way, you make me want to stay right here,” Killian says, kissing Emma again.

“By all the gods,” Liam groans. “Please, can you just go kiss her out there so the rest of us can get on with our evening?”

“Hmmm.” Killian gently runs a finger along Emma's jaw, tilting his head as he considers it. “What do you say, my beautiful, dazzling, wonderful wife?”

“You're quite lucky, Captain Jones,” Emma says, narrowing her eyes playfully at Liam. “You happened to get me on a day when I'm feeling quite generous and kind.”

“Lucky indeed,” Killian says. “She's quite bloodthirsty, my wife.”

“Very,” Emma agrees. “But since you've come to me on my wedding day- I suppose I can grant your request.”

“I'll notify the Queen,” Liam says, and rushes out of the room.

“Ready?” Emma asks, carefully adjusting her veil before taking Killian's hand.

“Love, I'd go to the end of the world for you,” he says. “Or time.”

She smiles up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “Let's go, then.”

The doors to the balcony swing open, letting in a rush of summer air and an explosion of cheers, and they step out into the sunlight.

Together.

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

journeys end in lovers meeting

Reposting to the fic blog. This was written as part of @onceuponasecretsanta​, so it was originally posted to my main blog. It is 100% Lieutenant Duckling fluff, so read at your own risk (for cavities, obviously).

[read on ao3] [read on ff.net]

It's truly a hell of a wedding.

Emma whirls across the ballroom with Elsa, hands clasped as they spin like children, both laughing until they're breathless with delight. Anna all but drags her new husband out to join them, nearly tripping over the voluminous skirt of her wedding gown as she spins. It's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, Emma knows- and she can see her parents standing at the edge of the room, shaking their heads fondly as she weaves through the other dancers- but it's far more fun than the stately pavane that one of the older guests had insisted on.

The song ends with a crash, followed by polite applause from all of the guests, and Emma curtsies extravagantly to her partner.

“Gods, Emma,” Elsa gasps, still giggling as she leads the way off the floor. “Did you see the Ambassador's face?”

“I've never seen anyone turn that shade of purple before.” Emma grins, fanning herself with her hand, and pulls her friend into the crowd. “Come on, I need some air before the next dance.”

“I can't, I've got to dance with-”

“Captain Jones?” Emma teases, smile widening as her friend blushes. “Go on, then.”

“You're certain?” Elsa bites her lip, hesitant, but glances over her shoulder. Emma can see Liam waiting, the picture of propriety in his gleaming uniform, a mischievous glint in his eye as he looks over at the two women. He winks at Elsa, who turns an even deeper shade of pink.

“Elsa, go,” Emma urges, turning her friend towards the man and giving her a little shove. “Liam has been watching you all day, you know he has. If you make him stand there for any longer, pondering whether or not it's good form to be head-over-heels for you, I think he might spontaneously combust.”

“It is a bit improper,” Elsa murmurs. “I mean, he is a captain in your Navy.”

“Oh, please. You can do as you like, Queen Elsa, and that includes dancing.” Emma gives her another little push. “Now go. We can debate what the pair of you will name your children later.”

Elsa giggles but finally moves off, joining Liam at the edge of the dance floor. Smiling, Emma watches as Liam bows, offering Elsa his hand with a flourish. The pair steps out onto the floor, taking their place among the dancers. Elsa tilts her head towards Liam as he whispers something in her ear, nearly doubling over with laughter as the music begins. Liam smirks, and Emma's heart clenches. She likes Liam, she truly does- and she hopes that, if everything continues as it has been over the past few months, she'll be dancing at his wedding to Elsa at some point in the near future. But while she grins and curtsies and eases her way through the crowd, desperate for some space, she can't deny to herself that seeing Liam only reminds her of the person who isn't nearby.

Who hasn't been nearby for almost a year.

Emma finally makes it out of the ballroom, gathering the skirt of her gown in both hands as she descends the wide staircase. Wedding guests are scattered along the stairs in twos and threes, ripples of laughter echoing across the marble. Arendelle's summer palace is lovely, if enormous, though Emma prefers the winter palace. Elsa constructs a new one every year, building an extravagant ice structure that glitters throughout the season, and it's always a delight to arrive in time to watch her friend magic the palace into existence.

Reaching the foot of the stairs, Emma hesitates for a moment. Through the tall windows, she can see more guests strolling through the elaborate formal gardens, their colorful finery gleaming in the moonlight. The enormous front door opens, and the rush of evening air brings Princess Alexandra's familiar laugh in with it. The sound seals her decision; as much as she likes the other girl, Alexandra has been nearly insufferable since her wedding earlier in the year, and Emma is very much not in the mood to hear about the wonders of True Love. Turning, she walks down a corridor by the stairs, ducking behind one of the tapestries into a small passage. It dead-ends at a heavy wooden door, and she reaches behind the nearest wall sconce, pulling out the key Elsa had hidden there during the first summer Emma had spent in Arendelle.

Unlocking the door, she pushes her way out into the orchard, enjoying the rush of the cool evening air. She hides the key underneath a nearby rock, smoothing her skirt as she straightens up. A breeze stirs the treetops, leaves rustling softly, and she lets out a long, slow breath.

Finally.

She follows the dirt path snaking through the grass, walking until she reaches the largest tree in the orchard. Three swings hang from the wide branches, moving slowly in the breeze, and she sinks down onto the nearest one with a sigh. Wrapping her hands around the ropes, she kicks back a bit, swinging as much as her gown will allow.

“I must say, I was beginning to get a bit nervous,” says a familiar voice behind her.

Emma freezes, her shoes skidding across the ground as she drags herself to a halt. She shuts her eyes for a brief moment, heart racing, and counts to ten. She gets to her feet slowly, turning on the spot.

“Killian?” she breathes, eyes widening as she takes him in.

“Aye, Your Highness. In the flesh,” he says, and he's smiling that same wonderful smile she's been struggling to remember, one eyebrow quirked and dimples flashing in his cheeks, but he doesn't move closer. He looks wonderful, resplendent in his spotless uniform, dark hair slightly shorter than the last time she'd seen him. It's almost unfair, how handsome he is- he's even more attractive than she'd remembered.

For one horrible moment, Emma thinks that she might faint, but steadies herself. If she swoons at the sight of him, he'll never let her live it down, and she'll have to toss him from the tallest tower of Elsa's ice palace next winter, and Elsa will be quite cross with her.

She realizes belatedly that he's waiting for her to speak. “What are you doing here?”

His smile fades slightly, and he reaches up to scratch behind his ear nervously. “Well, I- you always sneak away during balls and parties, so I thought- I wanted to surprise you.”

“It's almost been a year, Killian,” she says, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Aye, I know, love,” he says softly, lips curving in a sad half-smile. “And not a day has gone by that I've not thought of you.”

“But those thoughts couldn't make it to paper?” She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Not a single letter, in a year. If it weren't for Liam, I would've thought-” Emma hesitates, feeling her heart twist as he winces.

“Thought what?” he asks.

“That you'd died,” she snaps. “Gods, I thought it was possible that you had died, and he was under orders not to tell me.”

“Emma, love, I never-”

“You told me you loved me, then you disappeared on a dangerous, top-secret mission,” she interrupts. “And you didn't say goodbye.”

“I wanted to,” he says, and she snorts. “Emma, I did. But I was afraid that if I saw you, if you asked- I would have told you everything, and I couldn't do that.”

“Why did you go at all?” she whispers. “I thought we were happy.”

“We were happy,” he insists. “But I- I had to do it, because it was the only way I could think of to do what needed to be done.” He gestures to the shoulder of his jacket, and Emma takes a step closer, studying the familiar insignias.

“You've been promoted, Captain,” she says, reaching out to brush his epaulettes with her fingertips. “My congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I still don't understand.” Emma watches him through her eyelashes, keeping her hands folded demurely at her waist. “If you wanted to be promoted, I don't see why you had to do it this way.”

He takes a deep breath. “It's for you.”

“It's lovely, don't get me wrong, but I don't think your uniform is quite my style,” she says drily.

Killian laughs, shaking his head. “No, not quite.” He looks her over again, drinking her in, and holds out his hands to her. Slowly, she places her hands in his, staring as he gently smoothes his thumbs across her fingers.

“I didn't take the mission to increase my rank,” he says quietly. “I took it because it would keep you safe, and bring your parents a step closer to defeating the Evil Queen for good. And I took it because- surely you know, love, how little everyone thinks of me. Half the kingdom was in an uproar when it was announced that I was courting you.”

“And I told you, I don't care what they think. My father grew up as a shepherd, and my mother was a bandit for years. The kingdom adores both of them. They'll come to love you, too,” Emma reminds him, raising an eyebrow.

“The people love you, Emma. And I have to prove- I have to show them-” He takes a small step closer to her. “Even if I'm not worthy of you, even though I never can be good enough for you- I have to show them that I will spend every day of my life trying to be the kind of man that you deserve.”

“Is this what humility looks like on Killian Jones?” she asks, struggling to ignore the way her pulse jumped at his words. “I don't think I like it half as much as I expected to.”

“I'm baring my soul here, Emma,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Could you withhold the smart comments for a moment?”

“As you wish.”

“You are- you are the best, bravest, most beautiful woman in all the realms.” He hesitates for a long moment. “And if there's- someone else- or if you do not feel the way you did last year, just say the word and I will stand aside. If all I can be is your loyal servant, then that is what I will be, and I will be proud to have you as my Queen and commander.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she whispers, throat tight. “You know there's no one else.”

“But Emma, my love,” he continues, “if you do feel as you did, as I do, then I hope that you'll allow me to ask you the question that has been burning on my tongue since the day I met you.”

Killian watches her earnestly, quirking an eyebrow as he waits. She nods, swallowing hard, and he smiles, the biggest, brightest, most dazzling smile she's ever seen. Her heart races, blood thundering in her ears, as he slowly kneels on the ground in front of her.

“Will you marry me?”

Emma's breath catches in her chest, and for a long moment, she could swear that everything freezes. She can feel the light from her magic glowing beneath her skin, watches as the air around them suddenly fills with golden orbs that illuminate the orchard. Killian looks up at her, still smiling fit to burst, and she can barely believe that he's alive, that he's here, much less that he's asking her to marry him, but all of these things are true and happening at once and she thinks she might actually float away.

“Emma?” he says, pulling her out of her reverie, and she feels a smile curl across her face.

“Yes,” she says, something between a laugh and a sob unfurling in her throat, “yes, yes, yes, of course,” and she's reaching for him, nearly knocking him flat as she bends to kiss him. He's up on his feet in an instant, never breaking the kiss, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground. He spins her through the air, and it's silly and cliché and Emma has never been so happy.

“I have one condition, Captain Jones,” she says, when the need for oxygen has forced them slightly apart. They're still wrapped around each other, forehead to forehead, and his hands cradle her face gently.

“Name it,” he says.

“No more secrets,” she says. “And no more leaving without saying goodbye.”

“You have my word,” he says solemnly, pressing his lips to hers. “And- ah, right.” Releasing her face, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, removing a tiny box and flipping it open. “This is for you.” Carefully, he removes the ring, taking her left hand in his and sliding the band onto her finger.

“It's beautiful,” she murmurs, staring down at it for a moment, and kisses him again.

“Now, come along, my love,” he says, twining their fingers together and leading the way

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

something like peace

[read on ao3]

Picking up the pieces takes far longer than she’d imagined.

After the disconcerting chaos of Underbrooke, the fire and brimstone battle with Hades, and the freezing numbness of Killian’s cell, returning to the realm of the living feels strange. Beyond the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, everything seems slightly off, as though the bonds of their mortal lives are too loose and too tight against them.

If she’s honest with herself- and if she’s anything, now, it’s honest with herself- Emma hadn’t really given much thought to what would come next, when she’d made her plan. The call of the dagger had dragged her off of her couch, ringing in her ears like the starting bell at a prize fight, and she’d followed it; realizing Gold’s treachery, infuriating as it was (and oh, but she’s still going after him for that), had spurred her on with the wisp of an idea that had been circling her head. Killian had begged her to let him die a hero, and she had, but she’d be damned if she let him go gentle into that good night, not with Gold stealing the victory (if not the heroism) of the act.

She’d never expected that they’d want to join her, when she’d gone to tell her parents, Henry, Robin, and Regina of her plan. Truly, she’d just wanted to let them know that she was leaving; that they didn’t need to worry over her, wrapped in a gray, static haze, staring up at her ceiling in a silence deeper than words. But they’d insisted- we will always find each other, she sees, in her father’s eyes, in the support from Regina’s lips.

They’re hard to get a handle on, this family of hers.

Keep reading

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

something like peace

[read on ao3]

Picking up the pieces takes far longer than she’d imagined.

After the disconcerting chaos of Underbrooke, the fire and brimstone battle with Hades, and the freezing numbness of Killian’s cell, returning to the realm of the living feels strange. Beyond the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, everything seems slightly off, as though the bonds of their mortal lives are too loose and too tight against them.

If she’s honest with herself- and if she’s anything, now, it’s honest with herself- Emma hadn’t really given much thought to what would come next, when she’d made her plan. The call of the dagger had dragged her off of her couch, ringing in her ears like the starting bell at a prize fight, and she’d followed it; realizing Gold’s treachery, infuriating as it was (and oh, but she’s still going after him for that), had spurred her on with the wisp of an idea that had been circling her head. Killian had begged her to let him die a hero, and she had, but she’d be damned if she let him go gentle into that good night, not with Gold stealing the victory (if not the heroism) of the act.

She’d never expected that they’d want to join her, when she’d gone to tell her parents, Henry, Robin, and Regina of her plan. Truly, she’d just wanted to let them know that she was leaving; that they didn’t need to worry over her, wrapped in a gray, static haze, staring up at her ceiling in a silence deeper than words. But they’d insisted- we will always find each other, she sees, in her father’s eyes, in the support from Regina’s lips.

They’re hard to get a handle on, this family of hers.

Because, in spite of the truly ridiculous turns her life has taken, Emma still can’t quite believe that it’s all real. Not just the wild adventures in strange lands, the dragons and magic and castles that appear more in her history than they ever did in her childhood imaginings. The fantastical elements, she finds, are somewhat easier for her to reconcile as fact than the flesh-and-blood family she’s built; even now, after everything, their existence feels like the most miraculous, shocking thing she could ever experience. And by god, she feels like she’s earned it, that she’s put in her time as a lost girl, as a savior, as a Dark One, as any and everything that life has ever asked of her, but it still knocks the breath out of her, that these people are for her, and she for them.

They followed her, because she said she would go, and they couldn’t stand letting her face it alone. They walked into limbo with their heads high and their eyes open, because they wanted Killian back, too, and that- she feels it, as if the tiniest ball of light has unfurled beside her heart, burning in her chest.

And so she’d marched into the Underworld to find him; she’d have marched through Hell itself, through a thousand hells, through the rotting core of the deepest pits of the universe, and still considered it a minor price to pay. She’d fought by Liam’s side and fallen head over heels for Milah, and she’d held both of them in her arms wishing, wishing that they could come home with her. She wanted to sail on the Jolly Roger with Liam and Killian, to watch them bicker with brotherly affection; she wanted to walk hand in hand with Milah to the docks at sunset, and to giggle over plans to celebrate Killian’s birthday with the most absurd gifts they could find; she wanted to look down the table at Granny’s during family dinners and see them laughing with her parents. Impossible as it was, she wanted (and wants) them- and she made the most of their time together, trading stories, telling them of the life that Killian carved out for himself in Storybrooke.

It’d gone far more smoothly than she’d hoped, once they’d finally arrived at the cells. They’d been attacked, of course- Hades was hardly just going to let them waltz away with one of his souls- and by the time Emma collapsed into Killian’s arms, she’d wondered how angry he’d be if she died on her way to get him back.

(Very.)

But they’d escaped, and returned to her family; Killian had said his goodbyes to Liam and Milah, and they’d raced to summon Charon before Hades could appear. And they’d stumbled onto the grass by Storybrooke’s lake in the pouring rain, together, alive, whole, and he’d kissed her as though she was the only thing tethering him to the world, and when they’d finally looked up, they were alone.

They’d walked home, hand in hand.

Those first hours together had been glorious, desperate, wonderful. They’d ended up in bed for nearly two days, wrapped around each other, hungry for the other’s touch. It was more than she’d hoped, those days, tucked together in their house, shrouded by the rain, a step out of time in the best way.

But eventually, they have to peel themselves away from each other; eventually, they have to put on their armor again, hiding their vulnerable raw selves beneath leather and metal as they face the world again.

And as the days pass, even as they press love into the walls of this house (the house which creaks with painful memories, no matter how they pretend otherwise) she can’t help thinking of the murky darkness of the time after, of the screaming, burning pain, fading into endless, nauseating static. She’s grateful that she doesn’t quite remember all of it, that the grief had mercifully allowed her to block out everything between watching him vanish into the ambulance and arriving back at the house. It’s there, the desire to just swim down into the pain and the loss, down, down, until she reaches the end, until she finds the blessed peace of nothingness. It’s a constant ache in her chest, even now; she finds it over and over in her dreams, reliving that night. But he’s there when she wakes, every single time, and if she sometimes spends the rest of the night watching his face in the light from their window, she doubts he’d mind.

Killian keeps his arm tight around her waist in his sleep, and his hand in hers in their waking hours, and he doesn’t think she knows (she does, of course she does) but he finds her with his telescope when he’s gone too long without seeing her. He makes up ludicrous excuses, sometimes, to come assist her at the station or on her patrols; mostly, though, he just shows up, bringing a coffee for her or a message for her father or just himself, sinking into the chair in her office to watch her. They rebuild their orbits close to each other.

He texts her that he’s run into Belle one morning, when he’s picking up breakfast for them at Granny’s, and then never shows up at the station. Emma rushes home early, heart in her throat, to find him carrying boxes into one of their spare rooms for the visibly pregnant Mrs. Gold- “she can’t stay with the Crocodile, love, just look at her, she needs help”- who sits in their living room looking slightly shell-shocked. And it’s weird- very weird- but she knows that they’d become friends, before, and Killian looks so determined, and honestly, she feels a bit guilty about not telling the other woman about Gold’s deception before she’d traipsed off to the Underworld with him. So she tells Belle that she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes, and kisses Killian on the cheek, and as she leaves she hears them debating over their favorite books about the sea.

And that night, when she can’t find sleep, when Killian and Henry both scream themselves out of their nightmares, she drags them into the living room to find Belle waiting with cinnamon-topped hot chocolates for all of them.

Emma’s parents watch her with eyes that make her heart ache, and she knows that they thought they’d lost her; not the way they’d originally feared, when she’d appeared with sparks and leather and dark magic, but to the utter devastation they’d witnessed. She feels it, in the way that her father finds new reasons to hug her, in the way that her mother reaches for her hand when they’re sitting together. And she knows that, all the times she’s been lost, they’ve lost her, too, and she thinks, sometimes, that the fact that they always find each other has cursed them to some strange cycle of heartache and joy.

(She hopes that it’s over, now; that they’ve found each other for the last time, that loss will give her family a wide berth, defeated at last by their sheer hard-headedness.)

The next disaster hits the town within a few months of their return, some witch from another realm who’s after Regina (what else is new?). Emma climbs out of the cruiser with her father, Killian, and Regina, cracking a joke- “it’s so nice to see things are really back to normal”- as they step onto Main Street. She sees it before Regina does, the quick spiral of an arrow in flight, and shoves her out of the way; it stings as it grazes her arm, and then she’s on the ground, and then-

Flames.

She’s barely gotten to her feet, stomach twisting in knots (because she knows this place, doesn’t she, knows that this must be where Henry had come to try to bring her home when she’d first fallen into the Enchanted Forest, and it’s worse than she’d imagined), when she’s yanked up and out of the room, the smoke fading away in a pulse of bright light. Killian calls her name frantically, saying it over and over like the most fervent prayer she’s ever heard, and when she opens her eyes he all but collapses over her. He presses kiss after kiss to her lips, fingers tangled in her hair, still murmuring her name, and she whispers back- IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou- until they finally catch their breath.

Regina dispatches the witch after that, and Emma doesn’t bother asking what or why or how. Killian nods tightly when Regina comes over to make her report, a muscle jumping in his cheek as the woman cautiously asks how Emma’s feeling. Her father hovers over her, his hand resting gently on her head every so often, and Killian grips her hand so hard that Emma’s beginning to lose sensation. She begs off from the rest of the workday, giving her father a tight hug and a promise to come by the loft later, and lets Killian all but drag her back home. He rushes past Belle, ignoring her confusion, and locks them into the master suite. They curl into each other on their enormous bed, foreheads together and eyes on each other, and this time they don’t stay in there for two straight days, but only because Henry comes slamming into the house after school, demanding to see Emma at the top of his voice.

It’s harder, after that.

Emma’s shaken, she knows it; she can’t keep her heart rate from jumping every time she realizes that Killian is out of sight, and she can’t keep herself from constantly texting him when she’s away, just to make sure he’s still okay. If anything, Killian is worse than she is- which she supposes is fair, since he did see her get taken down by some form of a sleeping curse- and he ends up at the station more often than not. At the first opportunity, he whisks her away on the Jolly, and they spend a whole weekend out at sea. She comes home with a ring on her finger and a death grip on his hand, to a son who is over the moon (apparently having grown bored of waiting for Killian to find the right moment) and parents whose smiles are so huge and happy that she knows they had a moment-maybe several moments- of wondering if she’d be lost to them again.

Belle goes into labor a few months later, on the same day Gold finally shows up at the house demanding to see his wife. Henry rolls his eyes and sends him away, while Emma holds Belle’s hand in her hospital room and promises her that everything will be fine, just fine. Her parents, Regina, Robin, and Killian all pace in the lobby, and if Emma’s heart catches in her throat when a few muffled shouts bleed through the walls, and the tinny taste of magic sits bitter on her tongue, she pushes it aside in favor of wiping Belle’s face with a damp cloth. When she finally emerges, the lobby is a mess, but Gold’s nowhere in sight and her family sits placidly in the few remaining chairs. She brings Killian back to meet their newest resident, and she can’t tear her eyes away when he holds the little boy gently in his arms.

They put extra protection spells on the house.

Killian takes to living with a newborn faster than anyone she’s ever seen, and between Belle, Killian, and Emma, little Andrew wants for nothing. Gold begins standing on the lawn every day, staring up at the window where they’d placed Belle’s rocking chair, but Emma enchants it to show scenes from faraway lands that keep Belle from seeing her ex-husband, and Gold from seeing inside. Ruby returns from the Enchanted Forest when Andrew is six months old, and though Emma’s not entirely sure what happens during the visit, it somehow turns into Belle moving into Ruby’s brand new apartment. The house feels overlarge without her, and too quiet without Andrew, and Killian refuses to admit that he’s moping a bit but he really, truly is.

Emma’s got the seed of an idea in her mind, and she plans to bring it up- she does- because really, it’s something they need to talk about- but her body’s three steps ahead of her. When she tells Killian, he’s more excited than she’s seen him since she told him she’d marry him, sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her so hard that she sees stars. And if she’d thought he was overprotective before, it’s nothing compared to the way he’s glued to her side now, day and night.

They marry on the deck of the Jolly Roger, and while they haven’t told anyone about the baby, her mother slips a tiny nautical onesie into the stack of wedding gifts. Her father places her on mandatory Savior maternity leave, and while she rolls her eyes and insists that she’s just pregnant, she can still work, she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t love every moment she spends safely at home, building baby furniture with Killian and Henry.

If it isn’t exactly peace, it’s something like it.

She finds it over and over again, this almost-peace. It’s there when she’s at the loft, laughing with her parents; it’s there when she’s with Henry, watching him grow into a better man than she ever could’ve hoped for; it’s there when she goes to the diner, and Granny has a grilled cheese and cinnamon hot chocolate in front of her almost before she sits down. Most of all, it’s there when she wakes up in the night, the warm circle of Killian’s arm across her waist and the soft huff of his breath against her skin; when he takes her to bed with a smirk and a shocking innuendo, and she laughs until he makes her catch her breath with a gasp; when he talks to the wide swell of her belly, singing the shanties of his childhood; when he looks at her as if she’s everything, the moon on the waves and the warmth of the sun and the feeling of freedom on a fast-moving ship.

She thinks that’s more than enough.