#CS au ff

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Engineered by Fate (2/?)

1 | AO3

Summary: Emma's life is going according to plan. She finished her degree a few years ago, landed a stable job that she excels at, and spends her evenings in the dance studio with a great group of friends. But her love life is a bit of a mess that she would like to ignore.

Fate has other plans when she is dragged on a week-long factory tour and continuing education trip at work. What was meant to be a one-night fling turns into something that may change Emma's life forever.

Rating: E

Tag list: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertreee, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

They were three hours into their forty-five-minute layover. The gate agent had begun announcing increasingly less reassuring status updates. The last one had been, "They are performing maintenance on the plane's wiring.” Comforting.

When Smee, the seat thief, asked if Emma would join him and Killian, the pretty one, for a drink while they waited for the plane to board, she didn’t hesitate - a bit of time travelling at the bar sounded like the best way to get through this endless layover.  

The nearest bar was surprisingly busy for half ten on a Monday night, so they huddled around the only available stool. The soothing scent of cedarwood and the ocean breeze made Emma very aware of how close she was standing to Killian. His arm brushed against hers and he sent her an apologetic smile. The sincerity in those bright blue eyes sent a jolt of…something… through her body. She had a sudden vision of those eyes holding hers as he entered…Shut it down, right now. 

She tore her gaze from his before he could read her wildly inappropriate thoughts and glared at the half-empty cup in her hand as if it, rather than her recent break-up and several-month dry spell, was to blame for her filthy mind. Although the way he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his forearms and had unfastened the top buttons so that she could see a hint of dark hair curling on his chest was not exactly making it easy for her to keep her thoughts pure. 

She tried to focus on the conversation around her, but couldn't find the energy to feign interest in discussing collegiate sports. The downside to being one of few females in her office and on this trip was almost certainly the fact that most non-work conversations centred around college and professional sports. She was knowledgeable enough to keep a conversation moving but it took energy that she just couldn't muster up after hours. 

“Are you excited to get a year of continuing education credits in one week?” The question was harmless, innocent, and a bit of a desperate reach for something to discuss. But the way he had asked it with his voice low so only she could hear his words and as if he wanted to know her answer to this silly question more than he wanted for anything else had given flight to butterflies in her stomach. 

“Oh, no. I’ve just heard the cheese is good in Wisconsin.” Emma answered dryly, keeping her voice low to keep her nerves out of the words.

He flashed a breathtaking smile and hid it entirely too quickly behind his glass. “This will be a long week if you are just here to try out cheese.”

“It is going to be a long week no matter my incentives.”

“Fair enough.” Killian granted. “So, what category do you fall into?”

At the blank look Emma gave him, he continued. 

“Archie says that he brings contractors, owners, architects, and engineers on these trips. I fall into the ‘engineer’ category.” 

“And where would you put me?” Emma challenged playfully, but she was genuinely interested to see where Killian thought she fit. 

“Well, you’re not an architect,” Killian answered immediately with absolute certainty. 

“Oh, and what makes you think that?” Emma was not an architect but was not sure if she should be offended by his quick and absolute response or pleased with it. 

“I am certain of it. Architects are,” he paused, worrying his bottom lip before continuing, “well, you just are not an architect. You’re a bit too professional,” he gestured at her suit slacks and button to clarify his meaning, “to be a contractor. So, you are an owner or one of those rare unicorns.” 

“Hm, or maybe I am a well-disguised architect.”

“You’re not an architect,” Killian murmured almost as a reflex as he debated internally over her owner or engineer status. “I’ve got it. I have indeed sighted a unicorn. You are an engineer.” 

Emma laughed, feeling flattered despite the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Killian’s eyes danced with triumph and genuine excitement. As silly as this game was, he seemed truly delighted to have made her smile. 

“No. Actually, I am turophile. I convinced Archie to bring me along for the trip through blackmail.”

“Oh? And what kind of blackmail could anyone possibly have on Archie?” Killian raised his eyebrow, which enhanced the silliness of their conversation. 

“I cannot give you that kind of power over Archie,” Emma deflected.

“I promise to only use it for good.” 

“Your promise means very little to me; I hardly know you.”

“Hm, that is something I hope to change,” Killian muttered almost to himself, but the promise in those words sent a shiver down her back. Even if she wasn’t sure which bit he intended to change. Before Emma could ponder it further, Killian spoke again. “Where do you work? Savannah doesn’t have many engineering firms, especially in this industry.”

“I never said I was an engineer,” Emma answered, her eyes bright with humour.  

“You know, Emma, you’re something of an open book,” Killian teased. “So, I don’t need you to confirm it. I read it.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. Killian smiled brightly - as if the highest compliment that anyone could pay him was to roll their eyes at something he’d done. This was, perhaps, the most wonderful and silly conversation that she remembered having. Yet, it felt warm and comfortable. 

Conversations weren’t warm and comfortable for Emma. She was usually trying to make sure she was listening and planning what the right thing to say would be and trying to hold back from interrupting or wondering what to do with her hands or wishing she would stop saying so much as the words spilt out of her or… well, conversations, especially conversations with new people, were always difficult. This hadn’t been difficult. 

Even as quiet fell between them, it was companionable. It was the quiet of two old friends, happy to be together after too long apart in a world that was far too loud. And that scared Emma. What the Hell was happening?

As if he could sense something amiss in her head, Killian interrupted her, “So, where did you go to school for that not engineering degree?” 

Glad for the distraction and thrown off by whatever was happening, Emma granted him an easy answer, “Georgia Tech. You?”

“Clemson. But, I moved back home after college and went to Savannah to finish up one of my projects and decided to stay. How’d you end up in Savannah?”

“Oh, I worked at a small consultancy through college and work there full-time now.” It was the barest tip of the truth iceberg; beginnings were not the time to trade stories about relationships that turned toxic and the dreams and hearts they left broken in their wake. Killian nodded in acknowledgement of her answer, but in the depth of his blue eyes she saw the companion of her pain. He was holding back, too, she realised, and for similar reasons.

“If you could have any animal feature, what would you want?” Killian asked in the same way he had asked what university she had attended. As if this was the natural next question to continue their conversation.

A surprised laugh escaped from her, “What?”

“I would want a snow leopard tail,” Killian answered.

“Why?”

“Why not? They are so majestic and useful. Okay, I haven’t figured out what all I could use it for, but I want one.”

“You’d never fall again,” Emma suggested. 

“Exactly! See? Useful.”

“Ok, um,” Emma started and stopped immediately to consider the question. “What if I want to be able to transform into an animal for a while?”

“Sure.”

“A dragon because I could fly or breathe fire or nap without being disturbed now that knights no longer exist.”

“Dragon also do not exist,” Killian pointed out.

“Neither do grown men with leopard tails,” Emma noted.

“Good point,” Killian conceded. He set his empty glass on the bar top and ordered another round for them. They continued their strange, almost whimsical, conversation until the gate agent welcomed them onto their connecting flight. And when Killian boarded the flight, he took the seat next to Emma. 

[shady-swan-jones]

Happy Autumn season! Fics for your cocooning era

Too Well Tangled (18/21 - "J'adoube") by @myfearless-love

Determined and tough-minded Emma Nolan is on a singular mission: to rescue her dim-witted brother from the clutches of Killian Jones, the infamously rakish Marquess of Hookstone. Little did she anticipate her own burgeoning desire for the audacious, unscrupulous scoundrel she intended to despise. Killian Jones, the enigmatic Marquess of Hookstone, has more than earned his sinister sobriquet, the "Prince of Darkness."

Dreams That You Wish Will Come True by @snowbellewells

Granted a night to seek adventure and dreams, young Killian Jones meets young Princess Emma at her birthday ball. Though the moment is filled with all the excitement and magic of the best fairy tales, it is over too soon and he must leave before the dream is shattered. Will they find each other again? A Reverse Cinderella AU

The Witch in the Woods by @hollyethecurious

“If it’s aid of a magical sort ye seek, then you’ll be wanting to find the witch in the woods.” That’s what the apothecary had told him. The witch in the woods. A designation that brought forth images of an old crone, hump-backed and wrinkled with warts on her nose and long spindling fingers whose knuckles were gnarled and stiff - not the blonde goddess currently grinding an assortment of herbs with her mortar and pestle, her brilliant jade eyes sparkling in the candlelight that was also casting a honeyed glow over her smooth, creamy skin.

Untie Me (7/?) by @shady-swan-jones

“Save the smolder, Jones, you already have me.” But the compliment hits despite her deflection, nestles stubbornly in her heart. 

“Oh well, now it’s over,” he makes an exaggerated face and moves to retreat. He shakes his head, lips together in a line. “Emma, you and I are just beginning. Let me make you feel good.”

She smirks, heat rising to her chest. “How good?”

laundry day by ssadumbass

killian and emma spend some quality time together on laundry day

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing by jdmusiclover

Emma Gold has led a difficult life. Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold. She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver. Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life. When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical. What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer?

Exacting His Revenge by @jrob64

When Hook sees an opportunity to finally get his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, he seizes it, putting him in the company of Emma Swan. A season 2 canon divergent story.

the most dangerous thing is to love by @exhaustedpirate

The Darkness whispers in Killian's ears and he lets it, lets it play him like a puppet so he can get his revenge. But what if the strings are cut? Will he let it manipulate him until his worst nightmare comes true? Until he destroys his happy ending?

Overboard by @elizabeethan

Emma Swan spends years trying to find her parents, and when she finally does, she gets more than she bargains for

Finding Home by PirateDragon28

Emma Swan is living with her twin sister Ruth and Ruth’s 3 year old daughter, Flo. Emma and Ruth were separated at birth and found each other half a year before Flo was born. Now they live in a small 2 bedroom apartment together. Emma’s a bail bondsperson and Ruth works as a police officer for the BPD.

Heart Bound by @4getfulimaginator2022

CS historical AU (mid-19th century), real world setting, teacher!Emma and artist!Killian. After years of private tutoring, Emma goes to teach in a village by the sea in a desperate bid to escape her heartbreak and the outside world. She thinks that she'll always be lonely and out of place, but the local lighthouse keeper, a fellow recluse and the town outcast, makes her see that she is right where she belongs.

Trying Something New by @overlordofthelollipopguild

After Rumplestiltskin traps Emma and Killian in the past, they manage to escape him and realize they will have to live in the past in order to catch up to the future.

Murder Most Foul by CSColifer 

Murdered Killian Jones has one last message for Emma Swan.

Love Bites (But So Do I) by @grimmswan

"Do you have any idea how tempting you look? It's going to take everything in me not to ravage you in front of everyone."

"I'm sure we can find some place to indulge ourselves." Emma grinned wickedly at her lover.

a place in time - chapter xv by @swanslieutenant

Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

A Cottage by the Sea by @snowbellewells

Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.

Flight 815 by @honey77bun

"Hello, who is this? Director William Webster's voice called out. "Hello, this is your assistant, Strickland. I'm calling you on a very important matter." "What's the reason?" "In the case of Flight 815. As you know, at the Coast Guard Air Base in Miami, a girl named Emma Swan appeared on board the plane." "Did you find out she wasn't a spy?"

Can I Be Your Werewolf? by @belovedcreation

After a particularly nasty encounter with a criminal, bounty hunter Emma Swan's friend convinces her to adopt a guard dog from the shelter. Little does she know that the massive dog she brings home is really the werewolf Killian Jones, who's laying low in wolf form to hide from danger. She forms a bond with her pet, one that is tested and strengthened once Killian reveals his true nature. But Killian will never be a free man and Emma will never heal from her past until a power-hungry werewolf is stopped from his mission to control all of Storybrooke.

Burn The Ships (4/?) by @booksteaandtoomuchtv

Pan and his pack of gruesome werewolves torment and put an end to individuals who find themselves unlucky enough to be a guest of Neverland. After being betrayed by her ex, Emma finds herself the game in this month’s hunt.

Captain Hook has never found the sport particularly alluring, preferring to spend his change far from Pan’s cruel crew. When he catches the scent of his mate, he is forced to join in the hunt to find her before the others can.

Saving her will mean betraying Pan and no one betrays Peter Pan and lives to tell about it

An Offer She Can’t Refuse (3/3) by @deckerstarblanche

As soon as he cracked his eyes open the next morning, Killian knew she was gone. With a frustrated groan, he glared up at the stucco ceiling and flipped over onto his stomach, pressing his face into her pillow and feeling like a fool.

Welcome to the Enchanted forest by Emmaducklingsaviour

Post curse and on her 16th birthday Emma gets herself in a time loop with dire consequences. Before she can face them, Emma, Killian, Elsa and Red are suddenly pulled through a portal, returning to the Enchanted forest. This is a direct continuation of Welcome to the Storybrooke

Hope will come by AlwineMews

A new curse has sent the small town of Storybrooke into a deep sleep, freezing time in place. Shortly before the curse broke, a stranger kidnapped Emma and Killian's newborn daughter, Hope, and took her out of town. 28 years later, Hope accidentally drives into Storybrooke and breaks the curse as she crosses the town line.

Can Emma, Henry, Natalia and Killian become a family? And what is the story behind the missing persons and the sudden appearance of Sherlock Holmes?

Misthaven by IreneRose21

After Killian was resurrected by Zeus, the whole town of Storybrooke comes back to The Enchanted Forest. Snow and David become Queen and King of Misthaven again, the largest and most loved Kingdom in the whole Realm. That is until they are betrayed and murdered by a close ally, which causes all the Realm to enter in the most deadly war The Enchanted Forest will ever see.

Happy Beginning Captain Swan by isaballerina89

After Emma Swan finished the final battle with the adult Gideon, Storybrooke changes for the better. Emma and Killian finally have a life that they both can enjoy together without fighting the town's villains.

Unfinished Business by ohmakemeahercules

Don’t let me be your unfinished business, Emma had said. Killian has a lot of thoughts to process and emotions to process before that happens. Takes place right after he sends Emma up the elevator in 5x20 Firebird.

Forget Me Not, Prologue by @zaharadessert

The village of Storybrooke is as unremarkable as any number of villages in the English countryside. It has a pub, a church, a post office and a village green. But one summer a little boy and his mother come to stay, and suddenly some remarkable things start to happen...

Timeless by @killiansprincss

Season 3 divergence - When Zelenas time portal works, Henry wakes up alone in Storybrooke and must travel to the Enchanted Forest to get his family back. Only once he gets there he quickly realises its not like the one in his book, theres no Evil Queen and his mother Emma wasn't put through a wardrobe, theres even a poster inviting the entire kingdom to her engagement ball, to Hook. What will happen once Henry gets them to break this new curse and they get their memories back?

Once Upon A Grimm by @hollyethecurious

The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions.

free fallin' by temporarystatus

On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off. Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear.

Anything Could Happen (2024) by wildseafairies

Killian and Emma have been friends for years. Not just friends, though—best friends. Until today, that is. Something has changed between them, Killian just can't put his finger on what it is. So, when an inebriated Emma stumbles in the dark room he's been hiding in during Mary Margaret and David's engagement party (and doesn't seem to recognize him), Killian sees his chance at untangling whatever went wrong there by taking an epic trip down memory lane with her. And maybe—just maybe—that's also the way for both of them to confront the intricate feelings they've been quietly harboring for each other…Who knows?

Your Loved by StonEvo

Emma just needs to make it through her Senior year. Then Henry and herself can finally be free of the system and be there own family. But will her New Foster mom, Mary Margaret worm her way into there hearts. And what's with the town sheriff always eyeing her new guardian. Emma could careless if it weren't for the fact that the towns resident bad boy is always with said sheriff also giving her eyes as well as weird butterfly like feeling in her stomach. None of that matters, because Emma's going to graduate and leave this dumb little town behind and hopefully out run the past she also left behind in Boston. All she needs is the only person who truly loves her, Henry.

More

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Once Upon A Grimm (2/?)

Summary: The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions. Creatures known as wesen. Supernatural, other-worldly beings who have always lived among humans and have always been hunted by those who had come to be known as Grimms. A struggle of secrecy, balance, and power among these species has existed since the beginning of time. This is a story of a man with his own struggle. The internal struggle of being a human, a wesen, and a Grimm, and the external forces that seek to eradicate one or all of his natures, especially those he tries to keep hidden. Fortunately, Killian Jones is not alone in his struggles nor his secrets. His personal savior, Emma Swan, has secrets and struggles of her own.

A/N: This fic is inspired by and will borrow from the NBC show Grimm. I confess I did not watch Grimm when it first aired, but absolutely fell in love with the show during a binge fest years later. If you have not seen the show, no worries! My beta - who has not seen the show either - assures me that it is not necessary. If you have seen the show, then I hope you’ll forgive the huge creative license I am taking with the material. This is not a strict Grimm retelling with Once characters. This is my own spin on the lore and cannon of both shows.

Sorry I am so late with this update. I underestimated how demanding real life was gonna be now that we are back in full swing with school. I'll do my best to stay on track going forward!

I cannot express how much I have enjoyed being a part of the @cssns all these years. Thank you to the mods who have kept it going year after year. We've had a terrific run! Huge shout out to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader and for her exceptional beta skills. A HUGE thank you and many fangirl squeals to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the amazing job she did on the cover art that accompanies this fic. Please go show her some love!

FYI: Because the show took cues from the Grimm brothers’ works, much of the vocabulary associated with the supernatural creatures was based on German or German coded language. For words like wesen and woge (which will be explained in the text) the w is pronounced with a v sound on the show. I’ll be using terminology from the show and more common creature names interchangeably within the fic.

Rated E (eventually) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  / Prologue

Chapter One

Two and Half Years Later…

“What have we got?”

Killian approached the scene with his partner, Robin. Their mate and uniformed officer, Will, brought them up to speed, keeping his voice low as the men conversed on the walkway that led to the grand house towering before them.

“Grace Hatter. Eight years old. Never made it to school this morning,” Will informed them, reading over his notes. “Father says she left the house at a quarter to eight like usual. An hour later he got the call from the school telling him she was absent.”

“Do we know if he’s clean?” Killian asked, assessing the distraught man who was being questioned by other officers.

“No,” Will replied. “Dad’s name is Jefferson Hatter. We're looking into him.”

“Mom?”

“Deceased.”

“Okay. Thanks, mate. We’ll go have a talk with him.”

Killian and Robin continued up the walkway. When the father caught sight of them, he rushed down the front steps to meet them halfway.

“Are you the detectives?”

“Yes, sir,” Robin responded. “Detectives Locksley and Jones. Can you tell us more about your daughter? When you last her? What she was wearing?”

“Yeah, um…” The man took a moment to try and compose himself. His hand shook as he brought it up to run down his face. A shuddering breath filled his lungs and a sob caught in the back of his throat. “She uh, she left here about 7:45. She’s wearing purple leggings and an oversized, purple top that has a white rabbit on the front of it. She also had on a red hoodie and her backpack is pink and purple with her name on it.”

“Does she often walk by herself to school?”

The man, Jefferson, nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Ever since the beginning of the school year. She wanted… She wanted to be a big girl this year.” He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the freshly fallen tears drops from his face. “I was reluctant, but the school isn’t far and normally she walks with another little girl and her brother down the block.”

“But not today?” Killian inquired.

“No,” Jefferson answered. “Ava and her brother are both out sick this week. Grace walked alone yesterday, so I didn’t see an issue with her walking alone again today.” His face reddened, the tears now cascading down his cheeks as he pleaded, “Please. You have to find my little girl, please!”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Robin promised him, digging a card from his pocket. “An officer is going to stay with you as we canvas the neighborhood, but if you think of anything else, give us a call.”

“Th-Thank you, detectives,” Jefferson said, taking the card then following one of the officers back to the house.

“So, what do you think?” Robin said under his breath as they turned back towards the street and surveyed their surroundings.

“If he’s involved then he’s an excellent actor,” Killian replied. “I think it more likely she was grabbed on her way to school. The question is… where?”

The street was lined with houses on one side, facing a wooded park area. The little girl would have made her way to the end of the block then turned to go around the woods. The school was located on the other side, about seven blocks away.

“We’ve spoken with all the neighbors who are home along the route she would have taken,” Will said, joining the detectives. “No one saw anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t take the usual route,” Killian said, jutting his chin towards the woods. “Maybe she took a shortcut.”

“Dad was very specific about the route,” Will told him. “He said Grace wasn’t allowed to cut through the woods.”

“Yeah, and we all know you did everything you were told when you were a kid,” Robin quipped, slapping Will on the back before heading towards the woods.

The three of them followed the worn path, carved out of the foliage by those who had used the woods as a shortcut over the years. Although focused on the task before him, Killian could not help but acknowledge how fortunate he was to do this job with his two best mates at his side.

It had been a series of unfortunate events that had led them here. Two and half years ago, he and Robin had been uniformed officers at different precincts and Will, after washing out of the academy years before, owned a local bar. After being attacked and having his life, once again, turned upside down, Killian had spiraled a bit. Neglectful of his duty and spending too much time at Will’s bar had made him a less than stellar candidate for detective, despite his high scores on the exam. However, everything changed once more the night Will’s bar went up in flames.

Though it had been deemed arson, they still weren’t sure how it had happened. The explosion and fire claimed the lives of more than a dozen officers and detectives from both Storybrooke and Glowerhaven. In the aftermath, personnel had been reshuffled, reassigned, and reevaluated, giving Killian a second chance at a detective slot and transferring Robin to the Storybrooke precinct. Will, determined to bring the perpetrator to justice, had reapplied to the academy and finished top of his class before being assigned to the Storybrooke PD.

Although the arson case had gone cold, Killian and Robin, with an assist from their favorite uniformed patrolman, had managed to garner the highest number of closed cases of any rookie or veteran detectives within the city or its outlying suburbs. Robin often joked that the reason the three of them were so good at this job was because in another life they would have been criminals themselves - and therefore knew how their perps thought - dubbing themselves the pirate, the bandit, and the thief.

Of course, he had no idea that Killian possessed abilities beyond those of a normal human detective which gave him an advantage. Abilities he was currently applying in the hopes of bringing this little girl home safely.

When the trail forked, the trio branched off in separate directions. Once out of sight from his mates, Killian crouched down and closed his eyes, homing in on the sounds around him as he inhaled deeply. Over the years he’d made peace with his wolf side. It wasn’t always easy to keep the wesen reined in, or explain away how he’d been able to accomplish some of the things his supernatural abilities allowed him to do, but as time went on he found ways to balance his human and wesen side.

Not able to pick up anything out of the ordinary, Killian resumed his search further up the path. A moment later, Robin’s voice called out.

“I’ve got something!”

Killian rushed towards Robin’s voice, arriving alongside an out of breath Will. Both men were too focused on the pink and purple backpack laying among the ferns to notice Killian’s lack of exertion.

“Grace Hatter.” Will read the name where it had been monogrammed in bright pink, confirming it belonged to their missing girl. “She must have been grabbed somewhere in this area.”

“Careful where you step,” Killian reminded them. “Will, call it in and inform the others that we have a crime scene in Wonderland Woods Park across from the victim’s house.”

Will stepped away to radio it in, leaving the detectives to peruse the area.

“Killian, we got boot prints here. They look fresh.”

Killian noted the direction of the prints and commented, “He took her this way.” Setting off down the path, he shouted over his shoulder, “Stay with Will until CSU arrives. I’ll see where the prints lead.”

Once out of sight, Killian crouched down again and took in a deep breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a primal growl rumbled in the center of his chest. He could tell the scent was wesen, although he wasn’t sure what species. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Never before, since his transition, had he ever wished for the moon to be in its full cycle. If it were, then his sense of smell would be stronger. He’d be able to discern the little girl’s scent better, as well as her abductor’s, and he’d be able to tell which direction the two had gone once they’d reached the road on the other side of the woods.

Cursing under his breath, Killian made his way back to Robin and Will. The Crime Scene Unit had already arrived and the area was being cordoned off so they could work making casts of the boot prints. Killian eyed Grace’s backpack as it was being bagged and tagged so it could be processed for fingerprints. He wished he’d gotten a chance to scent it, but the K-9 unit was already seeing to the task.

“There isn’t much more we can do here,” Robin told him. “Will and the other officers will follow up on the neighbors they didn’t get a chance to speak with earlier. Maybe one of their security cameras will have caught them coming out of the park.”

“Aye,” Killian said with a resigned sigh.

Clapping Killian on the back, Robin suggested, “Let’s go get some lunch. By the time we’re done, more evidence will have been collected and processed, then we can focus on whatever they found.”

“I suppose I could eat,” Killian relented. Robin was right. There was nothing more they could do that the other officers didn’t already have handled. They’d need their strength and their wits about them for the long afternoon and evening ahead. “Where did you have in mind?”

“How about Aesop’s?”

Killian cocked a brow his partner’s way. “Aesop’s? A bit swanky for lunch isn’t it?”

Robin shrugged. “I hear they have a great burger menu.”

“Mhmm,” Killian hummed. Something in Robin’s demeanor had him dubious as to whether that was the real reason. “I suppose we could check it out,” he replied with a shrug of his own, followed by a wolfish grin. “So long as you’re buying.”

~/~

“So that’s the real reason you wanted to come here,” Killian ribbed in a sing-song tone. “The lovely and elusive Miss Mills.”

Robin’s cheeks flamed pink behind the bun of his burger as he took as long as he possibly could to bite off then chew a mouthful.

“You know this constitutes stalking, right? Why not just ask her out?”

Robin swallowed and chased the bite with a sip of water, once again taking his time running his napkin over his mouth before placing it back in his lap.

“You’re hopeless,” Killian exasperated, getting up from his seat. He shot a wink over his shoulder to his mortified partner as he approached the nearby table, teeming with lawyers in their power suits. “Miss Mills?” he said in a feigned tone of surprise.

“Detective Jones,” she said in a friendly yet reserved greeting. “Funny running into you here?”

“Aye,” he said. “The lunch burger menu was recommended to Robin and me, so we thought we’d give it a go.” He gestured back towards the table Robin was metaphorically trying to hide beneath. Miss Mills - Regina - gave him a wave which he awkwardly reciprocated. “I won’t keep you,” Killian continued. “I was on my way to the facilities when I spotted you and just wanted to say hello. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, detective. A pleasure seeing you,” she replied, though her attention was not set on him but rather still subtly fixated on his partner.

When Killian exited the lavatory hall on his way back to the table, he slowed his steps and his lips twitched up in a smile. Robin and Regina were standing at the table conversing as the prosecutor’s colleagues were filing past, on their way out the door. Regina slipped Robin her card, her painted lip caught between her teeth, and he accepted it with a full, bright smile. Killian chuckled to himself, eager to take the mickey out of his friend, when something in Regina’s countenance shifted.

She’d turned towards the door, prepared to follow her colleagues, when her entire body went rigid. Something rippled through her expression and Killian was taken aback by what he saw.

She woged.

Regina Mills was… a hexenbeist?

No. He had to be seeing things. She couldn’t have woged. If she had, the entire restaurant would be in an uproar, especially Robin. There’s no way anyone would have missed the gruesome sight of a hexenbeist revealing her true form. Unless…

No. That wasn’t a possibility either. The full moon wasn’t in cycle yet, so there was no way he could have witnessed a demi-woge. Could he?

Regina’s features returned to normal, but her posture was still stiff and on guard. He followed her eyes to try and determine what had prompted such a response and was stunned to see another woged hexenbeist casually standing by the hostess stand. She had flaming red hair and was dressed in a tight, green dress. When her human face presented itself once more, she wore a smug, slightly challenging smirk.

Finally collecting herself, Regina marched past the woman without a word or backward glance, but the red-haired witch watched her all the way out the door and down the block.

“Did you see that?”

Robin’s question shook Killian from his shock, but a fresh, confused panic spiked within him. “See what?”

“The text,” Robin said, lifting his phone for Killian to see. “We’ve got a body.”

“A body?” Killian parroted, attempting to get his racing heart under control while processing what his partner said.

He didn’t see it, then. Didn’t see them change. Then why did I?

“Not Grace Hatter?” Killian’s heart dropped a little as his mind finally caught up.

“No,” Robin assured him. “Not the missing girl, but the captain wants us to take point on this one, too.” He beckoned Killian to follow him through the tables towards the exit. “I’ve already settled the bill. Will’s waiting for us at the scene.”

Before heading out the door, Killian scanned the restaurant for the red-headed hexenbeist, but saw no sign of her. He tried to shake off the unnerving feeling her and Regina’s woge had elicited in him. The mystery of why he had been able to see it at all would have to wait. He had more pressing issues to concern himself with.

~/~

“Are you sure this is even a homicide?” Killian heard Will ask under his breath. “Looks more like an animal attack?”

For the second time that day, Killian’s hackles rose. The scene before him was familiar. Too familiar. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, making the same inquiry to the detectives working a similar scene. A scene that had led to Killian being attacked and transformed. A scene that had been declared an animal attack after the DNA had come back as inconclusive. A scene where no other evidence had been left behind except…

“We got a boot print!”

Killian’s entire body reacted in a ripple of goose bumps and a sharp inhale confirmed the truth as a familiar scent penetrated his sinuses.

It’s him! He’s back. The blutbad who attacked me. The blutbad who made me. He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s killed again and… HE’S TAKEN GRACE HATTER!

“Oi! Kill, er… detective. You alright?”

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Killian’s Apple apple bobbed painfully. “We need to go see the Captain. Now.”

It was a quick ride back to the precinct, though Killian’s silent stewing had probably made it feel longer to his partner. Robin knew him well enough to not pepper him with questions when he was like this, allowing him space to get his thoughts together. It didn’t mean his mate didn’t side-eye him with furtive glances the entire way back to the station, though.

“Captain Gold, do you have a minute?” Killian asked at the open doorway of their captain’s office.

“For my two best detectives? Of course,” Captain Gold said, gesturing them forward. “How’s the investigation going into the missing girl? Or is this about the body we found? A jogger who was a student at the local university?”

“Actually,” Killian hedged, still unsure how he was going to convince his captain and his partner of what he knew to be fact. “It may be about both.”

“Go on.”

Killian and Robin took a seat in front of the captain’s desk. Leaning forward, Killian began to fill them in on what he’d pieced together.

“A little over two years ago, there was a hiker who was attacked in a similar fashion to how we found the jogger today.”

“I remember,” Gold said, nodding his head. “That was ruled an animal attack, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian said. “The DNA was inconclusive, but that wasn’t the only evidence left at the scene.” Flicking his eyes towards Robin, he said, “There was a boot print. Just like the one at the scene today. And that’s not all…” Sitting back, Killian wiped his hand down his face and let go a heavy breath. “The same day the hiker was attacked and killed, a little girl went missing in Glowerhaven.” Robin’s eyes widened and Killian knew he didn’t need reminding, but the Captain still needed to know. “I know because Robin helped work that case and we were mates back then.” Setting his attention back on his captain, Killian continued. “Look. I’m not saying all these cases are connected, but we did find boot prints where we suspect Grace Hatter was abducted, and it all feels a little suspect to just be coincidence.”

Captain Gold tented his fingers in front of him, and his eyes narrowed at Killian. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said, after a few agonizing seconds. “It’s all too coincidental to not look into.” His eyes shifted to Robin. “Locksley, reach out to Glowerhaven and see if you can get a copy of the missing girls file from two years ago. Check it for any similarities to the Grace Hatter case. Jones,” he continued, focusing his attention back on Killian. “Follow-up on the boot print. See if the one from the hiker’s scene matches the jogger’s, then compare it to the ones we found at the abduction site.” With a dismissing nod, he added, “Keep me informed.”

“Yes, Captain,” the two detectives replied on their way out of Gold’s office.

“How did you put all of that together?” Robin asked. “Remembering that girl from more than two years ago who went missing the same day a hiker was mauled? I don’t think I would have put that together.”

“I don’t know,” Killian deflected. “Something about that night just… stuck with me, I guess.”

“Well, good pick up,” Robin said, clapping him on the back. “I’m gonna call GPD, then head over to collect those files. Check in later?”

“Aye,” Killian told him. “Later.”

It took Killian less time to confirm the boot prints were a match at all three scenes than it did for Robin to make it back with the files. Although it proved the crimes may be connected, the boots that matched the prints were a very common brand. It would be nearly impossible to find their suspect that way. Frustrated, Killian shot off a text to Robin and Will, letting them know he was gonna go out for some air.

There had to be a way of finding this monster.

Not that he hadn’t already tried. He’d gone back to the scene of the hiker’s mauling time and time again in search of any clues, hoping to discover the identity of the killer and the wesen who had turned him. Once the case had been cleared from homicide, investigators believing a wolf or mountain lion had caused the grizzly death, there had been little Killian could do inside the law. He’d been too preoccupied with the changes he was facing as a newly made wesen to pursue the blutbad on his own, and too worried about what his brother’s reaction might have been if he’d turned the case over to a Grimm. A Grimm who might have been able to detect such changes in his little brother.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel as though the jogger’s death and the missing girl were his fault. He should have told Liam about the rogue blutbad or gone after it himself.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.

Digging his phone from his pocket, Killian dialed his brother’s number and held his breath as the call rang.

This is Liam Jones. I’m not available to take your call. Leave me a message.

“Liam. It’s Killian. Call me back. I’ve got a situation here that might require your expertise.”

Typical.

Killian’s phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Liam returning the call. Instead, the caller ID displayed Will’s name. Killian knew he’d been pouring over videos collected from neighborhood cameras, and he was eager to hear if he’d found anything that might help them locate the missing girl.

“Will? What you got?”

“Not much,” Will confessed over the phone. “I’ve checked all the cameras we collected from Tweedle Drive, the street the perp would have exited the woods from, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing?” Killian asked, defeated. “From the whole street?”

“Well, there’s a bit we don’t have footage of, but none of the videos show any car, truck, or van he may have used to move the girl. The only vehicle on the street at that time was the mail truck.”

“The mail truck?” Killian repeated, an idea coming to him. “Do me a favor. Find out who was working that route today and whether the postal service issues a certain type of boot for their employees' uniforms.”

“You think it was the postman?”

“It’s the only lead we’ve got,” he told Will. “If nothing else, the postal worker may have seen something. We should track them down as a potential witness.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Text me the name when you’ve got it.”

“Will do.”

A renewed rush of hope filled Killian as he made his way back to the precinct, but it was hindered by a fresh realization.

If the postal worker did turn out to be their suspect, then he wouldn’t be going up against their usual perp. He’d be going up against a wesen. A blutbad. And not just any blutbad… his sire. The one who had turned him. Would he know? Even without the full moon bringing out his wesen characteristics, would his sire be able to tell what he was?

Killian stopped short of the station door and did an about face. He needed to better prepare himself for this confrontation, and there was only one person who would be able to help him do so.

Searching his contacts as he made his way to his vehicle, he prayed this call would not go to voicemail.

His prayer was answered.

“Hello?”

“Swan. It’s me. I need your help.”

~/~

The fingers of her left hand drummed against the counter as the nails on her right were being assaulted by her teeth. Normally, Emma Swan would not allow a situation to unnerve her this way. Of course, it wasn’t the situation, not really, it was the man involved in the situation. The man who only came in once a month to pick up his wolfsbane tonic and share polite pleasantries with her or her brother, who assisted her at the shop. The man who had agreed to keep things between them strictly professional after the one time thing incident that had occurred early on in their association. The man who had kept to that promise… until now.

He wasn’t coming here for his tonic - the full moon was still over a week away. He wasn’t coming here for tea, or spices, or herbal remedies, or anything within the purview of her business. No. He was coming here because he needed help on a case. He was coming here because he had nowhere else to turn. He was coming here because he needed… her.

Although they had managed to keep one another at arm’s length these past two years, it hadn’t been that way at first. The month following his attack and introduction into the wesen world, they had texted and chatted numerous times, having built a rapport by the time of the next full moon.

A rapport that simmered with attraction and temptation.

Fortunately, they had both understood the seriousness underlying his stay with her during that first full moon. Setting aside the obvious chemistry between them, they focused instead on the alchemy of finding the right balance of wolfsbane. Everything had gone as expected… until it hadn’t.

“Emma, sweetie,” Granny said in her admonishing tone. “Are you trying to drive us both mad with your fidgeting?”

“Sorry, Granny,” Emma mumbled, removing her nail from her teeth and flattening both hands on the counter.

The elderly woman’s soft, weathered hand covered hers and she gave it a light, comforting squeeze. “What’s got you all riled up? You said he was a regular customer.” Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side. “Is it because he’s a lycanthrope?” Patting Emma’s hand she assured, “I may not look it, but I can still hold my own. If he gets unruly, then--”

“No, it’s not like that,” Emma said, cutting the woman off in a rush, not wishing her to get the wrong impression. “Detective Jones is much more disciplined than lycanthropes are believed to be. He’s… he’s a good man.”

“Then why on earth are you worked up in such a state?” Granny inquired. “I can practically smell the anxiety and tension wafting off of you.”

Emma chewed her bottom lip, then silently cursed herself. Get a grip, Emma. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she straightened her posture and schooled her features. “It’s nothing.”

Granny let out a dubious hum. “Try again,” she said. “If you want me to help a lycanthrope - and a detective to boot - that has you all tied up in knots then you’re gonna have to give me a reason.”

Emma released a heavy sigh. She knew Granny was right. The woman was going out on a limb for her, the least she could do was give her the truth.

Given that she expected the detective to arrive at any moment, Emma quickly told Granny about her and Killian’s first meeting, and the subsequent month that had followed.

“Sounds like the two of you became fast friends,” Granny remarked, though Emma thought she could detect something slightly off in the woman’s tone. “What happened?”

Glancing at the door, Emma wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved that he hadn’t arrived yet. She’d never told anyone what had happened.

“He came to stay with me for the full moon, as planned,” she began.

“Here?” Granny asked, knowing the proprietor lived above her shop.

“Yes,” Emma confirmed. “In my spare room. I wanted us to be close to the workshop so I could make adjustments on the fly.”

“What do you mean?”

Swallowing, Emma told Granny about the experiments they did, testing the effectiveness of the wolfsbane. “Things like, provoking his temper and trying to elicit responses that were more primal,” she hedged, with half a shrug of her shoulder, “to see how well he could keep control under such stimuli.”

“And?” Granny prompted. “How did he do?”

“He did great,” Emma said, then winced slightly as she added, “Until August showed up.”

A knowing huff left Granny. “Yeah. I’d imagine the presence of another male might have set him off a bit. Did your brother come away unscathed?”

“Barely,” Emma replied. “Killian didn’t know who August was and when he saw him hugging me he… woged.”

“As in… fully?”

“Yeah.”

“That must have been intense for all of you.”

“It was,” Emma sighed. “I had to use magic to diffuse the situation, but once cooler heads prevailed and I was able to introduce the two of them, I thought things were resolved.”

“Until?”

Emma’s mind flashed back to the morning after he’d woged and tried to attack August. The morning after the final full moon.

“So… you made it through your first full moon.”

“Aye. Thanks to you, love.”

“No need to thank me,” she told him. “I should be thanking you.”

“For?”

“For not ripping out my idiot brother’s throat,” she said in a tone mixed with amusement and annoyance. “I told him not to come here this weekend, but does he listen?”

Killian hummed, a sultry, toe-curling sound, and sauntered forward. “Perhaps gratitude is in order then?” he murmured, tapping his lips suggestively with a raised brow and challenging smirk.

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

Another sinful sound echoed past his lips as he pressed further into her personal space. “Is that all your brother’s life is worth to you?”

“Please,” she scoffed with an eye roll, trying, and failing, to get her heart rate under control, knowing full well he could probably hear its erratic beat. “You couldn’t handle it.”

The corner of his lips lifted in a feral and taunting manner. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

The crack of the t against his tongue reverberated through her, and without thought she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, fusing her mouth to his. It took him the briefest of seconds to respond, inhaling deeply before thoroughly devouring her.

It was hot. It was primal. It was all-consuming.

“That was…”

It was a big fucking mistake.

“A one time thing,” she murmured, pulling back from his chasing lips. “We… we can’t do this. I… I can’t do this.”

Releasing him, she took several steps back, unable to meet his eye or look upon his confused expression.

“Swan,” he panted, both of them still working to catch their breath. “Have I… Have I done something? I know attacking your brother was bad form. Please don’t think I’m unaware of the seriousness of that--”

“No, it’s… it’s not that,” she said. “I know you didn’t really have control over--”

“Then what?” he asked. “What’s changed?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma rocked back on her heels and said, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to… I mean… this is all new to you and the last thing we both need is to complicate an already complex situation. I think it would be best if we… kept things professional between us.”

She braced herself for his response, expecting him to be angry. Expecting him to accuse her of leading him on, or taking advantage of him while he was vulnerable. She hadn’t expected him to run a hand through his hair while letting go a heavy sigh before agreeing with her.

“Aye,” he said, softly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps now is not the best time to…” Flicking his too blue gaze up to hers, he gave her an earnest smile. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Swan. I think I’ll be able to manage on my own now, thanks to you.”

“You’ll still need the tonic each month,” she reminded him with a slight edge of panic in her voice. She didn’t mean for their association to end altogether. “And you can still call or text me if you have questions about--”

“Thank you,” he interjected, cutting her off before she could continue with her offer. “I’ll swing in for the tonic in a month’s time. I’ll be sure to let you know if there are any issues regarding the treatment.” Reaching up, he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear. “I, uh… I should go. I have a shift in an hour.”

“Right,” she said, letting him pass so he could collect his things from where he’d set them by the door. “See you next month?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the shop. “See you then.”

“Only… I didn’t see him then,” she told Granny. “I chickened out and left the order with August.”

“Are you telling me,” Granny chastised, “that you haven’t seen that young man since--”

“No!” Emma replied, indignantly. “Of course I’ve seen him. We just… it’s been…” Another heavy sigh expelled out of her lungs. “After our… shared moment, I did avoid him for a bit and I know he struggled to cope with his transition, which made me feel worse about how we left things, but then there was this fire at his friend’s bar, and he made detective, and I don’t know… something about him changed. Things were less weird when he came in and we managed to carve out this nice, albeit superficial, relationship and yet--”

“The feelings are still there?”

Emma laughed a rather hysterical sounding laugh. “Uh, no. No feelings. I mean, obviously I care about him, as a person, but my current demeanor has nothing to do with feelings.”

“Oh? What does it have to do with, then?”

Emma didn’t get a chance to answer the woman’s smug question. The bell over the door chimed and the two women's heads snapped in its direction. In walked Killian Jones, as handsome and alluring as ever.

“Swan,” he greeted with a reverential nod. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” she managed to choke out, her mouth having gone dry. Clearing her throat, she gestured towards Granny and introduced, “This is, uh, Granny Lucas. She runs the new B&B and diner up the street. I thought she might be able to help. Granny, this is Detective Jones.”

“Please,” he said, taking Granny’s hand and offering it a polite shake. “Killian will do.”

“A pleasure to meet you, detective,” Granny said, obviously sizing him up. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Meaning?”

Her gaze still assessing him, Granny quipped, “Most lycanthropes have me wanting to rip out their throats within seconds of meeting them, but you… you’re different.”

Killian’s brows shot up and his eyes flicked to Emma even as he continued to address Granny. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage,” he said a little too calmly. “You know about me, yet I have no idea why Swan brought you in on--”

“Granny’s a blutbad,” Emma blurted out, causing his brows to raise even higher as his head snapped back to the elderly woman. “I thought, seeing as you said your case had something to do with a blutbad, and that you needed more information about them, that you’d like to have your questions answered by someone who--”

“Not just any blutbad,” he said, cutting her off in a tone laced with menace and anger. “The blutbad.”

Emma gasped. “The one who turned you?”

“Aye.” His gaze turned dark and his features hardened. “He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s even taken a little girl captive.”

“That’s terrible,” Emma said, keeping herself from reaching out to offer him a hand of comfort. “When did you--”

“Today,” he told her, catching both women up on the case of the little girl and the jogger and how he’d connected them to the cases from over two years ago.

“We found matching boot prints at the crime scenes, but I also detected his scent at each location. I knew there was something familiar about it, but didn’t put it together until I smelled it mixed with the jogger’s blood. It brought back the olfactory memory of that night,” he said, momentarily getting lost in thought until he shook his head and added, “Of course… I can’t enter that into evidence. Fortunately, we have a lead, but I am wary of confronting him without knowing more.”

“More?” Granny said, her countenance a bit stand-offish and very imposing. “Like what?”

“Like,” Killian hedged, wetting his lips and taking a moment to assess Granny as she had him. “Whether I’ll be able to know him by scent even if he isn’t woged. Typically, I can’t detect wesen by scent whilst they’re in their human form or see them demi-woge unless it's the full moon, so I can only assume he was in full woge when he abducted the girl and attacked the jogger.”

Granny remained stoic and stone-faced, still unsure whether she should trust the gemacht wesen in front of her.

“Look,” Killian said with a tone of authority Emma imagined he employed often in his line of work. “I know there’s a code among wesen. This desire to look after one's own kind. But this guy is a killer. He’s killed two people that we know of and may, even now, be holding a little girl captive, so please. Help me find him. Help me find her.”

The reminder of the little girl softened Granny’s features. “If he’s done what you say he has, then he’s putting us all at risk.” Quickly, she flicked her gaze to Emma then back to him, conceding, “You’re right. There is a code among wesen, but it only extends so far. It sounds to me like this blutbad has gone feral, and his behavior is only going to escalate the longer he’s allowed to run wild.”

“Then… you’ll help me?”

Her posture relaxed further and she stepped up to the counter, bringing her closer to both Killian and Emma. Nodding, she said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”

A relieved breath fell from Emma’s lips and she took Granny’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Granny.”

Granny patted her hand then straightened her shoulders, getting down to business. “Now, I’m no expert on lycanthropes, but unless he fully woges, I don’t think you’ll be able to tell whether your suspect is the blutbad you’re looking for. If he is feral, then it wouldn’t take too much to provoke a response, but you’d have to be ready. Once he woges… he’ll be out for blood.”

Emma saw a shudder pass over the detective and she wondered if he was remembering his own experience with an uncontrolled woge.

“What about the girl?” Killian asked. “What motive would he have for taking her?”

Granny pursed her lips together then hesitantly replied. “If he’s feral, and attacked someone before, then he’s likely gotten a taste for human blood.” Killian and Emma both grimaced, sickened by the notion. “I’d wager he attacked and fed on that jogger first. Probably lost control. He knows he’ll be good for another week until the urge takes hold again, but by then it’ll be the full moon and it’ll be risky for him to be out and about. He probably took the girl in preparation of making a meal of her later. Taking her now gives him time to fatten her up.”

Emma thought she might be sick, and while she could see the shared disgust in Killian’s face, she also saw rage.

Granny caught his eye and imparted, “Having her will make him even more territorial and dangerous. So you’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Will he, uh…” Killian began, haltingly. “Will he be able to discern who I am? What I am?”

“No,” Granny said, shaking her head. “I only made that quip about lycanthropes because Emma had already told me what you are… and I wanted to see how you’d react. You ought to know by now that wesen can only sense you during the full moon.”

“Aye, but he isn’t just any wesen,” Killian countered. “He’s my maker. Are you sure that won’t have an effect?”

“I don’t see why it would.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, a reluctant question seemed to pause at the tip of his tongue.

“So there won’t be any… connection between us, then? No weird side effort of my turning that would make me sympathetic towards him or beholden in some way?”

Granny scoffed and cocked an amused brow at him. “Such sire bonds only exist in fiction.”

Killian’s head fell in relief and Emma could now detect how much tension he must have been carrying over that worry.

“Gemacht sometimes latch on to those who aid and guide them through their transition, and many times that is the wesen who turned them, so if you were to have bonded onto someone it would have been the person who was there for you at the beginning of and during your first change.”

Killian’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Emma’s. Her heart stuttered, then began pounding in her chest while her breath remained trapped in her lungs.

Granny’s gaze volleyed between the two of them, her heading tilting to one side as she quipped, “I suppose that explains the pent up tension I’ve been sensing between you two.” A warm smile lifted the corners of her mouth in response to their awkward reaction to the call out, and she assured them, “Don’t worry. The bond was temporary. I dare say enough time has passed that it would be gone altogether.” Her no nonsense demeanor returned as she focused her attention solely back on Killian and asked, “Anything else?”

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Killian cleared his throat and said, “Just one last thing… Do you know who this blutbad might be?”

“Afraid not,” Granny told him with obvious regret in not being able to provide him a name. “I only relocated to Storybrooke a few months ago, and I find it best to avoid my kind as much as possible.” Her eyes fell down to the counter and on a bit of a grumble she added, “Bad things happen when we get into a pack. Especially when we see red.”

Killian’s eyes went wide.

“What?” Emma asked. “What is it?”

Killian locked eyes with her once more. “The little girl. Grace. She was last seen wearing a red hoodie. And the jogger and hiker both had on red jackets when their remains were found.”

“So, red provokes him?” Emma said, shaking her head in confusion. “But you weren’t wearing red when he attacked you. You were in uniform.”

“Which,” Granny interjected, “along with your natural demeanor of dominance and authority, he would have seen as a threat.”

“Which means he’ll likely view me as a threat when I confront him.”

“Most likely,” Granny warned. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and Emma knew she needed to get going so she could get back to the diner before the evening rush. “My advice,” she said, rounding the counter on her way out. “When you do confront him, do it alone. You don’t want him to feel trapped or backed into a corner, and if things go badly…”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Extending her hand, Granny offered him a sincere expression as he accepted the gesture. “Take care of yourself, Detective. I hope you can bring him to justice, but if not… bring him down any way you can.”

With that, she said a quick goodbye to Emma then exited the shop.

“Tough old bird,” Killian said in her wake, causing Emma to huff out an amused breath.

“Yeah. Granny is… something else.”

“Terrifying, I believe is the word you’re looking for,” he quipped with a light chuckle.

The two shared a laugh then stood awkwardly regarding one another for a long moment before Killian cleared his throat and said, “Um… thank you, Swan. I truly appreciate your help. I didn’t know who else to--”

“It was nothing,” Emma blurted out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I was happy you called and that I could…”

Her words fell away and a wash of something akin to embarrassment or bashfulness swept over her. Her face was hot and her palms were starting to get slick.

You're being ridiculous, Emma. You’re not a silly school girl unsure of what to say to her crush. In fact… you don’t have a crush. This isn’t a crush. This is--

Killian’s phone chimed with a notification. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the text and his grip tightened to the point that Emma feared he’d crack the screen.

“Killian? What is it?”

Slowly, Killian’s eyes lifted and met hers. The look that swirled in those blue depths made her breath hitch.

“We found him, Swan.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand in a way that caused her to shiver.

“Who is he?” she asked in a whisper, only vaguely aware that she was rounding the counter to move towards him.

His eyes never left hers and once she was standing before him, they flickered between her own as he answered. “His name is Quinn Adair. His address puts him outside of the city. Out in the woods.”

Emma swallowed hard as an eruption of worry filled her chest. “Are you… You’re not going to go after him now are you?”

“I have to, Swan,” he insisted. “He has Grace, remember? I have to get to her before he…”

Emma nodded, knowing that time was of the essence for that poor girl who was probably terrified out of her mind.

“Just… be careful?” she said, wetting her lips, which caused his gaze to drop down briefly. “And, um… Call me later so I know how it… so I know the girl is okay… and you.”

“Aye,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I will. I promise.”

She expected him to rush out after that, but he continued to stand there. Conflicted.

“Swan, I know this isn’t the time, but… what Granny said earlier. About us. About the bond that might have been created between us. Was that… Was that the reason you pulled away? Did you suspect?”

“Killian, I…” Emma didn’t know what to say. It would certainly be a plausible reason to give him. One that was safer than the truth.

It would be a lie, though.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving off the question and sparing her from having to answer. “As Granny said, whatever was going on between us at the time, it’s likely run its course, so…”

“So?”

Stepping forward, Killian grabbed her hand and lightly held it in his. A rush of goosebumps swept up her arm when his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“So… Maybe when this case is solved and things go back to relative normalcy, we could… try again?”

“Try again?” Emma parroted. A contradictory cocktail of hope, elation, dread, and panic collided within her as her good sense warred with her wants and desires.

“As friends, I mean,” he clarified, and in tamping down her own disappointment she missed the tone of it in his voice. “We had the start of something I was beginning to cherish and I miss…”

“Me, too,” she told him, turning her hand in his so she could give it a squeeze. Maybe it was reckless. She’d avoided close relationships all her life for a reason, and yet… “I’d love to start again. As friends.”

His smile took her breath away, but it was quickly schooled so he could focus on the dangerous task that lay before him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, filled with concern about him facing his maker alone. “I know Granny said not to make him feel trapped or backed into a corner, but I doubt he’d see me as a threat. And I doubt he’d be expecting a witch.”

His lip curled up on one side. “As much as I would love to see him go up against your magic, I won’t put you in harm's way like that.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he quickly added, “Besides. I need to try and do this by the book. I’m a cop before anything else.”

“I get that,” Emma relented, begrudgingly. “But I’m going to keep my phone close by in case you get in over your head and change your mind.”

“In over my head?” he said in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know, love,” he murmured in a low timber, edging a bit closer to her. “If there is one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.”

“Mhmm,” Emma hummed, meeting his taunting expression of challenge with one of her own. “Well, I’m going to insist that you stop by afterward in order to prove that to me.”

He smiled down at her, another message alerting from his phone, indicating it was past time for him to go.

“As you wish.”

Chapter Two - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

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@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[myfearless-love]

Too Well Tangled (Chapter 21/21 - "Untangling the Last Knot")

Chapters: 21/21 — "Untangling the Last Knot"

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Arthur (Once Upon a Time), Knave of Hearts | Will Scarlet, Robin Hood (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Emma Swan, Angst and Romance, Banter

Summary: Determined and tough-minded Emma Nolan is on a singular mission: to rescue her dim-witted brother from the clutches of Killian Jones, the infamously rakish Marquess of Hookstone. Little did she anticipate her own burgeoning desire for the audacious, unscrupulous scoundrel she intended to despise. Killian Jones, the enigmatic Marquess of Hookstone, has more than earned his sinister sobriquet, the "Prince of Darkness." His past, a stormy mosaic of rejection and rebellion, has forged a man both feared and revered. Yet, the indomitable Miss Nolan proves an unexpectedly formidable opponent for his infamous charm. But when Killian's reciprocated passion lands them in a scandalously compromising, and very public, predicament, Emma is left with no recourse but to demand satisfaction...

Previous chapters: ch. 1 II ch. 2 II ch. 3 II ch. 4 II ch. 5 II ch. 6 II ch. 7 II ch. 8 II ch. 9 II ch. 10 II ch. 11 II ch.12 II ch. 13 II ch. 14 II ch.15 II ch. 16 II ch. 17 II ch. 18 II ch. 19 II ch. 20

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

BIG shout out to my amazing beta @xarandomdreamx for always catching my mistakes and leaving me smiling with her comments!!❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

[snowbellewells]

@the-darkdragonfly Oh my goodness!!! 💖💕💖 Just a little teaser, and I can already tell how much I am going to love this one. The melancholy that she can’t claim him as her True Love before one and all and have him standing at her side always is palpable, and yet I still love how you’ve made it clear they’ve built something beautiful, warm, and comforting between them despite the obstacles. My heart aches for both of them, but it swelled too at the love you felt between them as she remembered receiving the swan pendant. His reasoning that swans mated for lift and her assurance that it suits perfectly were wonderfully priceless. I can’t wait to read this full work!!!

WIP Wednesday: Fine Line - A Captain Duckling Tale

Here is a small sneak peek of the Tale that will be going live in celebration of my darling bestie's birthday. Happy 12 days and counting @elizabeethan !!!! I tried to write PWP, but it caught feelings, then it... developed angst... #sorrynotsorry

♥️♥️♥️

The lantern on the mantle had burned down several inches since it had been lit, her gaze wandering to the window, at the sea spreading out before her, the sails she waited for, yearned desperately for, still missing from the horizon. He wasn’t coming.

The chambermaid had asked her what was the matter, twittering and twitching and rubbing against Emma’s last unfrayed nerve- nothing is the matter, thank you, that will be all- the need to be alone and heartbroken thick in her veins. He was going to miss her birthday. 

It wasn’t as if he would have been able to celebrate properly with her anyway, but for the last three years, his ship has sat in the harbour as he waited for her in the room above the quiet tavern which was as much theirs as her room at the castle was hers. She’d always gone to him. 

But the Jolly was still absent, the errand he had needed to undertake- I’ll be back before you can miss me, love- was taking far longer than she had expected- not possible, Captain, I miss you already- and her heart ached with the grief of knowing what they could never be. 

Her parents worried for her, she could feel it in their gaze, the set of her mothers shoulders and the way her fathers voice would become a forced light thing- you’ll find someone, Emma, they’re out there somewhere- whenever they spoke to her of the future and love and everything she had already found in a man she couldn’t keep. 

That’s very pretty- her mother had touched the necklace at her throat, a delicate chain with a small swan encrusted with diamonds which sat at the base of the neck. A Hogmanay gift from Killian months before, she’d worn it everyday, safely tucked beneath the layers of her winter dresses. But spring had broken into the world, and the small swan glistened in the light of the sun, hidden no longer. 

She’d smiled, a sad secret sort of smile- it was from a friend- and the question which had been poised on the tip of her mother’s tongue, the one of happiness and True Love, died as she watched the slip of sadness overtake her daughter’s eyes. 

He’d slipped the chain over her head, a kiss pressed against the column of her spine before securing the gift around her throat- it reminded me of you, love- her fingers rising to encircle the small pendant, head turning slightly to catch his gaze in the warm light of the fire he had stoked before joining her in bed- a swan?- her question a whisper in the dark. He’d nodded, eyes serious. They mate for life- she traced her fingers down the side of his face, the scratch of his beard rough under her nails. He’d nodded again, the twitch of his jaw telling of anxiety and fear. 

“It’s perfect,” she’d kissed him, pulling him down into the safety of the nest they had built together. 

The necklace sat at her neck over the years, the weight of it a constant presence in her life when he could not be. 

♥️♥️♥️

Coming January 16th, 2023

Read my other stuff.

Tagging:

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @batana54 @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnightsuki @paradiselady19

[cssecretsanta2020]

SO MANY SANTAS! BUT there's always room for more!

This event welcomes all santas old, new, santas that haven't made anything in a while, santas that have never made anything.

The gifts don't have to be fanfic or art. It can be anything from icons, gifs, playlist, fic recomendations, poem, anything! As long as its Captain Swan related/inspired and based off what your giftee likes!

SIGN UP TO BE A SECRET SANTA NOW HERE

Already signed up? Check the list twice for your name HERE

Can't be a Santa? Read about being Santas Helper HERE

SIGN UPS CLOSE NOVEMBER 26th! PAIRING GO OUT NOVEMBER 29th-30th!

[elizabeethan]

Not With Haste

An Overboard Conclusion

Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.

I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.

I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)

Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.

Rated T I think

~2300 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head. 

  The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father. 

  In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested. 

  He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.

  All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later. 

  And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time. 

  He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: What are you doing?

  He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*

  Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!

  Killian: That’s also where we live.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing. 

  Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother. 

  Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought. 

  Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips. 

  Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.

  Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”

  Killian: Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.

  It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video

  Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again. 

  Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters. 

  Killian: I do. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????

  Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent. 

  Killian: And for how that just sounded. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days. 

  Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex… 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes. 

  ~~~~

  Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. 

  Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child. 

  “Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose. 

  The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved. 

  “I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma. 

  “The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange. 

  She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”

  “Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”

  “Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them. 

  “It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”

  Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited. 

  “I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his. 

  It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner. 

  Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her. 

  But then, she speaks. 

  “Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears. 

  “Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after. 

  “About the oarfish…”

  He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”

  “I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”

  He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”

  “Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”

  His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly. 

  “If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”

  Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs. 

  “I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times. 

  “I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”  

  “And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”

  He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy. 

  “You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after. 

  “Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”

  To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family. 

~~~~

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[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 16/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Oh hey, remember me? Remember this story I haven't updated in a year…… Please don't hate me lol Sorry for how long this took - this chapter was just impossible to write and time just kept passing. I'm hoping there won't be such a long break again but I know better than to make promises.

Hopefully some of you are still reading this and enjoy this new chapter!

Note that I made a small change to the last chapter (which fixed this one). You don't have to read it, just know that the lost boys who died on the beach are still out there.

Anyway��� here you go! Sorry!

Thank you as always to @the-darkdragonfly for letting me just throw ideas at you about this story all the time and putting up with all the changes! 💕💕 And thank you @kmomof4 for looking this over and helping me decide on the ending 💕 (You can blame her! I kid... mostly)

Small content/trigger warning: This chapter includes more of the aftermath of the hunt. There are no children actively hurt in this chapter but there are bodies and burials and grief.

*******

Part 16

“Mom?”

The thundering of her heart rips her from sleep, hollow and echoing with the blood rushing in her ears, painful in her chest. But there’s only darkness in the small room of the ship, eyes wide and unfocused, the remnants of a dream she can’t remember still making shapes in the dark. She could have sworn she heard it, like it was there in the room with her. But there's no one here - only Killian still in the bed next to her, the arm that had held her close before now outstretched beneath her as he sleeps. A dream. Neverland playing tricks on her - or one of the lost boys above deck calling out to the dark for their mother. 

“Momma?” That one’s real, quieter. One of the children must have found a way down, wandering the halls looking for someone he’ll never find. “Mummy…” That one is heartbreaking. She rises from the bed, Killian not stirring as she slips from the sheets and makes her way quietly across and out of the room. The boys were told not to come down here - better she find whoever it is than one of the pirates. “Mom?” There’s no one there to accompany the sound in the dim light of the lantern outside the cabin and she hesitates, looking towards where the disembodied voice came from. Whoever they are, it sounds like they’re making their way back to the deck on their own… “Mom?” 

The word cuts through her, paralyzes her, heart so tight in her chest she can’t breathe. Henry. She knows his voice - already so deeply ingrained in every part of her being after such a short time that hearing it now is like a piece of herself lost and calling out to be found. 

“Emma?” Softer, getting further away from her - losing him all over again. Her bare feet make no sound as she runs past the crew’s quarters, past the bosun’s room and the galley towards the deck. The door creaks wearily as she climbs the steps and opens it to the night air. The lost boys are asleep - all of them - every single one exhausted from the horrors of the day and she pads carefully through the bodies - sleeping and dead - searching. Henry’s not among them. The ship holds that eerie Neverland silence she can’t get used to, no crashing of waves or rustle of wind, the faint discordant song of the Lorelei the only hiss of sound as it floats in and out on the sea. 

“Mom?” 

Her eyes snap to the back of the Jolly. “Henry?” she hisses. 

“Mom!” Emma nearly stumbles over a sleeping child as she tries to catch up to him before he’s lost to her again. He found her. Of course he did, just like before. She should have known he would. She rounds the helm, heart pounding so violently it reaches the stern before she does. But there’s no one there, again, just an empty deck where a child should be, where her son should be. 

“Where are you?” There’s nowhere else to search, only the sea that surrounds them.

“Emma?” Wendy is standing in front of her, head cocked. “What are you doing up here?” 

She looks towards where her son should be, where the voice no longer calls out to her. There’s nothing there, no one, just the sleeping boys, just Will. 

“Did you see him?”

“See who?” 

“Henry. Did you see him? Did you see where he went?” 

“Henry? There’s no one else up here. It’s just me and the new recruits. You must have been dreaming.”

“I know what I heard. I know my son.” The other woman’s expression turns pitying and Emma’s shoulders tense. “I heard him.” 

Wendy’s frown deepens and when she speaks her voice has the same tone that hers had when she’d been trying to calm Hook in the hospital, the one you use to console a crazy person. “I’m sure you did.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” But even as she says it she starts to doubt her own words. There’s no sign of him, no sign that he was ever here. Wendy wouldn’t lie about that. 

She sighs. “I believe you.” She does, but she also doesn’t believe Henry’s on the ship either. Emma goes to the ship’s edge, careful not to trip over any sprawled limbs, and squints out at the beach against the sun that’s just starting to rise. Maybe he’s not on the Jolly. Maybe he’s somewhere out there. There’s no sign of him on the blood soaked sand and relief settles like a stone in her throat even as the fear of not knowing where he is rises up again. “Neverland plays tricks, Emma.” Wendy joins her at the bow, leaning against the rail, back straight and alert as she looks out at the carnage before them. “You can’t trust anything you hear. The shadows’ll do anything to lure you out.”

“The shadows?”

A nod. “They see into your dreams, see what it is you want most and use it against you. It’s how so many of the boys end up here in the first place.” Wendy’s shoulders sag a little, looking out at the bodies on the beach. It’s the closest Emma’s seen her come to breaking the hard mask she’s worn so well since the hunt started - the real person behind the cold captain. “And now they’ll never leave.”

“What happens to the bodies?” she asks, looking back at the dead, carefully wrapped in sheets on the deck.

“We bury the ones who made it here at sea. Neverland takes back the rest.” 

Emma frowns, eyes darting to the shore. “What do you mean it takes them back?” 

“They become the shadows that live in Dark Hollow, whispering to Pan, finding children, his way of keeping an eye on the outside world. He’ll come at sundown to collect them.” 

“They become the shadows?” she swallows, cold dread tasting bitter at the thought of all those kids having to become Pan’s creatures, forced to do his bidding forever. “The boys?”

Wendy nods and her stomach drops. 

“What about the ones who died here? Will they be shadows too?” 

She shakes his head. “Neverland magic can’t touch this ship. Whatever enchantment’s on it is powerful enough to keep even the darkness away.” Neverland can’t find you here. 

Emma hears her sigh when she looks back out at that beach. “Don’t even think about it.” She’s thinking about it. “He gets to keep his winnings. Those are the rules of the game. Those rules keep us alive.” 

She doesn’t answer, only gives the captain a small nod, thoughts still spinning with the cruelty of it all, that even in death these children can’t escape Pan. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder, the gesture surprisingly consoling, the mask slipping again. “You’re not the only one who wishes it could be different.” 

Emma nods, grim and defeated, and Wendy pats her shoulder with a tight-lipped smile before turning towards where some of the children have started to stir. 

She wishes she could say she thought about it longer, or at all, really. But all she can think of is every single kid she knew growing up, all the ones who fell through the cracks, the ones who were given up on or abandoned, all the adults who threw up their hands and said there was nothing they could do - that was just how the system worked, that rules had to be followed. Fuck that. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

Wendy’s shout echoes above her, cut off by the water when she plunges into it. It takes her deeper than she expected it to, the fall further than she thought, but she kicks wildly, eyes burning against the salt until she breaks the surface. And then she’s swimming, boots and vest heavy against the waves, hat lost somewhere between the ship and the surface, but she keeps going. She can make this swim, she’s made it before - and she has a purpose now. 

She stumbles as she climbs onto the beach, the tide pulling at her knees and then her ankles like it’s trying to draw her back to where it’s safe. Emma fights it, running and slipping across the sand once it’s hot and dry beneath her feet and collapsing beside the first boy she finds. He’s tall and wiry, limbs stretched out, calf-like, not yet grown into his elbows and knees. And now he never will. 

She kneels beside him, stroking his cheek before closing his eyes. Salt water drips onto his skin, turning dried blood fresh again as she tells him she’s sorry - that this happened, that she couldn't do anything to stop it, that Pan gets to keep living. She doesn’t know how long she just sits there with him, looking out at all the other kids who won’t ever go home. 

“Swan…” No. She’s not going back - not leaving them here. She slides her arms under the boy’s shoulders, heaving his limp, heavy frame onto her chest, not sure how she plans to get him back to the ship, just that she will. “Swan.” She ignores it, digging her heels into the sand, trying to plant them under her enough that she can get to her feet. But it slips away beneath her boots and she falls on her ass again and again. She’s not leaving him here. She’s not leaving any of them here.

“Swan.” 

“What!” she snaps, barely looking up at him, wet hair plastered to his face, coat left behind, shirt soaked in water and salt. She can’t get her legs steady enough beneath her, can’t lift the kid any higher into her arms, so she starts to drag him back across the beach, holding tight to his chest as she makes it inch by inch, blonde head rolling limply against her shoulder. 

“Emma,” Killian says softly when she stumbles, she and the boy fall back against the sand. If he says her name one more goddamn time… His hand is gentle on her arm, stopping her as she moves to stand again and she looks up, ready for a fight, whatever she has to, but she’s taking this kid back to his stupid, magical ship where he can rest in fucking peace. 

But his gaze isn’t scolding, not a warning or even pity and he reaches for the boy in her arms, taking his weight from her and hoisting him over his shoulder. He fixes her carefully with a solemn, resolved stare when she stands to meet his gaze. “There’ll be consequences.” 

She looks back towards the shoreline where Will and Wendy are standing by the dinghy. “Do you care?” she asks him, turning to the others, “Do any of you care?” There are more coming out of the water now, pirates and lost boys marching onto the beach.

The residual anger fades from Wendy’s eyes, hardening into something different, and then she kneels beside a small body, this one looking too young to have been on this side of the hunt. “John didn’t make it off the beach,” is all she says before lifting him from the sand and meeting Emma’s eyes with equal determination. 

Will shrugs. “Pan already wants me dead,” he says, bending to pick up another child, cradling the boy to his chest. “Might as well be for a good reason.”

Slowly, the others begin doing the same, gathering the fallen, some searching for brothers, friends, others finding any they can carry. Emma follows Killian’s gaze to where two older kids come to the aid of a young boy trying to pick up a bigger body that bears him a painful resemblance - a brother no doubt. She doesn’t miss the way Killian watches them carry him across the beach, the younger boy not letting go of his brother’s sleeve. He’d lost his brother here as well, to Pan’s cruelty. She wonders how long ago it was, wonders if any amount of time matters. 

Emma follows Killian as he brings the tall boy’s body to the dinghy and sets him down gently. 

“So what now, Swan?” he says, turning to look at the Lost Boys gathering their fallen friends, “You’ve declared war on Pan. And these boys will follow you to the end now. Where will you lead them?” 

Emma spares another glance at the beach, at the pirates that were Lost Boys and the Lost Boys that will be pirates, all of them stolen from their lives and their families for Pan’s enjoyment. “Home. When this is over, and Pan is dead, we’re taking them home. All of them.”

“Aye,” he says, with an edge of something she can’t place in his voice, his gaze holding hers just a moment too long before he moves to collect another body, damp skin and drying shirt becoming stained with someone else’s blood. He hesitates, casting a glance back at her. “They aren’t the only ones who’ll follow you,” he tells her before turning and walking back towards the shore.

***

There are twice as many bodies on the deck as there had been last night, a sea of white cloth laid out on the bow of the Jolly like snowfall, twice as many ghosts wrapped in sheets waiting to be buried at sea. There are twice as many lost boys too, half of them no longer cowering by the edge of the ship’s rail, gazing longingly out at the island they’d just escaped. Instead they stand in rows, backs straight and heads bowed, already falling in line, already soldiers as they wait for their captain to speak. 

They’d sailed further from land than Emma’s been since they first arrived, the water deeper here, where no light can reach the depths even with the sun burning high and bright above them, and no shadows can be cast. “They’re weakest when the sun is at its peak, where the light can’t cast them further,” Wendy had explained. “At night though… at night the whole world is shadow.” 

Killian stands tense before them, Wendy and Will at his side, the two captains and their first mates. There’s something off in the line of his shoulders, in the way his thumb keeps sliding over the rings he wears. She’d seen him in the aftermath of the hunt, surrounded by the bodies, used to death and slaughter and cruelty. He’d held back then, composed and calm as always around the boys and young men that had survived. But as he looks at the sea of white, the cannonballs tied to their ankles that will drag them all down into the darkness where the shadows can’t reach them, she can see him losing that tenuous grip on his cool indifference. So can Wendy, if the hint of sympathy barely cracking through her own harsh disguise is anything to go on. 

When she thinks that he might not manage it, that his first mate might have to step in and take over, he lets out a bitter sigh. “Best not to draw it out.” Will steps forward, he and Killian lifting the closest body onto a plank balanced on the rail, held steady by two of the older crewmen - both barely out of their teens - preparing to tilt the body into the sea. 

Before he can raise his hand to signal the order, a small boy appears at his side, and Killian freezes. Emma hadn’t seen him break rank, hadn’t seen him make his way across the deck - no more than seven or eight years old.  She recognizes him, the one who’d been trying to carry his brother on the beach. She wonders what he could have possibly done for Pan to decide he’d had his fill of time in Neverland. 

The boy’s coat is tattered and dirty from however long he’d been in the jungle, and her reaches into it to pull something out, and then stretches as far as he can to reach across the body that’s nearly at eye level with him. And there, in the center of white sheet, he sets a baseball card down on the fallen boy’s chest. 

Emma doesn’t breath, the men holding the plank staring at the card, everyone on deck silent and frozen. The child moves to Killian’s side then, tugging at the thick leather of his sleeve until the captain leans down and gives the boy his attention. “Jack.” 

A strange sort of uncertainty falls over the crowd at the sound of the lost boy’s name. This is clearly not how things are done. Even the newest recruits shift uncomfortably - waiting. She watches the understanding settle in the line of Killian’s shoulders as he nods at the newest member of his crew. After a moment, one of the men who’d been holding the plank reaches out and tucks the card into the folds of the sail and then looks to his captain. Killian turns to the boy before nodding again.

“Jack,” he repeats, loud enough for everyone to hear.

There’s barely a splash as the body disappears beneath the surface, hardly a sound in that chilling stillness that Neverland possessed, but it resonates across the deck and Emma feels something shift. Wendy moves to help lift the next body onto the plank as Killian waits. A name is called from somewhere near the back, too quiet to place among the rows of former lost boys, but Killian repeats it as he had first one and there’s a moment of solemnness before another splash echoes across the deck. 

He names each of them -they all do - friends and brothers calling out to identify the fallen, to remember them before they’re laid to rest where Pan will never find them, where he’ll never hurt them again. 

***

“What do you think he’ll do?” 

Killian looks up at her standing in his doorway, shirt slipping over his head, catching on his hook. “Pan?” He sets to working the fabric free, hair windswept and sticking up at strange angles, skin still marked with the blood of the children he’d carried. 

Emma nods. He’d said there’d be consequences and she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since they’d gotten the last boy off the beach and onto the ship, his body wrapped in a sheet and sent to the depths with the others.

“I don’t know, but he won’t be happy.” 

She worries her lip between her teeth, casting a glance down the hall to the steps where overhead the boys are being introduced to their new life of piracy. “Darling makes ‘em spend days scrubbing the ship clean when they first come aboard. Says it ‘builds character’,” Will had explained. “Let it go already - it’s been nine years.” 

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” 

She shakes her head. She knows she did the right thing, that the children that died yesterday deserved some amount of dignity, of care, even in death, that those who lived deserved to see that they mattered, that they would be missed, that they wouldn’t be cast aside or forgotten. And that they wouldn’t be forced to be a tool in Pan’s neverending need for more playthings. 

“No, but I guess… I guess I didn’t consider that the consequences might not just be mine.” He could come for any of them. As far as Pan knows, she doesn’t exist. But Killian and Wendy, Will and everyone else on this ship could fall victim to Pan’s anger because of her. 

“Every person out there made a choice today, Swan. Something they haven’t been able to do in a very long time.” He finally gets the shirt free of his brace and lifts his gaze to hers. “Whatever consequences befall us now, the burden will be all of ours to bear. Not just yours.” He waits until she nods in agreement, then moves to dip his hand and hook into a basin, Emma watching as the water turns a murky red. “I will say though, Swan, I pity Pan for when he finally finds himself on the wrong side of your wrath. You’ve turned all of Neverland against him, even his own.”

“I think he did that himself when he tried to kill them.”

Killian shakes his head, grabbing a dampened cloth with his hook and scrubbing at the blood and sand dried to his hand. “The fact that they’d defy Pan and choose their fallen friends… the fact that half of them didn’t run for the treeline to beg him to take them back… You’ve changed something, love. You’ve done more for the creatures of this island in a week than any of us have managed in centuries.”

“I couldn’t just do nothing,” she mutters, crossing her arms and shrugging awkwardly. 

Killian gives a short, humourless laugh, avoiding her gaze, scrubbing harder as the cloth continues to slip from his hook. “Believe me, Swan, it’s very easy to do nothing.”

Emma takes a step into the room. “You didn’t do nothing.” 

“I didn’t do nearly as much as I could have.” 

“Stop it,” she scolds, crossing the space between them and taking the rag from him. He startles as she grabs his wrist, running the cloth over the blood caked into his palm. She knows her hair and clothes probably look just as bad - everyone out on the deck today carrying the stain of Pan’s cruelty on their skin. “You did what you could while staying alive. You can’t protect people if you’re dead. You can’t protect your crew, and you can’t protect the kids Pan sends your way if you’re dead.” He doesn’t have an answer to that. Good. 

They stand in silence as she finishes her task. When she can’t pretend to be cleaning the now non-existent blood anymore - the most stubborn bit finally wiped clean - when she can’t avoid saying what she came to say anymore, she sighs. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“I know you could have just as easily made me leave them there on the beach - that it probably would have been the safer choice.” 

She rests the cloth in his open hand, focusing on it instead of him. She’s not great at this ‘thank you’ thing, at people understanding her the way he had on the shore today. 

“I don’t think anyone could make you do anything easily, Swan,” he teases and she shrugs, matching his hesitant smirk. “And it may have been the safe thing to do, but it wouldn’t have been the right thing.” His fingers curl around hers, keeping her there and drawing her attention back to him. “I should thank you as well.” 

“For what?” she echoes, frowning. She’s pretty sure she’s done nothing but cause problems for him since she got here. 

“For reminding me that I can still choose to do the right thing. I’d started to believe I’d forgotten how.” 

Her frown deepens. “Killian, you’ve done the right thing since -'' always, she wants to say, since she met him and made him bring her back here. He’s done right by her and her son and everyone else here from the beginning. 

“Since you chained me to that bloody sick bed,” he finishes, smirking again even as he shakes his head in disbelief, thumb is stroking across her knuckles - she doesn’t think he means to be doing it. “I don’t seem to have the option where you’re concerned. It’s exhausting, really.” Emma does her best not to laugh, not when he takes a step closer, fingers curling more purposefully around hers, the metal of his ring cool against her skin as he drops the cloth, eyes focused on hers like he’s trying to find an answer in them.  Voice soft, the teasing gone now he breathes, “you’re a bloody marvel, Swan,” and he’s so damn close now that she can feel his words warm against her cheek, can smell the salt and leather and rum that clings to his skin even after a day like today. 

He doesn’t move and she can’t decide if she wants him to, if the pounding of her heart stems from a desire to have him close the distance between them or from fear of what it would mean if he did. He’s watching her like he’s trying to decide the same and the words come out before she can stop them.

“Are you going to kiss me again?” 

His brow quirks up in amusement, before it shifts into that smug arch that’s become so familiar. “I believe you’re the one who’s initiated all of our previous dalliances, love,” he points out and she can feel her face going hot because he’s not wrong - she’s been throwing herself at him every chance she gets since that first kiss that was meant to distract him. “But aye,” he continues before the embarrassment gives her time to second guess herself. His hand lifts to her cheek, thumb tracing over her lip. “If you’ve no objections…” 

She should have some objections - like that making out with the really hot, annoyingly heroic pirate that makes her feel all kinds of confusing things she doesn’t want to be feeling is a really bad idea. But her head shakes without her permission and then he’s leaning in, carefully and agonizingly slowly until his lips only barely brush hers, the taste and heat of his mouth leaving her aching for the promise of more. She’d accuse him of teasing, only it doesn’t feel like a tease, more like a question as his lips catch hers gently, chaste and slow before pulling away and hesitating a moment longer. 

Emma’s fingers reach to tangle in his hair as she resists the urge to pull him to her like she has in the past. He lets out a small sigh at her touch and she can almost taste it before his mouth is on hers again, kiss slow and deep, swallowing the small sound she lets out when his brace slides low across her back to draw her closer. He kisses her like they’ve never done this before, every brush of his lips and stroke of his tongue and exploration and she’ll never get over how strongly her body reacts to him and the all-consuming way his mouth claims hers. 

She breathes his name and he lets out a low growl, hand tightening in her hair, pulling her closer, teeth dragging over her lip like he can catch the sound before soothing it with his tongue. He walks them back across the room to the door, pushing it shut, cradling her head against the impact as he presses her into the wood, mouth not leaving hers. She’s taken aback for a moment by the gentleness of his touch, but then his lips leave hers to trail the length of her neck and the shuddering heat that burns her everywhere his tongue meets her skin has her arching into him, need pooling low in her stomach. 

Emma lets out a small whimper when he follows the line of her shirt to the swell of her breasts and Killian groans, pulling away, forehead resting against hers as they both pant into the space between them. “I don’t have the energy to do everything I want to do to you tonight,” he sighs.

“How about just some of it?” she asks and he laughs, hand tracing the same path his mouth had, stopping at the center of her chest, over her heart, and sounding as frustrated as she feels - but also just as exhausted. Today had been a trying day, even by Neverland standards, and they’re both weary and still covered in blood and dirt and sweat from the exertion. 

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh, even if she doesn’t like it. Her hands slide from where they’d woven themselves into his hair to settle on his chest, his skin warm and soft against the coarse hair, heart beating hard under her palm. “Can I…” He waits, gaze focused on her even as she looks at the floor. She hates feeling vulnerable, but with everything that’s happened, with what Wendy told her about the shadows, and the now growing threat of an angry, vindictive Pan she just… “Can I stay?” 

They hadn’t talked about it in the morning, about Emma coming to his room the night before, the ship so loud with the cries of those broken children thrust into adulthood too young, into piracy against their will. She’d been gone before he woke, chasing phantoms across the deck and jumping off ships and they’d pretended as though it had never happened. And she’d been grateful for that. It made her feel brave enough to ask now, to admit that she needed this.

He seems surprised by her question before an expression of gentle understanding softens his features. “Aye, love,” he nods, reaching to brush her probably wild and matted hair from her eyes. “I’d like that.” The hitch of her heart calms when she realizes that maybe he also doesn’t want to be alone tonight, that maybe he needs the comfort and safety of another person after all the tragedy they’ve seen these last few days. 

He kisses her again, soft and gentle and easing some of the dread that’s made a home in her chest since she left Storybrooke. She thinks he meant it to be chaste, but neither of them seem in any hurry to give up the press of his mouth against hers, the reassuring comfort of his heartbeat, beneath her palm, or the warmth of his calloused fingers against her cheek, the metal of his hook, cool and grounding on her hip. 

She lets it go on longer than she should for a kiss like this, one that isn’t building to anything else, that isn’t meant to excite or seduce but just to feel and savour something good for once, something easy. It’s the way she’d kissed him by the water on Solstice. It had been dangerous then and it was dangerous now. 

Still, Killian is the one to pull away first, Emma chasing his lips without meaning to before he clears his throat, cheeks flushed and an expression she can’t place in his eyes as they meet hers, like the one he’d worn in the brig - perhaps I would - and suddenly it’s all so much more than it was supposed to be, than it can or should be. He must sense it too because he takes a step back, fog still not fully cleared from his gaze as he straightens. 

“I should go ensure the crew are prepared for the night - that there’s a watch planned.” She peels herself off the door so that he can get by. “There’s hot water in the pitcher if you want to wash the day off,” he adds, waiting for her nod, returning it, and then darting out of the room. 

Emma sags back against the closed door. What the hell are you doing? She can’t be doing… this. Whatever this is. Not here, certainly not now when she should be focused on her mission, on her son, not when the last time she came close to this was… Her fingers brush over the boot laces tied around her wrist. Look how well that had ended. Look how well it always ends. 

By the time Killian returns she’s washed her hair and the worst of the grime from her skin before slipping under the covers in a stolen, clean shirt. She feigns sleep when she hears him move almost silently around the room, there’s the splash of water and the rustle of clothing as she forces her eyes to remain shut. It’s not until she knows he’s standing by the bed, hesitating, like he’s not sure he should still join her now that she’s ‘asleep’ - as though she didn’t ask him if she could spend another night in his bed- that she breaks her pretense. 

“Just get in, Killian.” There’s a pause, a stillness in the air before she feels the sheets move and the bed sag beside her as he slides in, settling on his side next to her but leaving enough room that there’s no risk of them touching. And it’s a palpable distance. “Do you… do you want to sleep alone?” she asks quietly, anxious now that this isn’t one of his frustrating gentleman streaks but that he’s changed his mind, that she’s imposing, asking too much of him. 

“No,” his voice is just as low as hers and she holds back a small sigh of relief. 

“Please don’t make me ask…” Emma feels him calm beside her, the awkward tension leaving him as he inches closer. His fingers ghost over her shoulder for a moment before he slides his arm around her waist and pulls her back against him.

“I’m here, Swan. You don’t have to ask.” The promise is breathed into her hair, lips pressing to the crown of her head as they had the night before and Emma shuts her eyes against the tears that burn at the edges of them. “You’re safe,” he tells her again, like he knows she needs to hear it, and she nods. She knows. Even as the cries of the lost boys drift into the room from above deck and the jungle beyond, she knows. 

She turns in his arms, tucking her hands beneath her cheek so she can see him, follow the outline of his jaw and neck in the moonlight that steals through the drawn curtains. Even his silhouette is beautiful, the light playing over the edges of his skin, turning it almost iridescent, and making her want to reach out and trace the curve of his bare shoulder and arm where the shadows suggest shapes in the dark. 

“You are too, you know.” Killian might be one of the bravest people she’s ever met, but she knows that Pan terrifies him. And today he pissed him off - because she asked him to. “If Pan wants any of you he’s gonna have to go through me first.” Bold words as they hide beneath the covers like children hoping they won’t be found.

She doesn’t have to see his eyebrow tick up to know that it is. “Aye?”

“I’m scarier than I look.” He bites down on a laugh or a teasing comment. Her fingers found their way to his elbow at some point - she hadn’t meant to. They follow the line of his bicep, his shoulder. “I can keep you all safe.” Her voice nearly breaks on the last word - because she has to. Henry, Killian, Wendy, Will, she needs all of them to survive this. She’s lost everyone she’s cared about. She won’t add them to the list.

His finger is gentle beneath her chin as hers dance across his collarbone and she lifts her gaze to the pale blue that shines even in the dim light. “We’ll keep each other safe then,” he offers like a compromise and she nods. She can do that. 

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s going to kiss her this time, and she doesn’t care enough to be conflicted by the fact that she wants him to - not here in the dark where her doubts can’t find her. His hand slides over her cheek, fingers tracing the shell of her ear to curl around the nape of her neck, like he’s mapping his way to her by touch. When he draws her in she goes willingly, mouth meeting his like muscle memory, the heat and feel and taste of him a familiar temptation that she could find blind.

He hums low in the back of his throat when her lips part beneath his in invitation, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue hot and slow against hers, using his hooked arm to pull her close, legs tangling beneath the sheets. She’s on goddamn fire as he continues to touch her with nothing but his hand in her hair, lips not straying from hers, and it’s not fucking fair because nobody should be able to push all of her buttons and make her want them so badly without even trying. And he’s not trying. This is just… how he is with her, how they are together and it’s maddening and intoxicating and she wonders if it’s always like this when you care. 

Fuck. The thought stops her. Fuck, she cares. She cares if he lives or dies - if something were to happen to him… If it happened because of her, she doesn’t -

“Are you alright, love?” The words are spoken against her lips. No, she’s absolutely not. But she’s not dealing with that right now. She doesn’t want to deal with how or why or when she ended up caring so fucking much, what it could do to her, like it’s done so many times before. She shakes her head, ignoring his question, both her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him back to her, mouth slanting over his in a silent sort of plea. He returns it, though his kiss is gentler than hers, softer and less urgent than it had been a moment ago and her heart and mind grow a bit less frantic. 

He changes the pace, slowing her, calming her, Emma sinking into the purposeful slide of his mouth and tongue and the tug of his fingers in her hair. He pulls away, their breath shallow and he finds her eyes in the dark again. The shadows don’t let her read his expression, but he must see something in hers because his hand slips from her hair, following the strands down her back to her waist where it flattens against her hip, slipping beneath the fabric of her stolen shirt. He moves so slowly, like he expects her to stop him, or he’s just giving her the chance to, but the heat of his palm trailing up her side is the most agonizing kind of torment and she bites hard on her lip to keep from begging as he inches across her skin.

When his hand finds her breast she lets him swallow the gasp that escapes her and the small curse she lets out when his thumb rolls over her nipple. She breathes his name when he continues to touch her, her nails digging into the back of his shoulders when he moves to nip and lick at the pulse point of her neck. He releases her only long enough to work the few buttons of her shirt open and then his mouth is on her breast and the room fills with her poorly silenced gasps and pleas as he teases her with teeth and tongue. 

She’s grateful when he kisses her again, just as his fingers trail over her stomach and dip between her legs, muffling the sound that would have alerted anyone still awake to exactly what was taking place in the dark of the cabin. His touch is fucking perfect, like he’d watched her in that fairy field where he talked her over the edge because ever stroke and curl and thrust is exactly what she likes, exactly what she needs and she knows it won’t take long. 

Killian falters when she reaches for him, fingers sliding into the soft, slippery fabric of his pants and finding him hard and straining in her hand. He bites out her name like a curse when she strokes him and he tries and fails to regain his composure. When her mouth claims his he groans into the kiss, his fingers matching the pace she sets with her hand on him and the roll of her hips. His thumb finds her clit and she bites his lip at the meticulousness of his touch, determined and fervid and she thinks he must be close too if he’s trying to send her over the edge so urgently.

Her free hand is vice-like in his hair, holding him to her as they whisper hushed gasps and curses into each other’s mouths and Emma has to turn her head into his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as she feels her climax building, hips rocking frantically as he brings her higher and higher. Her grip on his cock tightens, her strokes faster as she nears that edge. His words fall out in a choked mix of encouragement and pleasure, beard rough against her skin, breath hot on her neck, until she feels him tense against her. He groans a muffled ‘fuck, please, Swan,’ against her throat, fingers curling and urging and then she’s coming, back arching and her cry cut off by his mouth on hers before she feels him spill himself in her hand. 

“Fuck,” Killian curses, low and breathless in the stillness of the Neverland night. She doesn’t have any words, heart still racing and eyes still shut tight, her body feeling like it’s going to float away despite the heaviness in her limbs. She tugs his mouth back to hers with the grip she still has on his hair and the groan he lets out almost makes her feel bad, exhaustion and desperation and desire wrapped into one, low sound. 

He kisses her again, lips moving to her neck, her shoulder, her breast, and she’s about to warn him not to start something he can’t finish as the low hum of warmth settles over her skin, but then his fingers tug the edges of her shirt closed gently, pressing one last kiss to her mouth before standing and retrieving a cloth.

“Was that one of the things you had in mind?” she teases when she hands it back to him and he discards it. Her voice is still breathless and strained as he climbs back into the bed, sliding beneath the covers and taking her hand in his. She watches as he raises it to his lips, placing a kiss to the center of her palm and then weaving his fingers through hers. She tries not to let her heart grow frantic with the mix of fear and longing that surges when he lets their entwined hands rest in the bare space between them. 

“That was… wholly unexpected,” he rasps, thick with sleep and sex. She thinks his eyes are drifting shut, the strain of the day finally taking him even as his thumb strokes carefully over the back of hers, slower and slower as he’s pulled under. 

She watches him for a moment longer, making out the line of his brow and cheek in the dark, the steady rise and fall of his chest, more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. And as she pulls his hand to her mouth, lips settling against the cool metal of his rings, she knows exactly what he means. 

***

Emma wakes to a hand pressed firmly over her mouth, her eyes darting open in panic, muscles tensed, braced for a fight. But where she expects an intruder she finds only Killian, face close to hers, finger held to his lips, and she’d fucking deck him for scaring the shit out of her like this if it weren’t for the seriousness of his expression, the fear he just barely hides beneath the command. She knows that fear can only mean one thing, even before he whispers it into the darkness, eyes darting towards the ceiling, to the deck above them.

Pan.

******

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[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "The Belle Dame Emma"

This short MC fic was my @cssns21 entry, and I tried my hand at a fae version of Emma and a knight version of Killian with it. It took a fair amount of inspiration from the classic Keats poem "La Belle Dame sans Merci", the lines at beginning and end of the chapters are from the poem, as well as from my desire to explore the Dark Swan idea from a different angle, with more of Emma's fighting back against those tendencies as we saw at first. At any rate, as I am going back through my @cssns contributions, I was excited to find this one next. I hope you will enjoy this if you didn't see it back then, and even if you did, maybe you will enjoy it again...

Summary: Legend has it that the fae woman in the meadow will ensnare any who dare enter her domain, but the knight who chances a meeting can tell there is more to the story than superstition and gossip has allowed. The path to the truth and redemption may be fraught with dangers - to the both of them - but is it not the sworn duty of a true knight to help any who may be in need?

**Thanks a million once more to @caught-in-the-filter who made the gorgeous cover art for this fic! I absolutely love it! **

{Also available on AO3, if that is your preference}

by: @snowbellewells

Part One

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful - a faery’s child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

Some folks say that she was always malevolent. Born to beguile and lure the unworthy to their doom. The fae, after all, were not to be trifled with, and those who dared do so learned their lesson at high cost.

The whispers around the fog-wisped edges of her meadow haunt, the word spoken as warning with anxious glances over the shoulder, was that her beauty was matched only by her fury. That she was possessed with a thirst to punish those who would be lured by her fair form and bewitching song. Those who were wise came to skirt wide around those fallow fields in that sparsely populated corner of the kingdom, for it was said that even those of stoutest resolve and pure intentions found this powerful nymph - be it by her face alone or some magic she wielded to draw them into her web - nigh impossible to resist.

Some retellings of her legend had her thrown from the sparkling court of the fair folk for her cruel and deviant nature. Others claimed she possessed more power and magic than any single faery had before her, and it had simply been too much - bending her better nature into madness. Still other storytellers would paint her more as a tragic sacrifice. The Fae Folk must have one who punished those unworthy of their own kind, as well as the humans who got too close to discovering their kingdom’s gates or who would dare to upset the fragile balance of peace between the two species - who might dare to think themselves equal to, and attempt to win the heart of, a faery. She was simply the one chosen to mete out these judgements. A Guardian and a Gatekeeper, as it were.

And though there is often a grain of truth to any rumor, very rarely do such stories paint their characters as they truly are. Not in full. And the ballad of awe and fear told of the beautiful, but deadly, lady Emma - La Belle Dame Sans Merci - was just such a tale. The whispers bore fragments of reality, but could not explain it all. Though she was not blameless, she was not completely lost. Perhaps there only needed to be some small spark of light, some reason for her to look within for any shred of mercy she might still possess.

~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~

The wind rushed across his forehead, lifting the strands of his dark hair from his heated skin pleasantly and ruffling his steed’s mane before dancing on to bend the grasses along the quiet roadside and tug at the leaves on nearby trees. It was a pleasant morning to be about, though the way seemed strangely untraveled since his turn-off at the last crossroad. Killian Jones, knight-at-arms, found he didn’t truly mind the peacefulness and lack of fellow travelers, enjoying the sounds of breeze and birdsong and mulling his own thoughts. Though adventure, daring battle, and quests of honor made his blood pound with vigor, causing excitement to tingle in his nerve endings and a sense of fulfillment in being where he was needed and doing what he must flooded his being, he could admit if only to himself on this placid afternoon, that he sometimes still wondered if there was more.

He certainly did not wish to change his profession. He would never be happy as a blacksmith, farmer, or tradesman; anything so mundane, necessary as those roles were, would never satisfy him for long. And yet, he had begun to feel the weight of many battles, the lives he had held in his hands, and the blood he could sometimes still see behind closed eyelids, had begun to haunt him. If there was always another fight, another enemy to vanquish, more violence and death and Darkness, were they making any difference? Was a glimmer of the light they fought for shining through, or were they merely treading water, waiting to be subsumed?

It was what had brought him to this quiet roadside meadow alone, rather than back on the high road with his fellows, moving on to the next castle and the next foe they needed to vanquish. He had called out that he would rejoin them further down the road; it was not unusual for one of them to split off on some personal venture from time to time. It was a life of constant movement, never truly being at ease or settling anywhere, and yet it made sense that sometimes one would need to pause, linger, and think for a moment where it was still and inviting enough to do so.

Killian knew he had traveled in this corner of the kingdom before - though it had been some time back. He did not remember the way this road had curved and twined, becoming narrowed and more removed from the larger surroundings as it followed a trickling brook along its way. The sounds of the village some miles back now, of other travelers whom he had not seen for some time, even the rustling of leaves and grasses and the twittering of the birds seemed to fade. A stillness encircled him such as he had never experienced before. It might have been unnerving if he had not been seeking quiet and peace to think, answers for the questions that troubled him. His mount danced fitfully on occasion, tossing his shaggy black head as if ill at ease, but Killian found he was too entranced, too breathlessly curious to turn back now. Plus, Shadow was a spirited animal and his fitfulness did not truly alarm his rider. There was a reason only Killian seemed able to handle him. 

The brooke, and the path following it, both turned again sharply, and Killian ducked to ride under the low-hanging branch of a tree, and when he sat back up in his saddle once more, the sight around that bend brought him up short. The creek came to a stop at last, running into a still pond, dark and motionless, and on the far side of the pond was some sort of cave, its mouth wide open as if beckoning those brave enough to explore. Flowers grew strewn through tall grasses, and all of it was waving soundlessly in the breeze like a beckoning sea.

Again, Killian found he was almost mystified by his own impulse to dismount and come closer. To seek out every secret corner of this meadow hideaway. He knew well enough not to venture into dark and unknown caves and underground passages, and yet the pull was nigh irresistible. He stood in wonderment, taking it all in as he stroked Shadow’s nose, soothing the restless gelding.

“What is it, lad?” Killian murmured to his horse, scratching behind its ears and trying to keep a firm grip on the reins as the creature continued to shuffle and toss its head.

Suddenly, the knight sensed he and his steed were no longer alone, a strong scent of apple blossoms and sweet honey stirred on the breeze and a chill ran over his skin, making the small hairs on his arms stand on end.

A dulcet, hypnotic voice spoke on the horse’s other side, a delicate feminine hand stroking over the animal’s nose caused Shadow to calm instantly. “Perhaps,” it offered subtly, “he knows something you do not.”

Killian had never known Shadow to gentle for anyone else; the creature rarely grew that still even for him, and the chill which had run through him a moment before now shivered down his spine. “And what might that be?” he questioned stoutly, not allowing any of his trepidation to show in his tone. “And who are you and what might you know of it?”

A form so fair, so ethereally bright and beautiful that he knew immediately she must be more than human, stepped into view from the other side of his horse. Long, glowing golden hair hung to her waist, twined with buttercups and bluebells, her feet were bare and gracefully shaped, her eyes a verdant green he wanted to fall into like a thick carpet of clover and grass, and the slight tilt of her voluptuously shaped pale pink lips somehow seemed to hint she already knew she had entranced him. The lady who had materialized there in the meadow at his side was breathtaking; her smile serene and inviting, her voice low and melodic, drawing him to lean in closer to hear what she would say next.

“Do you not hear strange tales of this place, warning travelers to be on their guard?” she tilted her head slightly, studying him as if bemused.

“I am a knight of the Realm, milady,” he replied, “Sworn to go where others may fear to tread, to protect the helpless and vanquish dangers wherever they might be. Seldom am I in one place long enough to hear all the local legends and superstitions, but even so, I would not let such talk turn me from my duty.”

That pale, lovely face continued to meet his own gaze head-on, not doubting, but merely watching as if weighing his response and gauging the sincerity of his words. Humming lightly to herself, she stepped away from him and Shadow, turning towards the pond’s smooth surface, almost as if taking for granted that he would follow.

Killian found to his chagrin that he had blindly followed two strides in her wake before realizing he had done so. Glancing back over her shoulder with arched brow and genuine question in her tone she asked, “Your duty brought you here then?”

Dipping his chin slightly toward the metal armor that covered his chest, Killian offered her a slight show of respect. He was not sure just where he had wandered, if he was trespassing on some royal land and this was some trick to ensnare him in wrongdoing, if he had wandered into some sort of enchanted space and she was a siren risen from the depths, or perhaps she was their next evil wizard or monster to fight, taking on a disguise of fair form to spy upon them and learn their weaknesses. As much as he felt a pull toward her and wanted to stay there speaking with her, there was at the same time a warring sense of unease in his being. The day was wearing on, he had yet to make arrangements for the night, and he had given his word to find his fellows once more as well.

“That I do not yet know,” he finally replied. “I broke off from a larger company at the last bend in the road. This meadow was so peaceful and inviting, and I suppose curiosity led me further as much as anything.”

For a time neither spoke, and Killian noticed for the first time that all other sounds had ceased as well. The rustling of the leaves and grasses, the birdsong and the plash of the brook into the larger pool were all muted; every bit of their surroundings gone strangely still. He knew it impossible, but for a moment it seemed as if he were frozen in a still life, unmoving, unblinking, like a statue carved in stone.

The beautiful vision stared into the water silently, so long and so deeply he wondered if she had forgotten his presence. Killian did not know whether to address her further or to turn and go, nor was he certain that his feet would move to turn from her if he did attempt to leave.

As eerily still as all was around him, he felt more concern in that instant that he had upset her, troubled or disturbed her somehow with his presence or his answers to her questions. Urging Shadow forward, he came to stand beside the mysterious lady once more, reaching out a hand meant to soothe or comfort.

But before he could make contact she whirled to meet him, her face a mask of pained struggle, her eyes wide and alarmed and so much darker than the jeweled green they had been before. Her voice was harsher, rough as she screeched for him to stand back, to get away from there. He didn’t understand the transformation, but he could see she was nearly vibrating with tension, trembling as if some force wanted to burst from her and she could scarcely hold it back. What had been a gentle breeze now howled about them, and the still pond was whipped into choppy waves. Killian stumbled back, dumbstruck, uncertain what was happening.

The idyllic beauty of his surroundings and the pleasant stranger before him had been changed instantaneously. None of the calm tranquility or gentle smiles which had lured him further in lingered now, and the enthralling vision before him now radiated tension and warning, her voice still rasping as if dragged over glass, saying that he must flee, she could only hold back so long.

Nearly as confused as he was alarmed or frightened, Killian shook his head, anxious to clear it of the doubt swirling through - had he imagined everything before? Or was he imagining things now? The anguish on that fair brow was enough to send him away for the moment, the pale maiden well on her way to enchanting him looked stretched to her limits, beseeching him to leave while he was still able. The chilvalrous knight he was fought against leaving such a one in pain or distress, but he also knew that he did not understand the situation, did not know all that was needed to act wisely.

And so, reluctantly, he swung up into Shadow’s saddle, his steed at least feeling no qualms about leaving. The beast tossed his head and wheeled to gallop off at the first mere prodding, hide quivering as he carried his rider back the way they had come in haste.

Killian, for his part, felt compelled to look back. For a moment, he could still see her form, curling in on herself slightly as she seemed to double over, and growing ever smaller in his view. The whole vista seemed to waver, partially obscured by a rising haze, until he could not have pointed out exactly where it had been.

Soon after, Shadow had carried them back to the main road, and Killian urged him to turn back onto it, to once more find his fellows, quite possibly in the next small village. Yet, though he appeared safely back on course, Killian could not forget what he had seen and heard… haunted by the face of the troubled maiden.

~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~

The faery, Emma, sagged in relief as the knight finally rode from view. She was breathlessly grateful for the mist which rose up from the surface of the pool, and the very air itself, now heavy and charged and hiding her from view, where before it had been so fresh and light with Spring. No wonder the man had been drawn to the small oasis. With the flowers and cool breeze and sparkling waters, her hidden grotto was made to be inviting, dangerously appealing. As was she herself - in form and face - or so she had been told when the curse was placed upon her.

Sinking to her knees in the tall grass, the thin blades and the faces of the daisies both brushed her skin if trying to offer comfort, Emma panted rapidly in effort to regain her breath. She had managed to hold it back, the dark power which had been twined with the natural light fae magic inside her. Her song, once capable of brightening skies, coaxing plants to blossom, and raising spirits that were broken or bowed, now would ensnare and entwine those same lost souls who might cross her path, draining them and never allowing them to leave.

One solitary tear slipped down her cheek as her breathing calmed and she contemplated the change wrought upon her being against her will. It kept her even from her own kind; loved ones who might ease the hurt and loneliness. For she did not know for certain if they were immune to the strange siren call she had been infected with, and she could not bear to risk such folly. It was horrifying enough to have almost trapped and harmed the handsome stranger who had stumbled upon her hideaway, but she would not surve being the death of one she loved.

Sadly, Emma finally managed to stand again, making her way slowly back to the mouth of the cavern where she spent so much of her time hidden away from the trees and flowers, the sunshine and fair breezes and springtime that she loved for fear of her curse withering it all and destroying others who wandered near, appreciating the same beauty of which she had once been the caretaker. Folly it had been to venture out today, and yet she had been unable to help herself, needing to see and smell and touch the bounty she had been denied. Then it had seemed the knight had just appeared.

Those eyes… a new sort of pang in her heart twinged at the reflection. They had been so blue, searching and deep, as pristine and sparkling as the waters before her and seeking to understand as if he sensed her pain. What an idea! Emma shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the frail hope. That could lead nowhere but disaster for the both of them. A proud, strong young life cut down for no reason if he did return. She was not sure exactly how her powers would snare him in thrall, drain him of life, only that the dark and twisted caster had proclaimed it would be so. She had managed to hold the welling of destructive energy she could feel rising within herself until the man had gone. And normally she managed to stay hidden well enough, removed from all others, that she did not chance unleashing it.

What had drawn her to this one? Caused her to show herself? Why had it almost seemed as if the knight could sense something was wrong? She did not know, and it troubled her, but there was no one to ask for advice. Quite possibly no answers to be had at all. She knew no other faery who had been punished in such a manner.

Turning to slink back into her cavern, Emma’s shoulders slumped. She certainly couldn’t risk being seen again this day; her strength was far too diminished to fight the poison surging to escape if any other hapless being discovered her. Such a horrible, unending punishment, for an unknowing, well-intended mistake, her spirit railed fruitlessly once again. How could she have known that bestowing her innocent heart in love would bring her here?

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose

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@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop

@xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @superchocovian @jonesfandomfanatic

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@winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @myfearless-love @undercaffinatednightmare

@belovedcreation @ultraluckycatnd @drowned-dreamer @ineffablecolors @goforlaunchcee

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 40/50: Mel and Jacqueline commit a felony; are caught and apprehended by the mutually agreed upon "hottest magibean alive"

🫧🌊💙❄️☃️

"Closed as well?" "So it would seem." "Damn! What is UP with that?! Why is every apothecary specializing in poisonous ingredients CLOSED?!?! Don't they know we have a guy to kill and also maybe even a whole ass cult, too?" "Apparently they didn't get the memo." "Oh! What about that one you and Lucy frequent?" "Beg pardon?" "You know! The apothecary with that lady you like—" "NO! Absolutely NOT. We will not be going there. God. Every time I go in there I leave absolutely mortified, and that's assuming I don't faint again." Jacqueline snorted, a hand quickly coming up and covering her mouth as Mel whipped around and glared, thunder rumbling in the distance. "Sorry, sorry! I just...AGAIN?!" "Well at least I am AWARE enough of my crush to faint about it." Jacqueline's shoulders fell as she hissed through clenched teeth. "Ouch. You cut deep, Mel. You cut real deep. It's cool though! I get it. Getting you to Lizzy to use your charm and good looks to score us some men-who-write-their-sevens-weird-ending poisons and then some is not plan A or B." "Or C or D and perhaps not even Z. Really? That was your plan?!" Jacqueline shrugged. "It was like, last ditch plan. I mean, the alternative is to wait but the longer we wait, the longer weird sevens guy is hitting up Luce and that simply won't do." "Absolutely not at all. God. Have you seen them? How he writes his sevens?" "YES! Jack showed me. It's so freaking WEIRD!" "Right? We simply cannot let this go on, I'm afraid. Hmm." Mel tapped her chin. "What to do, what to do..." "Okay. I've got one more idea," Jacqueline said, watching as Mel paced back and forth in a small circle, her skirt dripping a bit. Her brow was furrowed; she tapped her chin as she paced. "But I think you will like it even less." Mel stopped pacing. "Oh?" "Let's go see Chimera." Mel blanched. "Oh dear god. You want to go do what?!" "See Chimera! I mean, look, Mel. She's the poisons guy, right? You wanna get rid of someone, she's your go to." "You want me to go to someone objectively hotter than any other aforementioned apothecary to get the things we need to take care of this creep?" "She is pretty damn hot. I'd say like, top hottest magibeans for sure." "And what, you want to go and just knock on her door? Stop in for tea, a chat, and leave with a goodie bag of potions and poisons?" "Yes?" "No. Nope! Not at all. There is no way I'd survive that." "Well. You got me there. She is pretty terrifying. May actually kill us. Hmm. Okay, okay. Hear me out." "Oh, absolutely! Agreed." "Not what I meant but yeah, you're so right." "See? I'm already flubbing it up!" "Flubbing?" "Jacqueline!" "Sorry! Sorry. That's just a really fun word! I'm gonna steal that one. Flubbing. RIGHT! OKAY! Focusing." She took a deep breath in and squished her cheeks, taking a moment to compose herself. "Hear me out, Mel. What if we just...break and enter?" Mel looked visibly relieved. "Yes, yes. That I can do. I'll go fetch my harpoon and—" "Oh, no need! I think we can handle it sans harpoons." Winking, Jacqueline raised a glowing hand, wiggling her fingers. A conniving little smile spread across Mel's face as she lifted her own glowing hand in agreement, the pair of magibeans cackling into the night as they poofed, disappearing on the spot.

🌸🧪❤️

Moments later, the pair of them stepped right over the walls with a snowy and watery assist. They landed on what looked to be plant free ground, the water pooling back into Mel's skirt as Jacqueline waved the snow onto hers, freezing it in place with a very brief clenched fist. Grinning, the pair high fived one another, sticking close as they wandered down the path. The deadly plants were gorgeous. Some of them stretched high above the pair, towering over the leafy poisonous plants. Poison ivy and oak twirled together, stinging nettle abound. The paths and gardens stretched on, beautiful deadly flowers dotting the greenery with blues and yellows and reds, some plants growing fruits and berry looking things that were, quite obviously, very poisonous. "Whoa." "Watch the nettle, Jacqueline." Jacqueline stepped back, keeping even closer to Mel. "Right, right. That's one of the little stingy bitches." "Quite stingy, actually. Now, let's see. Where did I put that list..." Mel patted herself up and down, reaching into her watery sleeves and letting out a little "A-ha!" as she pulled a slightly damp rolled up list out of the left one, unfurling it quickly with a deft flick of her wrist. "Right. Here's what we need to—" Mel looked up, finding herself face first in icicles and crunchy hair. "Jacqueline! A little warning next time you come to a dead stop—" "Uh..." Poking around Jacqueline's shoulder, Mel blanched. In front of them stood Chimera herself. She looked down at them (Blimey, she's tall, Mel thought), arms crossed, her face unamused. An ear twitched. Behind her, her snake tail poked around her, looking at the two of them in what may have been a perplexed way, or an annoyed way. "Dear lord. She's even hotter in person." "Mel!" "...I said that out loud, didn't I?" "You sure did." Jacqueline cleared her throat. "Hi! Chimera! Uh...fancy seeing you here?" She winced, scratching the back of her head. "Right. Well. I mean, it is your garden so..." She raised an eyebrow, hands moving to her hips. "Well, since Mel's being honest," (Mel herself colouring behind her snowy friend), "I may as well too." And, taking a very long, very deep breath in, Jacqueline launched full speed into the most rambling explanation possible. "So basically Mel and I need to kill a guy. He's been bothering Luce and he writes his sevens weird and she told us to not kill him but he writes his sevens weird, not to mention he's like, a HUGE creep. HUGE! Lucy was all "don't kill him he's just being nice" but Mel and I disagree. So we went hey, what about secret murder! Not as obvious murder? Lucy doesn't need to know, and BOOM! POISON! So off we fucked, but all the local places that have the poisonous shit we need were closed, so I suggested we come see you, but both Mel and I are super intimidated because you're like, one of the hottest magibeans we know of, so we thought it'd be easier to break in? To your garden? Of poisons?" "Is that so?" Mel and Jacqueline (the former still hiding behind the latter) shared a look between each other. A mutual shrug. Jacqueline turned back to Chimera. "Yeah, that about sums it up. He's really very creepy." "A grade-A creep," Mel added. "Who writes his sevens weird." "And basically STALKED the woman!" "So now we need to kill him." Chimera tilted her head. She let the two woman sweat for a bit before grinning. "You had me at kill a guy."

🫧🌊💙❄️☃️

So @lmelodie gave me this idea a HOT MINUTE ago and it ah, it has spiralled. It's one of three, y'all. This one was from LAST WEEK but between a visit home and the World's Slowest Cold, I wasn't able to post it proper until TODAY lmao.

I have also stolen @kscribbs's little guy ONCE AGAIN and she'll be hanging around for this lil trio of scrimbles once more, lol.

AND AS A BIG HUGE DISCLAIMER RE: THE LITTLE SMILEY SNIPPET: I HAVE 100% FUDGED WITH EVENTS OF MILLER'S LAW TO MAKE THIS SCENARIO WORK, AND I AM SURE BOTH MEL AND MERA MAY BE SLIGHTLY OOC, SO MY APOLOGIES FOR THAT. I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS, THOUGH, AND I HOPE YOU ALL DO/DID TOO. I AM HAVING A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS, TBH!

I just never considered the potential of these three? Hanging out? And then I did and. Well. Here we are!

Chimera was so fun to draw! I was staring at the sketch in awe after I finished it like "woah. I did pretty ok!"

I think she actually has stripes now? But I was using lmel's GORGEOUS art of the woman and neglected to cross check the recent Chimera post until AFTER the ink had dried so. SPOTS FOR NOW I SUPPOSE!

Anyway, enjoy! Stay healthy. Wash your hands, etc etc. It's like a bonafide swamp of sicknesses out there right now and I do NOT wish the World's Slowest Cold on ANYONE. It sucks. I thought I was better Monday, went to work Tuesday, came home and absolutely DIED. Been home since. Fingers crossed tomorrow is a healthy day! We're coming up on Turkey Day Weekend in Canada and I'd like to go see my family and drown myself in mashed potatoes without fucked up tastebuds 😎😎😎

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Weekend Getaway (1/3)

AO3 | 2 | 3

RATING: M

SUMMARY: When Emma's roommate drags her to get a live Christmas Tree, she ends up trapped at a Christmas Village for the weekend. Fortunately, the village had a bar and a bartender that Emma wants to get to know better.

Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert - DM me if you would like to be added/removed from the list.

"You're coming with me," Ruby announced as she banged into the flat. The front door crashed against the wall before closing behind her. Wearing a red knit sweater with a Christmas tree on it that actually lit up and arms heavily laden with shopping bags, she was the bright spot - literally - of Christmas Cheer that Emma was certain she did not order. 

It wasn’t that Emma hated Christmas or anything quite so dramatic. But if given the opportunity to skip directly to New Year’s Eve after Halloween, she would happily accept. There was no escaping how dreadfully lonely her life had become since she’d driven away from Storybrooke after - Nope, not going there. 

"We are getting a live tree this year! Get your jacket, let's go." Ruby continued, not waiting for Emma to acknowledge her. 

"Those are fire hazards. Plus, where would we put it?" Emma gestured at their tiny, crowded living space. 

Ruby grunted as she deposited the bags on the nearest chair. She grabbed Emma's boots and threw them at her, "Put 'em on."

Scowling and grumbling, she clicked off the TV and shoved her feet into her boots. 

It was impossible to deny Ruby anything. They came to the city together a few years ago to get over their broken hearts and discover a life outside of their small town. They'd helped nurse each other through the heartbreaks, acted as both wing-woman and excuse for one another - depending on what the night demanded, and endured the challenges of being artists in a big city together. Ruby had landed a part on an off-broadway play and Emma was in her second season at the New York City Ballet. It took several failed auditions, many pints of ice cream, and the constant support from one another to get them this far. 

"Let's burn down the building then."

"That's the spirit!" 

§§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§

They drove for hours, leaving the city behind for the snow-covered, rolling hills of the upstate. While singing and dancing to old favourite songs, they passed several signs advertising various Christmas tree farms. Ruby would shake her head and drive by them. After the tenth one, Emma finally asked where they were going.   “I found the perfect farm online.” 

At Emma’s sceptical look, Ruby continued, “I promise, there is something special about the one we are going to," Ruby explained. "I can just feel it, you know?" 

Emma released a resigned sigh. Ruby was impulsive and spiritual, believing her intuition was a powerful force that should not be ignored. Emma needed something a bit more concrete to guide her decisions. 

Ruby slowed at a lane that was much like any other they had passed all day, except this one sported a faded red pickup truck with rounded fenders that was wrapped in fat, colourful light bulbs. A hand-painted sign welcomed guests to the Jones' Christmas Tree Farm for sleigh rides, hot cidre, hot chocolate, and to cut and carry home their very own tree from its stand on the stained wooden slats in the bed of the truck. 

As they bounced along the uneven lane, Ruby cleared her throat. “Don’t kill me…”

“No promises.” Emma tore her attention from the endless rows of firs and spruces lined outside her window to glare at her old friend. The ice in that glare would have stopped the hearts of mere mortals. But, this was no mere mortal. This was Ruby Lucas and nothing could hinder Ruby’s excitement once it gained momentum. 

Ruby smiled brightly at Emma and pulled a duffle bag from behind Emma’s seat. “I booked a cabin for us for the weekend. We were just saying that we needed a little break and they had so many fun things and, wait until you see the farm, it is beautiful!”

Emma had planned to set up a station on her couch and binge-watch garbage telly. Not spend a weekend on a farm, much less a farm that would doubtlessly be filled with families and couples buying trees the entire time. This was definitely worse than the countless movies featuring smiling men and women in red or green sweaters in front of a highly decorated tree that were beginning to populate every channel she surfed, right? Yes, she decided, it was. Ruby had driven her directly into the ridiculous small town that featured in the background of one of those ridiculous movies and was making them stay for the entire weekend. This was not what she had in mind when they were talking about their holiday. Sun, sand, and sangrias had featured in her dreams. Not snow, cidre, and Santa. 

“They’d better have hard cidre or spiked egg nog,” Emma muttered.

“Like I would spend a sober weekend in a cabin on a farm!” Ruby shot Emma a wounded look. 

Emma snorted and shook her head. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“Oh, hush. This will be a weekend to remember.” 

The lane opened up to reveal a stunning farmhouse with snowy Christmas trees in rows lining the hills sprawling in every direction. A red barn stood out brightly in stark contrast to the white landscape. It would have been breathtaking, Emma thought, if not for the Christmas Village that stood before the barn under twinkling fairy lights.

"Our cabin better be out of town."

"Well...it is close to the Holly Jolly Tavern, I think." 

"RUBY!"

"I know how much you hate Christmas and we are changing that this year. Your heart will grow three sizes and Tiny Tim will live after all."

"Wait...am I the Grinch or Scrooge?" 

"Yes." Ruby laughed, throwing the car in park. "I'll check us in, why don't you go find your Christmas spirit?" She mimed taking a shot before getting out of the car and walking toward the farmhouse, leaving Emma in the passenger seat of the old car, quickly growing cold, wondering why she allowed Ruby to pull her into these ridiculous situations in the first place.

§§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§

The Holly Jolly Tavern was, thankfully, more Tavern than Holly Jolly. Sure, a decorated tree stood tall in the corner near the fire crackling in a large hearth and large multi-coloured bulbs were strung along the walls. And, of course, the drink specials had cutesy holiday names and instrumental Christmas songs played softly in the background. But, the bartenders weren’t dressed as elves or in tacky holiday sweaters and the tables and chairs were your standard sturdy wooden pairings found in drink establishments everywhere.

Emma sat at the long bar and scanned the wall of spirits trying to determine what best fit this situation. 

“What can I get you, love?” The low voice was charmingly accented, and it sent chills down her back. She turned toward the bartender and met brilliant blue eyes that stilled her heart. He wore a crooked smile that made her think very dirty thoughts about his lips and the amber scruff framing the sharp line of his jaw. 

“Whatever your favourite drink is,” Emma answered with a flirty smile. She thanked whatever gods were watching that her voice sounded steady, her mouth was suddenly so dry that she'd expected it to crack. 

He nodded at her request and started pulling together ingredients for her drink. She watched him at his task, mesmerised by his movements and the way he focused so completely on his task. She wondered what it would be like to have that focus directed solely on her and her pleasure. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought and turned away in an attempt to hide it, but his eyes danced with mischievous humour as he handed over her drink, telling her that she was caught. Luckily, he was kind enough not to comment. 

She studied the bright red drink, cranberries and mint floated in the glass, and a thin lime garnished the rim of the tall glass. It looked refreshing and exciting. She wondered if this was truly his favourite drink or a cocktail he had mixed for her using that special power great bartenders had - that uncanny ability to know exactly what a patron needed based on a single glance. 

“A Cranberry Mojito,” he told her, leaning on the bar before her. Her eyes lingered on his well-defined arms and the unfair way they were stretching his deep blue knit sweater. “What brings you here, um?” 

“Emma,” she answered for him, “And, oh, I don’t know. I guess that I have always dreamed of living in one of those ridiculous towns from those cheesy Christmas romances.”

“Pleasure, Emma. Killian,” he said in that musical voice. “I take it this trip wasn’t your idea, then?”

“Nope. My roommate surprised me as we were pulling in - Ohhh! This is good.”

He smiled in triumph at her approval. “The trick is making the simple syrup from scratch with fresh cranberries.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Emma said before taking another sip of the deliciously sweet and tart drink. “Is this truly your favourite drink?”

“Tonight, it is.” 

“Your tastes change so often?” She teased, her eyebrow lifting to emphasise her innuendo. 

“I’m not so fickle as that, love. I am partial to rum, but not so dull as to only take it one way.” Killian replied, meeting her gaze. The heat in the depths of his sapphire eyes made her stomach tighten in response. This man was too good to be anything but trouble. 

Mmm, but it would be some good trouble. 

“That looks fantastic! Can I get one, too?” Ruby’s voice shattered the tension building between them. 

“Coming right up, love,” Killian answered immediately. His eyes lingered on Emma’s a moment longer before he turned to mix Ruby’s drink.

“It’s a Cranberry Mojito,” Emma explained, turning to look at Ruby. “Here, try some while you wait.”

Ruby’s eyes were wide and she was biting her lips together tightly to suppress what Emma knew to be a wolfish smile. Emma shook her head subtly, pleading with Ruby to not say a word. Ruby nodded excitedly at her in approval of whatever she had read into the exchange she interrupted earlier. Emma frantically shook her head - whatever you are thinking, stop thinking it! 

When Killian returned, setting Ruby’s drink on the bar before her, Ruby pounced. “So, what is your name?”

“Killian,” he answered with amusement laced in the melody of his voice.

“And what does your girlfriend think of you making eyes with your patrons, Killian?” 

Emma sputtered and coughed as she tried not to choke on the sip she’d taken before Ruby’s obvious question. Ruby turned to Emma, earnest concern etched on her face, while her eyes danced with humour, “Are you okay, Emma? Need some water?” 

Narrowing her eyes at Ruby, Emma shook her head. Her breath was still taken by the liquid burning in her lungs. A few strangled coughs later, Emma ground out that she was just fine. Killian slid a glass of water to her anyway, the sweet gesture sinking Emma further into… well, whatever was happening between them.

“Good,” said Ruby briskly and she turned to Killian expectantly. 

“I’m not a man to make eyes with someone while involved with another,” his accent clipping the words. 

He hadn’t liked that accusation one bit. The realisation warmed Emma as much as the rum spreading in her blood. He wouldn’t cheat on her and leave her too embarrassed, too ashamed, to face the town she had lived in her entire life. He may be trouble, but he was honourable trouble and that she could handle.

“What kind of a man are you then, Killian?” Ruby asked. She sipped from her cocktail and pinned him with a look that dared him to rise to the bait. 

“Don’t do that, Rubes,” Emma snapped. Her temper was rising - she felt the need to protect Killian from Ruby’s intrusive questions. Killian sent her a grateful look before excusing himself to serve a man flagging him down on the other end of the bar.

“Ooh, you like this one,” Ruby whispered far too loudly as she waggled her eyebrows ridiculously. Emma could not help but laugh and the strange frustration that had so quickly risen in her dispersed.

“No. I just thought that was unfair of you,” Emma said simply.

“Mmhmmm.” 

Emma rolled her eyes at the disbelief in Ruby’s tone. “Fine. Think whatever you want.” 

“I do and I will.” 

“So, what is there to do in a Christmas Village?” Emma asked in a very smooth and effortless transition from the previous topic. 

Ruby perked up and started rattling off various activities that she had booked or seen on her walk over to the pub. Emma listened half-heartedly - her attention straying to the barkeep continuously. She caught him looking her way once and he sent her a devastating smile before returning to his work. 

He served them several more rounds as the night grew older, but he was unable to linger longer than getting their order or setting down their drinks as the Holly Jolly Tavern stayed busy once the sun went down. 

When they left, staggering into the night, Emma felt a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t seemed to notice her exit. 

Would it have been too much to ask for him to come out running to see her home safe like some Victorian gentleman? She snorted at that very drunk, very ridiculous thought and followed Ruby to the cabin she would call home for the next few days.

[spartanguard]

when Emma falls in love [from the vault]

Summary: When Emma falls in love, I know that boy will never be the same | When she came to Storybrooke, finding love was the farthest thing from Emma's mind. Until she started to get to know Ian, the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole. A crush is the last thing she needs—not when she's in the middle of a murder investigation and her son keeps talking about curses. Or maybe it's exactly what both of them need. [Inspired by "When Emma Falls In Love" by Taylor Swift] A/N: This is the next in my series of fics inspired by Taylor Swift's vault tracks (mostly from Speak Now (Taylor's Version), but there will be more!). Wanted to post this before we all died from TTPD tomorrow ;) I think this is also my favorite of the ones I've written so far; hope you like it, too! And, as always, thank you to @optomisticgirl for being the best beta ever. rated T | 6.2k words | AO3

When the door swung open, Emma was half expecting it to be someone from downstairs yelling at her to stop her pacing; too many years living in crappy apartments had done that to her. But it was just Mary Margaret, coming home from work.

That said— “Uh, you okay? If you pace any harder, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” her roommate remarked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Emma answered, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. “It was that or attacking the toaster again.”

“You didn’t get fired again, did you?” Mary Margaret asked as she set a bag of groceries on the counter. “‘Cause last I checked, you were your own boss.”

Emma scoffed. “No; just…other stuff.” She swallowed. “Boy stuff?” (She wasn’t sure why she said it like it was a question, other than the fact that she’d never been one to talk about relationships or anything—never had anyone she could talk to about that, so she wasn’t sure if this was the right way to start.)

“Well, that’s convenient,” Mary Margaret said, and reached into the paper sack. “I bought wine,” she finished, pulling out a cheap screw-top bottle of rosé.

“Might need more than that.”

“Good thing I got two,” she answered, producing another.

They curled up at opposite ends of the couch, not even bothering with wine glasses. After a few (hefty) sips, Mary Margaret looked at her pointedly and Emma was suddenly very aware of why her students respected her so much. “Okay. Spill.”

Emma sighed, but obliged. “Okay, you know the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole?”

“Not well, but I know who he is. Ian, right?”

“Yeah, Ian Johnson. He, uh…I mean, I…” She hummed. “I think I like him.”

“Oh my god, you sound like one of my fifth graders,” Mary Margaret replied. “You’re attracted to him? Or maybe a little more?”

Emma took another pull from her bottle. “Maybe a lot more.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

(His ass was fantastic, but that was beside the point.) “But…you know how I am. My history. It hasn’t really been that long since Graham…” She still had a hard time saying died.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said softly. “No one says you have to rush into anything. But if you’re feeling something, it doesn’t hurt to pursue it. Especially if he seems to reciprocate.”

Well, that was her other conundrum, wasn’t it: did he? Much like her, he wasn’t really prone to showing emotion—not noticeably, at least; he wore an air of apathy as well as he did his dark-wash jeans. In fact, she didn’t give him much thought after she first met him—when she’d been called to the bar to drag Leroy to the drunk tank on one of her first overnight shifts as a deputy. 

She’d definitely seen him, though; Ian was certainly easy on the eyes—perfectly disheveled hair above light blue eyes, just the right amount of gingery stubble, and a hint of chest hair visible through the open vee of his appropriately tight henley—but her thoughts towards him didn’t go deeper than the surface. She also hadn’t missed the quick once-over he gave her, though she couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or merely assessment.

It wasn’t until her following visit (Leroy’s next trip to the station’s overnight accommodations) that he did more than hum at her, but there was very little effort in the casual pickup line he threw at her (and she did her damnedest to ignore the lilt of his foreign accent).

She knew his kind—or so she thought: the type of asshole who hid behind a pretty face and a quick come-on and that was all it took to get into a girl’s pants. Frankly, that was something she’d fallen for a few too many times, but not here—not in Storybrooke. Not when Regina was constantly looking for a reason to send her out of town (even if she won that sheriff election fair and square, Gold’s involvement notwithstanding) or limit her time with Henry.

It wasn’t until the first time she got a call at the bar after Graham died that she exchanged more than passing pleasantries with him. Ian wasn’t the first to express his condolences, but he was the first to say, “It’s just not fair.” That was exactly how she felt, too. And that’s when things started to shift between them.

(Apparently, he and Graham went way back—he didn’t specify how far, but it sounded like a while, the kind of vague forever that seemed prevalent in such a small town. Graham had helped him out of a few scrapes, and vice versa. “He was a good man,” Ian had concluded. “Seems those always go too soon.” It felt like there was more to go with that statement, but then “Only the Good Die Young” had come on the jukebox and it was a little too on the nose and she had to get out of there.)

But it really took a turn the night he intervened while she was breaking up a bar fight, getting in the way of a drunken punch meant for her and taking it in the cheek instead. (That was also the night she finally noticed his left arm ended not in a hand, but a prosthesis, as she made the assailant wait in the squad car while she put together an ice pack for Ian’s face; she also found out that night that he mixed a mean whiskey sour.)

So they were…she wasn’t sure if they could really say “friends” after that—not quite a team, either; allies, maybe? Whatever it was, it was definitely something she needed. 

She started to run into him at Granny’s after that. The first time, she was getting her morning coffee before heading into the station; he was getting some tea before heading home after closing the bar. Then they’d see each other at lunch hour; if the diner was full, they shared a booth. But then that became something of a habit, too, on the days he didn’t close and she didn’t work overnight (though they eventually started another of sharing a drink at the end of their late-night shifts).

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at first; Emma had never been great at the whole small-talk thing (and even worse at the making-friends thing)—but on the bright side, so was he. She found out little things, like when a favorite song would come on (“Behind Blue Eyes” was up there, unsurprisingly/heartbreakingly), or when she’d ask for a liquor recommendation (rum—always rum). She let slip at one point how much she enjoyed Motown, and he quickly picked up on her hot chocolate order.

More solid information came to light later; as she’d guessed, he was a loner, too—no family left, and had drifted around England and the US until he ended up in Storybrooke, somehow. He made an appreciative comment about her being a fellow jailbird over a beat-up copy of that awful article in the Mirror, but his face fell when she mentioned how old she’d been—a rare emotional moment for him. (But not as intense as when she’d commented on the tattoo on his forearm late one night, and the unmistakable look of loss took over; all they could do at that point was make a toast to living through heartbreak.)

It was…she didn’t want to say easy, but it was nice—there were no expectations, no responsibilities. Just the pleasure of each other’s company, and a sense of kindred comraderie. 

She was also aware, but ignoring the fact, that the less she knew, the better. There was less chance that he was lying to her or holding something back; less chance for him to get disappointed in who she was. (Less chance to be hurt.) 

“He does, right?” Mary Margaret’s question dragged her back to the present. 

Which brought Emma to the downside of being attracted to someone whose walls abutted hers: it was hard to get a read on what was going on in his head, especially when he wasn’t outwardly expressive (more than when they first met, but it was still rare). All she could do was shrug at her roommate and take another pull of wine. 

“Yeah, he’s always come off as kind of aloof,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Not altogether unfeeling—more like, not a lot?”

Emma was the last person to make any comments there. What was it she’d said to Graham? “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you're feeling sucks.” They both had reason enough for that. 

“But it looks like you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone in a while,” her roommate went on, “and vice versa?”

“More or less,” Emma conceded. “Present company notwithstanding.”

“I’m honored. And you know what I say about hope,” she answered. 

Emma did, but wasn’t sure she was ready to say she was that far in. She extended the end of her bottle to Mary Margaret, who clinked her own against it in solidarity. 

By the end of the night, she had no further clarity on the situation and the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe she was overthinking it—or maybe it wasn’t even worth overthinking; it’s not like these things ever worked out in her favor anyway.

But…she did keep thinking about hope. 

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Her friends eventually dragged her out to the Rabbit Hole for a girls’ night. They’d cited the fact that she missed all the excitement on Valentine’s Day, with Ashley’s engagement, so she needed to make up for it. 

Despite still being new to the whole having-female-friends thing (having any friends, really), she had fun. Ian poured the drinks strong and sent more than a few small, sideways grins her way as he watched her dance with the others. She was hoping her subsequent blush could be blamed on exertion or alcohol, except—

“Oh my god,” Ruby yelled at her as they returned to their booth for a refreshment. “Just go screw him already.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking the bartender all night! Go do something about it!”

Well, now her cheeks surely matched her bright red dress—and, to make it worse (or better, Ruby would probably say), when she glanced over at Ian a moment later to see if he’d heard, he was smirking and raised an eyebrow as soon as she caught his eye.

(They hadn’t crossed that line yet but—it had been close. She’d been all too aware of the proximity of their lips when she was helping him shut down last week and they’d collided in the back hall—her hands on his firm chest, his coming to her waist, the dart of her eyes to his mouth—she’d basically sprinted out of there.)

There was definitely an itch to scratch, but she wasn’t about to go there with him. Because she knew, with him, it would be so much more than that. (And if he didn’t reciprocate…that would be even worse.)

“So I hear you’ve been hanging out with the bartender,” Regina asked her one day after she dropped Henry off at the mayor’s house.

Emma shrugged. “I guess,” she answered, downplaying whatever it was they had—if only because she had a feeling Regina would find a way to weaponize it. 

(Also, he was good with Henry—like, really good, maybe even better than she was. For someone who didn’t appear to care much about…anything, he always seemed to brighten and engage so much more around her kid whenever they ran into him at Granny’s. He even indulged Henry’s theories about the “curse”, but her son hadn’t decided who Ian was in this supposed other life. Emma didn’t have any ideas, either, if only because that meant Ian was the one person safe from Henry’s childlike scrutiny.)

“Even with everything he’s done?”

That got her attention. “What has he done?”

“More like what hasn’t he done; you’re the sheriff—you could look up his rap sheet. He’s got some blood on those hands—well, hand. Has he even mentioned how that happened?”

“No,” Emma said stiffly. “He hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about his ex either, then. Who was married.”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, maybe you should look into it—so you can be aware of just who you’re allowing around my son.”

The mayor pointedly closed the door at that, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts—never a good combination. She was mulling it over on the drive to the station—how much did she actually believe what Regina was saying? 

But her curiosity was too piqued to let it rest. She felt like the biggest asshole, but after she got settled for the start of her shift, she ended up in the records room, particularly in front of the drawer labeled H–J.

As much as she didn’t want to—she had to know. She slid the drawer open and dug through the folders, until she found the one near the back labeled Johnson, Ian Brennan.

It was thick.  His ‘jailbird’ comment from a while back returned to her; she thought he’d been joking at the time.

She didn’t look inside until she was in her office, with the door shut—not that she expected any visitors, least of all him (he was working anyways), but she still felt like she was doing something wrong, even if she had perfectly legal access to these files.

She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Ian was glaring at her from the photo paper-clipped to the stack of forms—a bit younger, a bit angrier than the man she knew, with a fire in those blue eyes she’d never seen, even from behind a layer of guyliner and shaggy bangs. 

Beneath it, typed out, it listed his name, birthdate (although the year was smudged beyond recognition), that he was born in England, and a charge for drunk driving.

The next sheet: illegal possession of a firearm.

The next several that followed included a handful of drug-related charges, mostly involving the transporting of them.

The last page said manslaughter.

She slammed the folder shut and threw it in the empty bottom drawer of her desk.

In vain, she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Maybe someone planted it there? She wouldn’t put it past Regina, though as to why, she couldn’t guess. The comments about an affair, though—she’d done the whole dating-a-married-guy thing; it hadn’t ended well, but it still wasn’t something she was keen on.

For the next week or so, she managed to avoid him—took all her Granny’s orders to go; sent Ruby to deal with anything at the bar; and one time, ran down an alley when she saw him coming the opposite way down the sidewalk. (She didn’t say she was mature about it…or subtle.)

When she got home later that week, there were two bottles of rosé on the counter again. “My turn,” Mary Margaret said, handing one over.

Was infidelity just a thing here? Because now her roommate was dealing with it, too. Emma’s opinion of David wasn’t the highest at the moment—he couldn’t string her best friend along and stay with his wife—but the longer Mary Margaret pursued this, the more heartache it was gonna cause.

“Thanks for talking to me about it,” she said, halfway through the bottle. “What about you? How are things with Ian?”

Emma took a long, long drink. 

“Gotcha,” Mary Margaret said knowingly.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

It came to a head when she was in the station one morning, having arrived to her shift early in order to avoid seeing him at the diner. She was dealing with some paperwork when she heard the front door open. “In here,” she called out, assuming it was Regina telling her off for something she hadn’t done right. Footsteps approached. “What would you like to yell at me about today, Madam Mayor?” she asked sarcastically.

“I hadn’t planned on yelling, but I did want to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh shit. Ian was there in the doorway, a coffee cup and bag from Granny’s in his hand, and a serious set in his stare.

“I haven’t,” she lied, then turned back to the computer screen (not that it was doing anything—it still ran Windows 98, after all). “I’ve just been busy.”

“See, I’m actually quite perceptive,” he replied, then stepped forward to set the foodstuffs on the corner of her desk. “And this? This is avoiding.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah,” she had to admit. They’d always been honest with each other, even if they’d clearly withheld some things. And given how poorly her attempted lie a moment ago went, it would be dumb to try to again.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong?”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, and regretted it—he looked genuinely hurt. What she was about to do probably wouldn’t help.

Staying seated, she bent down to open the bottom drawer on her desk, and then pulled out his file. Then she carefully set it in front of her.

He immediately recognized it, she could tell. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry; I was talking to Regina and she said some things and—curiosity got the best of me.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt—or both—but either way, she felt like an ass. May as well throw fuel on the fire. “She mentioned something about your ex, too—specifically, her marital status.”

“She did, did she?” His words were suddenly emotionless.

“Is…is that all you’re gonna say?” she eventually asked quietly.

He blinked slowly, as when he opened his eyes, they were just a bit duller—a bit more reserved. (That was worse than anything else she’d seen recently.)

“What else needs to be said, Swan?” he shrugged. “You apparently have all you need to know right there, between that and whatever the mayor has told you.”

His gaze settled somewhere near the floor and silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Even louder to her, though, was the fact he was just…accepting it. 

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re not gonna defend yourself, or fight back at whatever is incorrect in my assumptions?”

He furrowed his brow. “What good would it do?”

“Show me you give a crap!” she shouted, standing so fast it sent her rolling chair sliding into the wall. “Because I’m trying to figure out whatever the hell this is,” she went on, gesturing between them, “but I can’t tell if you actually care or not.”

Finally, something steely settled in his gaze. 

“Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you’re feeling sucks,” he stated, plainly but pointedly. 

She swallowed at the recitation of what she once had said to Graham. She already knew she wasn’t the first sheriff to strike up a friendship with him, but she was probably the only one Ian had thrown their own words back at. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it go away,” she countered. 

“If you do it long enough, it does.”

“And then what? You just never feel anything for the rest of your life?” God, Mary Margaret was really rubbing off on her—though that didn’t mean her calling him out wasn’t a little hypocritical. 

“It had been working well for me.”

“Fine then,” she spat. “You can go back to your lonely existence and I’ll fuck off to mine and we’ll just leave it at that.” She crossed her arms and curled in on herself; she was definitely pouting, but the alternative was flopping back in her seat and crying. 

His face relaxed, almost going the other way into a frown. “Bloody hell, that’s not what—no, love, I—I just thought you knew me better than that,” he admitted, almost apologetically. 

“Well, apparently I don’t,” she parroted back. “I’m wondering if I know anything about you. This is some serious shit, Ian.”

“And I thought you of all people might understand that,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember the headlines after you arrived in town; just because you have a badge now doesn’t mean you’ve always been on the right side of the law, either.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t!”

“Neither am I. I just don’t go broadcasting it, given that I still have the option not to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be telling people I killed someone either.”

“I—” He started to talk, but then closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not that I really need to, but can I tell you the full story? Before you completely write me off?”

She nodded, but held back what she was really thinking: that she didn’t want him to write himself off. 

“I did get into some bad shit,” he started. “My brother was gone, my ex had just died, and I was suddenly an amputee, so I was alone and spiraling. Fell in with the wrong crowd—classic story. Got in deep with a drug ring, and then I got caught. Killed a member of a warring cartel in the process. But, by some miracle, I had a great lawyer. They got a few of the charges thrown out for lack of evidence and I reached a plea deal on the others, along with a heavily reduced sentence for my cooperation in taking down much of the rest of the ring. Did my time, now I’m here. And I regret it every day.”

“Damn.” That was heavier than expected. 

“Aye.” He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Anything else?”

She chewed her bottom lip; she was nervous to ask, but she had to. “So, your ex…”

“My ex was married when we met. But it wasn’t a happy marriage. And I didn’t lure her away, or whatever may have been said—she ran off with me. But I loved her, so I went with it. Until her husband found us and went mad. Tried to cut off my hand; stabbed her. Doctors had to take it the rest of the way off,” he explained, raising his prosthesis. “Add that to the list of reasons why I fell in with the wrong people.” 

Fuck. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Indeed.” He toyed with the fingers on his false hand for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “But Swan, why couldn’t you just ask me that? Rather than take the word of a woman who we��ve all seen lie to you—to everyone—before.”

She swallowed. “Because I couldn’t take the chance I was wrong about you.”

“Were you?” 

It took her by surprise. “Was I what?”

“Were you wrong about me?” He was staring back at her intently, like he hadn’t just asked a simple but potentially earth-shattering question—but also looked like he was bracing for impact.

She nearly stopped breathing. Not that she had planned any part of this conversation, but when she imagined talking to him again, she thought it’d be more about her figuring out whether he’d let her inside his walls. Logically, it was only fair that he did the same; it was just the first time anyone had followed her in—not to mention challenged her once they were there. (Especially not someone with intense blue eyes, bolder than she’d yet seen them.) And she didn’t know how to respond.

“Because I know I’m not the biggest catch or anything—I’m certainly not Graham—” he went on (and apparently knew where to sting her), “and yeah, I probably still drink a bit more rum than is advised, but other than this—” he nodded at the folder, “—I’ve been nothing but honest with you. So now it’s up to you to decide: whatever it is you’re worried about—were you wrong?”

It had been a long-ass time since anyone had been that bluntly honest with her. (And never someone she was interested in.)

He was right—her lie detector had never gone off with him, either. (It also hadn’t when Regina was gossiping, but it was a little less accurate with noticing exaggerations or omissions.) 

He’d never really answered her earlier question, though. “I just need to know one thing,” she said as she stepped around the desk. “I’m not alone in feeling…this, right?” she asked, blatantly stepping into his space. 

“No,” he confirmed on a breath.

“Then no, I wasn’t wrong. I think what I was actually scared of…was that I was right.”

“Right?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and quickly found his lips, kissing away any further confusion. (As she was finding out, they were both a bit better at nonverbal communication.)

(And he did taste a bit like rum, but—she liked it.)

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

She wanted to say things changed from there—they took it fast, or slow, or whatever—but in reality, their relationship really didn’t change. There were still the meals at Granny’s, the nights at the bar. She’d never really been a date-night kind of girl. But emotionally—woah. 

It was like she was seeing a whole other side of Ian—but at the same time, it felt like it had always been there, just hiding below the surface. It wasn’t a universal thing—he was still a bit reserved while at work, or around just about anyone other than her and Henry—which made what they had feel all the more special.

There were also more than a few makeout sessions sprinkled in there, too. (Being chased out of the back hall of Granny’s by said proprietress, giggling like teenagers, was one of her more cherished memories since arriving here.)

For a short while, it was simple and sweet and it made her happy. For a little bit, she maybe had the kind of life she’d always hoped—with her son, friends, and a guy she really liked.

But it was like the universe noticed or something—no, Emma Swan couldn’t simply have nice things. Shit always, inevitably hit the fan.

Starting with having to arrest and book her roommate for murder.

She texted ahead and he had a shot waiting for her when she got to the bar after, then a couple more after that. She was definitely loitering—and he could tell. “What is it, love? Aside from the obvious.”

One thing she’d realized: he was exceedingly good at reading her, like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” she admitted. “It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone, but knowing that she’s in a cell and I’m there—and that someone may have been in the loft—I just…it freaks me out a bit.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but…I could go with you,” he offered. “At least to make sure everything is safe.”

“I’d like that.”

The walk to the loft from the Rabbit Hole was short but filled with energy; there was literally no reason for her to be any sort of excited, but she never invited guys back to her place. Even if she had no plans of anything intimate happening, this was something of a big step for her.

Of course, it ended up being anticlimactic—there was nothing amiss in the flat—but she was still hesitant to want to leave his presence, while at the same time not wanting to seem needy or like she was coming onto him in a subversive way.

“I, uh, could sleep on the couch, if you’d feel better,” he offered, doing that adorable nervous scratch behind the ear. Right—it had been a while for him with this kind of stuff, too.

“Um, yeah, I would. Thanks.”

That was the night she learned he snored—but the sound eventually lulled her to sleep, too.

As it did for the next few nights.

Then came the one after she narrowly escaped that crazy Jefferson’s house with Mary Margaret. She was still shaking as she took the stairs to the apartment and almost didn’t notice Ian sitting on the landing, nearly tripping over his feet.

“Swan, what’s wrong? You never answered my texts so I got worried and came here and, well—I wasn’t sure who to call when the sheriff is the one missing.”

She invited him in—or tried to, but she was trembling so much, she could barely get the key in the lock. Not until his steady hand wrapped around hers and helped. 

Once inside, she nearly collapsed just closing the door—both out of relief, and because her adrenaline was finally wearing off. But Ian caught her. And for the first time in years, she let herself be comforted by someone else. (She didn’t cry—she wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability yet—but this was kind of a big deal.)

“Do you want me to stay on the couch again tonight?” he murmured when she began to sway, fatigue winning over. She shook her head into his shoulder. (Also: he smelled good. Like, real good.) “Should…should I go?” She shook her head again.

Emma wasn’t a spooner. She took what she needed and then she left. But that was the night she understood why people enjoyed it so much. And waking up still wrapped in his strong arms was a kind of comfort she hadn’t known existed.

There was a brief—but weird—reprieve from the emotional heaviness when it turned out Kathryn Nolan was miraculously alive (despite her heart supposedly being outside her body), and then they held a party to welcome Mary Margaret back home. She shared (more than) a few drinks with Ian after the former; their first official outing as a couple, if it could be called that, was the latter. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow and smirked at her as she and Ian moved around the kitchen getting ready. Emma just blushed—and then blushed harder when Ian pressed a quick kiss on her cheek as he stepped past her.

Then August kind of went crazy—his offer of help in dealing with the Regina-Sidney-whatever turned into another journey of emotional whiplash. She slumped onto what had become her usual stool at the bar, just a few minutes before close. Ian put some tea in front of her rather than anything stronger and took her upstairs after he’d locked up. He lived there, apparently, in a pretty spartan studio apartment. 

“Tell me,” he said gently. Not long ago, she would have brushed something like that off—but not anymore; not with him.

“I’m just tired of all this crap. Not just Regina—the whole curse thing, too. It was fine when it was Henry and I could play along, but now August? And he just—expected me to solve his problem? Just like that? No—no way.” She sighed. “It’s like everyone wants something from me or to fit some role; no one wants just Emma.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he teased lightly. “Because I do.”

Well. She couldn’t argue with that.

And it became all the more obvious when she attacked his lips—and realized the rest of him was in agreement. She’d hesitated to take their relationship to that level; physical relationships were what she was used to, but adding in the emotional layer was something else—something more. 

But, as she learned, that was in a good way.

And while drifting off into a post-coital slumber while wrapped in Ian’s steady arms, she didn’t really care what went on in the outside world—as long as she had this.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Should have known that’s when it would all really, truly crash down on her. Henry—god—seeing him in that hospital bed…and not being able to do anything…but it worked: she believed. In magic, the curse—everything. (Especially once Regina confirmed it.)

So now she was on a mission, practically storming from the hospital—when she ran into a pair of arms she’d give anything to just be able to take shelter in right now. “Love—is Henry okay? What’s going on?”

For a minute, she just looked in Ian’s eyes: that now-familiar blue that carried a wisdom beyond his years and echoed his every emotion, so different now from when she’d first met him—but in a good way. The way his worry creased his brow, the weight of his hand on her waist. If the world was about to change, she wanted to memorize him—them—in this moment. “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

She rose up on her toes to give him a firm, but all-too-brief kiss. “It fucking will be,” she told him, then ran off to save the world—or something.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

An eternity later (really only a couple hours, but holy shit did it feel longer), she had fought a dragon and then apparently broken a goddamn curse with True Love’s Kiss. All that really mattered was that Henry was okay, but all around her, everyone was coming to terms with what had been done to all of them.

She’d never expected to find out the waitress was a werewolf, or the therapist was a freaking cricket—and really never thought she’d be reunited with her parents. It was amazing, but it was also a lot.

She left Henry with his grandparents—god, grandparents—so she could take a minute and just—breathe.

The salty sea air hit her nose and she realized her feet had taken her to the docks. The view of the sea was soothing, but then she saw someone else there taking in the horizon—someone familiar. He wore the same clothes—the same motorcycle jacket, the black sweater that fit him extremely well, atop his usual dark jeans. But rather than the hand-like prosthesis she’d come to recognize, there was a hook—a freaking stereotypical pirate hook—at the end of his left arm.

(Henry had told her the fairytale counterpart of just about everyone in town—except for Ian. The illustrations in his book were good but maybe not distinct and there were a few options. She had a pretty good idea who it was narrowed down to now, though.)

“Ian?” she asked as she approached, partly to get his attention—and partly because she wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but looked confused. Until he blinked and shook his head. “Aye, it’s me,” he answered, moving toward her. “My real name, though—it’s Killian, Killian Jones; it…took me a minute there.”

Killian. Similar, but different. It suited him. 

But also: Kill-Ian—was the man she held so important now gone, effectively killed by his new—true—self?

“So…how much was real? About you?” she had to ask.

“Some of it.” Apparently that nervous ear scratch carried over. “I am—was—am? A pirate, for decades, until I was caught.”

“Captain Hook?” she wondered, nodding at his prosthesis.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he smirked. It was similar to the one she knew—the same dimple—but it had a darker edge to it.

“Who hasn’t?” she replied, ignoring the bit of discomfort that was…well, adding to her overall sense of unease.

“The truth—my actual life—is a bit more gruesome than what I once told you. I wanted revenge for the murder of my love. That part was true—she had been the Dark One’s wife, and he killed her, then took my hand.” He emphasized it by toying with the (rather sharp) end of his hook.

Right; Mr. Gold was apparently—actually—a centuries-old sorcerer. “I’m not gonna have to lock you up for going after him, am I?”

“No. See, I got sloppy; I lost sight of things, and that’s how I was caught—by your parents’ kingdom, actually. Was about to be hanged when the Evil Queen’s knight rescued me. Graham.” Her heart skipped a beat. “In return, I offered them my services should they ever need them. Never heard from them again, and then got swept up in the curse.”

She swallowed. “Did she ever take you up on it? During the curse?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“So, us…” God, she couldn’t even put it into words. If what they’d shared wasn’t…hadn’t meant…she couldn’t fathom.

He very quickly moved into her space and took her hand. “That was very real, Swan.” His gaze had never felt more intense as he went on. “It was my understanding that the curse twisted things—changed us. I had always been someone who felt things very strongly and deeply; it’s why I was so single-mindedly focused on revenge for decades. But then under the curse…I felt nothing—not a bloody thing, for years on end—until I met you, and it all came back. It was like my heart was turned back on—like you brought me back to life.” He rubbed his coarse thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you’re probably questioning things again—especially given that you don’t fully know me, the real version, now—but Emma, I still know you, and I still desperately want you.”

She sighed in relief and nearly sagged into his arms. “Good. Because I think I love you.”

He smiled; it started as a small thing, but he couldn’t hold back from turning into a grin. “That’s appropriate, because I’m fairly certain I love you, too.”

There was a lot she needed to figure out—her life was all kinds of a mess right now—but him—this—whoever he was, he was hers. Even if she didn’t fully know him, it still felt like her heart fit right in the palm of his hand (and vice versa).

She wasted no further time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his; he was equally quick to reciprocate.

And, actually? Killian kissed even better than Ian did.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 and I know there's more I tend to include but tumblr is being weird about it rn.

[shady-swan-jones]

August Rec List!

So, it's August after April, right? RIGHT?

Today is Author Appreciation day so that ties in nicely, thank you @4getfulimaginator2022. Show your appreciation in the comments, it's mandatory. I have no way to enforce this but come on, spread the love!

She's Perfect But You're Mine (3/3) by me

Killian has a girlfriend. Emma handles it with the utmost maturity and grace. Or not.

Dark Swan Story by isaballerina89

What if Emma is pregnant as Dark Swan? Based in season 5 captain swan love story fanfic. It is different from the show.

What if... (Season 4) by Kml19

What if Captain Hook turned into the Dark One to get revenge on Rumplestiltskin? What if he only met the heroes in Neverland?

I can’t love you in the dark (oceans apart) by weareforeverstarlaced

Emma had long resigned her role as princess and Killian did the same, having left piracy. But now, as the mist covers their cliff side cottage, Emma and Killian say their final goodbyes when Rumplestiltskin steals the former pirates heart. And all they could do is wait it out until Rumplestiltskin’s torment was done and it’s crushed. Not knowing when it would happen. However, when morning comes and Killian is gone, Emma has one final idea to bring him back.

Ties That Bind (6/20) by Anonymous

When Killian Jones returns home after years away, it's not for a warm reunion—he’s there to confront his adoptive father, the powerful and rich politician Mr. Gold. Desperate to free Milah from his clutches, Killian finds himself ensnared in one of Gold’s infamous deals. In exchange for Milah’s freedom, Killian must carry out a dangerous mission that puts him on a collision course with Emma Swan, a sharp and determined agent for a secretive government force.

Into the Parallel by CSColifer

Emma and Killian are Travelers with and ability to travel through time and across parallel realms. A chance meeting will change their lives forever.

Cann I Be Your Werewolf? by @belovedcreation

After a particularly nasty encounter with a criminal, bounty hunter Emma Swan's friend convinces her to adopt a guard dog from the shelter. Little does she know that the massive dog she brings home is really the werewolf Killian Jones, who's laying low in wolf form to hide from danger.

Heart Bound by @4getfulimaginator2022

CS historical AU (mid-19th century), real world setting, teacher!Emma and artist!Killian. After years of private tutoring, Emma goes to teach in a village by the sea in a desperate bid to escape her heartbreak and the outside world. She thinks that she'll always be lonely and out of place, but the local lighthouse keeper, a fellow recluse and the town outcast, makes her see that she is right where she belongs.

Animal Instincts by @hookswench

Killian Jones noticed the moment Emma Nolan walked into the tavern. She was innocent... and she was trouble. As a lone wolf, he wanted no part of her pack politics. But when rival Neal Cassidy attacks, Killian can't just stand by. One quick escape later, and Killian finds himself alone with temptation. And Emma isn't one to back down from what she wants.

The Secret Romance by CaptainSwan02

Emma Swan and Killian Jones have been hiding their relationship for a while now, not wanting anyone to find out. The two have navigated treacherous waters and clandestine meetings, all to keep their love hidden from prying eyes. But as their feelings deepen and the challenges they face grow, the strain of their secret weighs heavily on them.

haunted by the ghost of you by @exhaustedpirate

Killian is cursed - cursed to lose Emma over and over again. He is doomed to live, to lose his love forever until he can break it.

For All Life and For All Time by @snowbellewells

Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

Pan Says... (13/13) by @hollythecurious

After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

Flight 815 (3/?) by @honey77bun

Emma moved into a new, incomprehensible world for her, in 1986. What to do? Unclear. And in this chapter, she'll have to find the strength to figure out what the hell is going on.

Too Well Tangled (12/21) by @myfearless-love

Killian Jones, the enigmatic Marquess of Hookstone, has more than earned his sinister sobriquet, the "Prince of Darkness." His past, a stormy mosaic of rejection and rebellion, has forged a man both feared and revered. Yet, the indomitable Miss Nolan proves an unexpectedly formidable opponent for his infamous charm.

Dracula in Storybrooke (6/?) by @grimmswan

“You don’t seem to be a vampire like the ones Dracula made.” Emma said softly, tracing her fingertips along Killian’s jaw. They were laying in bed. Holding one another. Gazing at each other lovingly.

Yet another villain had tried to tear them apart. And had failed. 

Not Broken At All (17/?) by @donteattheappleshook

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

I’ll Wait a Lifetime or Two by @hookedonapirate

At forty, Emma Swan is living her best life. She's happily single and owns a thriving art gallery with her best friend Elsa. And of course, there's the love of her life, her teenage son, Henry. Since the divorce three years ago, her carefully curated life has been quiet, peaceful, ordinary. So why does the one guy she ends up falling for have to be the rockstar her son has a poster of on his bedroom wall, whose life is nothing short of extraordinary?

Independence Day by @whimsicallyenchantedrose

With the Black Fairy defeated and the final battle won, Storybrooke is enjoying it's happily ever after and trying to make new memories. Emma has some exciting news for Killian.

Timeless (4/?) by @killiansprincss

Season 3 divergence - When Zelenas time portal works, Henry wakes up alone in Storybrooke and must travel to the Enchanted Forest to get his family back. Only once he gets there he quickly realises its not like the one in his book, theres no Evil Queen and his mother Emma wasn't put through a wardrobe, theres even a poster inviting the entire kingdom to her engagement ball, to Hook. What will happen once Henry gets them to break this new curse and they get their memories back?

@caught-in-the-filter @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @the-darkdaughter-blog @teamhook @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s   @snowbellewells @xarandomdreamx @klynn-stormz @omninerdgirl   @facesiousbutton82 @finmnsoh56  @followbatb @killianxswan @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @stahlords @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccakes @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard

[blowmiakisscolin]

Hi hi hi! Love your writing, so I wanted to ask if you’re still planning an Epilogue for “Your Case or Mine”??? It’s one of my favorites EVER, so there are still a ton of CS fans who’d love to read it! Hope all is well <3 <3 <3

So….ive just logged into tumblr for the first time in literally 2+ years, and I’ve found a few messages like this waiting for me. I’ve no idea when you sent this, but I just want to say thank you - it warms my heart so much that people became so invested in my little ole fic.

I was talking to my bestie @resident-of-storybrooke last night, and I AM going to finish this. Next month is the 7 year anniversary of me starting YCoM, and I’m going to do my absolute best to complete it by then (it’s already about halfway written!).

In the time I’ve been away/not writing, I got married and had a little pirate baby of my own, and I’m also back at work, so I get very little downtime. BUT I am carving out 30-60 mins on an evening, a few times a week for writing, and I’m very much committed to completing this epilogue.

I’ll also be posting it on here, as well as FFnet and AO3.

Thank you for loving my labour of love so much. It honestly means the world to me that people have embraced this fic the way they have over the years ❤️❤️

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (13/13)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: We've made it! The final chapter is here. Thank you all for going on this journey with me! I hope is does not disappoint!

Much love to my @kmomof4 and @ultraluckycatnd for being amazing cheerleaders and betas! A shout out to all of you who sent me prompts. This fic would not exist without y'all!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six  / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

“There has to be a way out of here,” Killian grumbled as they hit yet another dead end.

Never had he been more eager to get his Swan to safety. Sure, the man who’d been tasked to eliminate her may well be dead, but that didn’t mean she was out of danger. Cassidy was still lurking somewhere within the maze and Killian didn’t want to take any chances of him getting his hands on Emma.

“Killian?” Emma whispered softly next to him, both of them trying to draw as little attention to themselves and their position as possible. “What do we do if Neal finds us before we make it out of here? Assuming there is a way out.”

“There has to be,” Killian replied, bypassing her initial question and leading them down a new corridor. Or had they already been down this way? “Pan can’t trap us in here forever.”

“Sure he can.”

Killian and Emma spun around, stunned to find Neal Cassidy making his way around the corner they’d just turned. Where had he come from? That way had been a dead end. Hadn’t it?

A baseball bat was firmly gripped in one hand as he menacingly tapped the cap of it in the other. No need to guess the weapon he was meant to use in order to complete the grizzly task Pan had assigned him.

“Looks like Emma already took care of your dear old dad,” Neal commented, his eyes taking in the blood soaked into Killian’s sweatpants and smeared across his bare torso and chest. Shifting his attention to Emma he added, “I knew Pan would give you Brennan, leaving Killian and I to duke it out to the death.”

Killian let the man keep his wrong assumptions and tightened his grip on Emma’s hand, hoping she would do the same. Having his focus on Killian as both his target and would-be assassin allowed them the upper hand, even if they were both loath for Emma to be in a position to have to take the man’s life. Neither of them wanted it to come to that, but Neal seemed not the least bit concerned with the idea of cold-blooded murder.

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” Neal murmured darkly, continuing his advance as Killian and Emma both crept backward down the corridor, unwilling to take their eyes off the danger in front of them. “Do you know how often I’ve dreamt of killing you? How many times I begged Pan to let me be the one to punish you?”

Arriving at a T junction, Killian signaled for Emma to go to her right, hanging behind for a moment to ensure Neal did not lunge at them unexpectedly. She’d only just rounded the corner when a panel slid out from the wall, cutting him off from her completely. Forgetting about Neal, Killian spun around and yelled Emma’s name, desperately feeling his way along the panel for a way to remove it.

“Swan!” he hollered, but was unable to determine whether or not she could hear him. Her name had only just left his lips when a whooshing sound gave him a mere moments warning of Neal’s attack. Ducking out of the way, Killian nearly had his head taken clean off by the swing of Neal’s bat, which instead collided with the solid panel separating them from Emma.

“Quick bastard, aren’t you?” Neal muttered, taking aim once more.

His next swing was stalled when Killian demanded to know, “Where’s Emma? How did you manage to separate us?”

“Don’t look at me, pal,” Neal scoffed. “Haven't you noticed the walls moving before now? Hallways seal themselves all the time, creating new dead ends. It’s all part of Pan’s genius.”

“Awfully enamored with Pan, aren’t you?” Killian stated derisively.

“Pan is my family,” Neal shot back. “He’s always looked out for me.” Cocking his head to one side, a sneer crept over his lip as he taunted, “Unlike your own father who left you and your brother to rot in foster care. Left you to the mercy of someone like John Silver.”

Killian tamped down the anxiety and panic the mention of his abusive foster father’s name brought up. He could not afford to let Neal rile him up or make him lose focus. In fact, perhaps it was time to turn the tables.

“Always looked out for you?” Killian countered. “Was he looking out for you when he brought Emma here? When he let me have her instead of you?” Neal’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the grip of the bat tighter in his hands, his teeth grinding together in anger and rage Killian hoped he could work to his advantage. “Tell me, Neal,” Killian continued to taunt, “How was Pan looking out for you when he let me pleasure Emma? Let me caress her body and taste her cunt before fucking her to heights of ecstacy you were incapable of giving her?”

A guttural roar of rage preceded the wild swing of Neal’s bat, but Killian managed to side-step it before it made contact.

“Or was he looking out for you when he forced Emma to her knees to suck me off?” Killian said, throwing another barb at the man who was growing more and more unhinged by the second. “Or when she washed me, or kissed me, or fondled me, or rode me like a bloody goddess?”

Another savage swing broke the air, but when this one also missed its target, Neal, in a rage, rushed at Killian, nearly knocking the breath out of him as they both landed on the ground.

“You think any of that meant something? You think it means she’s yours?” Neal bellowed, striking Killian in the jaw with his fist when he attempted to get up, landing him flat on his back once more. “She’ll never be yours!” Neal roared. “She’s mine!”

Crushing the bat against Kiliian’s windpipe, Neal continued to rail at him. Perhaps he’d done too good of a job riling the man up in the hopes he’d make a mistake. It was clear, however, that Killian had been the one who’d made the fatal error. Frantically, he clawed at Neal’s hands as the man continued to spit vitriol at him, not that he heard a word of it, the sound of his blood thundering in his ears as a ringing began to swell from the lack of oxygen effectively drowned the murderous man out.

No! He couldn’t let the man win. He couldn’t leave his Emma at the mercy of Pan and Neal. He couldn’t… he had to… he must…

Killian’s vision began to tunnel, the black edges of oblivion quickly creeping in as the pressure in his face and head continued to build and his lungs screamed from want of air. With the last of his strength he tried anything and everything he could to dislodge the man from his chest and bat from his throat, but it was no use. Neal would not be moved.

The last vestiges of consciousness began to leave him, his final coherent thoughts of his Swan and the grief he felt as he mourned the life they could have had together. He wished he could see her one last time. Hold her. Kiss her. Tell her he--

Killian jolted from the blast of gunshots that rang out and his lungs suddenly opened, allowing him to draw in a much needed breath. His eyes, which he hadn’t even realized had shut, flew open in time to see Neal Cassidy being propelled backward by the force of the bullets hitting his chest, blood splatter from his wounds erupting in the air and hitting Killian in the face as he continued to choke and gasp for breath.

“Killian!” Emma screamed, her footfalls rushing towards him as he rolled over onto all fours in an attempt to get up. She practically knocked him on his back again, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Careful, love,” he choked out, settling back onto his heels as he knelt before her, threading his fingers through her hair and holding her as close to him as he possibly could. Once he was able to breathe again without a choking fit, he pulled back and looked over at Neal’s prone body.

“Is he… dead?”

“I unloaded the clip on him,” Emma told him, her tone giving away none of what she might be feeling over the matter. “So, yeah. He’s dead.”

“Good.”

She released a heavy breath in response, tears pooling in her eyes as relief seemed to engulf her. Cupping her cheek, Killian nuzzled his nose against hers and affirmed, “You did what you had to do, Swan. You saved me.”

“I tried to hurry,” she told him in a slightly hysterical tone. “I knew there had to be a way back around to you. I’m sorry it took me so long to find it.”

“Shhh, love,” Killian soothed, pulling her back into his arms and cradling her head against his chest. “It’s all right now.”

Emma’s eyes fell shut and a tear slipped past her lashes. Before Killian could wipe it away they were both startled by the sound of more panels closing in around them. Getting to their feet they frantically looked about for a means of escape, but there was none. All access points had been closed off to them.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Killian hollered, grabbing on to Emma’s hand for fear they might get separated again. “It’s over! We completed your tasks and survived! We won! Why have you trapped us in here?”

“Yes, yes,” Pan said in an unenthusiatic tone with a half-hearted slow clap accompanying his words. “You’ve won. Congratulations.”

“That's right!” Emma chimed in. “We won, so let us out! You said we’d earn our freedom if--”

“And I am a man of my word,” Pan replied, though there was clear reluctance in his tone. “Even if letting you go will end up costing me dearly. Think of the revenue I’ll lose from my guests when they discover their favorite playthings are no longer available to them?”

“Forgive me if I don’t lose any sleep over it,” Killian grit out through clenched teeth. “Something tells me you’ll manage just fine without us.”

“I suppose,” Pan sighed. “Part of the fun was watching your father and Neal suffer and stew while I played with you. Now that they’re gone…” Another heavy exhale filled the corridor as a panel slid open. “Well, I suppose a deal’s a deal. Pan says, follow the corridor.”

“Wait!” Emma called out, clearly unconvinced that he meant to make good. “This is really it, right? You’re letting us go? We’re free? Forever?”

“Of course,” Pan replied. “Unless you would wish to stay and remain a part of my--”

“Fuck that,” Killian said, pulling Emma along the corridor with haste, ready to be done with this god forsaken place once and for all.

The path led them back to one of the rooms they’d started in and a cold stone of dread dropped in Killian’s stomach when the door shut behind them.

“I knew it!” Emma exclaimed. “I knew it was a trick! I knew he never meant to--”

Her words were cut off by the hissing sound of the fog filling the room. Terror filled green eyes caught his own as they stared at one another in fear.

“K-Killian?” Emma stammered. “Do you… do you think he means to--”

“Relax,” Pan’s voice exasperated from the speaker. “It’s only going to knock you both out. I can’t have you remembering any details that might lead the authorities back here, now can I?”

A shuddering exhale of relief left Killian’s lungs, but it was replaced with a fresh breath of panic. Where did he mean to take them? Would they remain together or would he dump them back where he’d had them grabbed that fateful night?

“Swan,” Killian said desperately. The air around them was already filling with the noxious choking gas and he knew they didn’t have much time. “I’ll find you,” he promised. “If when we wake we aren’t… I swear I’ll find you.”

“I know you will,” she said, clinging to him as she nodded furiously. “Or I’ll find you. We’ll find each other.”

“Aye.” Pressing his forehead to hers, he lowered them to their knees, not wishing for either of them to become injured when they eventually lost consciousness and fell to the floor.

“Killian, I…” Emma gazed up at him, a sentiment he’d longed to hear swirling in her jade depths as the words began to form on her lips. “ I lo--”

“Don’t,” Killian said, cutting her off. “Not here. Not like this.” Taking her face in both hands he pleaded with her, “Tell me when we’re free. Tell me after… after you’ve found me or I’ve found you. Please, love.”

“As you wish,” she slurred out, her body becoming too heavy for his weakened arms to hold. Together, they collapsed to the ground, their bodies entwined with one another as darkness pulled them under.

~/~

A horn blared from the street outside the window jarring Emma awake. Bolting upright, she was stunned to find herself in her apartment, the air thick with two months worth of dust collecting on the surfaces. Glancing down to assess her physical state, she was again taken aback. Someone had dressed her in the very clothes she’d been wearing when she’d disappeared. The same tight jeans, the same gray tank top, the same red leather jacket, the same tall boots, even the same ponytail, she realized, reaching back to run a hand over her hair.

Out of instinct she called out for Killian, hoping against hope he might be somewhere in her apartment as well. After a very short, quick search - her place was tiny with only an open concept living and kitchen area, a bathroom, and a bedroom - she was devastated to discover she was alone.

Patting at her pockets, she found her phone tucked away in one of the interior ones of her jacket. A curse fell from her lips when she tried to unlock it. The thing was completely dead. Rushing to her bedroom, she started tearing it apart in search of her phone charger, all the while trying to decide who she should attempt to contact first.

Obviously, she needed to find Killian, but there was also David and Mary Margaret to consider. They’d been through hell and she didn’t want them to suffer a moment longer than they had to. Not to mention, the police had to be notified, she was probably gonna need a good lawyer, she was desperate to find out if Henry had indeed been returned to his mother, it would probably be a good idea to have a doctor check her out, but out of all of the concerns and worries spiraling through her brain, the thing that continued to drive her as she searched for her damn phone charger was Killian.

She had to find Killian.

Someone started pounding on her front door, causing Emma to freeze. As the assault against her door continued, Emma realized there was one thing that had not been returned to her from the night Pan had her taken.

Her gun.

Looking about for something she could use as a weapon, Emma froze again when a voice began to accompany the banging.

“Killian?” Sprinting to the door, she didn’t even check the peephole before throwing it open.

Hand still raised, ready to set another round of knocks on the surface of her door, Killian stared back at her with equal disbelief and elation.

“Swan,” he breathed, barely able to complete the exhale before Emma launched herself into his arms.

He struggled to keep hold of her and make his way into her apartment as she wrapped her legs around his waist and peppered his face with kisses.

“How… How are you here… How did you… find me so fast.”

“It was Pan,” he muffled against her lips, causing her to flinch back.

“What?”

Setting her back on her feet, he reached into the pocket of the jeans he wore - tight fitted jeans paired with an equally tight black shirt, charcoal colored waist coat, and a black leather bomber style jacket - and produced a familiar looking folded piece of paper.

Closing the door as she took the message from him with trembling fingers, Killian recited the words as Emma read them.

“Pan says… find her.”

Included on the paper was her full address.

“Well,” she said, wetting her lips and handing the note back to him. “Good thing you did, because tomorrow I’m moving to an unregistered address.”

Killian chuckled and they were back in each other’s arms, lips sliding and tongues tangling as their hands clung to the fabric of the other’s clothes.

“You’re alright? Truly?” he murmured in the space between them when they broke apart for air.

“Yes,” she assured him. “But I’m not sure how long I was out. I only woke up a few minutes before you arrived.” Pulling back further, she gazed up at him and asked, “How did you get here so fast?”

With a stunned expression, as though he himself hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of what he was about to relay to her, he said, “I live just on the other side of town.”

Emma was struck by the fact they never once talked about where they lived. All of his stories had been of his life back in the UK, having only mentioned once in passing that he’d moved to the US for a fresh start after his court martial.

“After I woke up and saw the note, I raced over here. Breaking several traffic laws in the process, I’m sure.” Taking her face back into his hands, he caressed the apples of her cheeks with his thumbs. “I had to see. I had to see for myself that you were alright.”

Reaching up, she placed her hands over his and closed her eyes, letting his touch and the comfort of his presence wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, she led them to her sofa, asking, “What about Liam? Or the police? Have you--”

“I called Liam on my way here,” he told her. “He’s booking the first flight out.”

“I guess I half expected him to already be in the States, working with the police or at least connecting with David and Mary--”

“Aye, he did all that,” Killian added, cutting her off so he could relay what Liam had told him over the phone. “After our phone calls to them, Liam and David and Mary Margaret were in contact with one another immediately and he came here to help them convince the police to take up the case again. Unfortunately, his leave ran out and he had to go back, but he said he would reach out to David and Mary Margaret, as well as the detective that’s working our case, to let them know of my return.” With knitted brows he looked around and said, “I’m surprised they aren't blowing up your phone or already at your door.”

“My phone is dead.” She nodded at the coffee table where the useless device was still laying, then glanced around once more as she said, “I was looking for the charger when you…” Emma returned her gaze to his, not wanting to take her eyes off him for fear he might simply disappear. Shaking off the absurdity of that feeling - while trying to convince herself it was absurd - Emma cleared her throat and informed him, “David and Mary Margaret live more than an hour away, so… we have a bit of time before they come barging in.”

“Aye,” Killian acknowledged. “And Liam asked that I wait to go to the station until after he arrives. He uh… he wants to be here. To support me through…”

“Of course he does,” Emma said, running her hand up and down his arm in a supportive and comforting manner. “He’s your brother and he loves you.”

Killian stood and started to pace, his hands sweeping through his hair over and over again. “I’m not sure what I’m going to tell him,” he confided. “About what we’ve been through. About what we… what I had to do in order to gain my…” Stopping dead in his tracks he looked over at Emma with mournful eyes and asked, “How am I going to tell him about Brennan? How do I confess to him that I killed our father?”

Emma sprang up for the couch and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. “You didn’t kill him, Killian. You weren’t the one responsible for his death. And regardless, you won’t have to face it alone. You won’t have to do any of this alone.” Craning her neck, she captured his gaze and reminded him, “We will get through this the way we’ve gotten through everything else. Together.”

“Aye, love,” he expelled on a relieved breath, crushing her to him. “Together.”

After a few more minutes of simply holding one another, Killian loosened his grip and chagrined, “I’m sorry, Swan. I know I’m not the only one facing a daunting amount of trauma to work through.” Taking her hands in his, he brushed his thumbs over her knuckles, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily before he spoke. “I know now that my father sacrificed everything to protect Liam and me. That he gave up his life to ensure I had a future.” Gently, he placed her hands against his chest and cradled them there, flicking his gaze up to meet hers, the intensity swirling in those forget-me-not depths nearly drowning her. “And I damn well intend to have one,” he murmured fiercely, their lips now only a hairsbreadth apart. “I know you must have your own trepidations about entering back into the world, but I want you to know that I will be by your side. For all of it. Always.”

“I know,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his and losing herself in the fervor of his kiss and the promise it left simmering between them.

After taking a much needed breath, Emma burrowed her face into his chest, refusing to let go as she tightened her arms around him. “For now though?” she implored. “For the little bit of time we have before David gets here and goes all Nolan, or before the police descend with their questions and interrogations, or before your brother arrives and I have to worry about earning his approval…” Killian chuckled at that, giving her a comforting and commiserating squeeze. “Can we just… do this? Can we just… be? Can we just leave the world outside for a little bit longer? I just want you to hold me. Can you just hold me and let me forget about everything else for a while?”

“Aye, love,” he murmured into her hair. “I can do that.”

The tightening of Killian’s arms around her alerted Emma that there was something she needed to do first.

“Um… actually,” she said apologetically, wiggling out of his embrace and shooting him a slightly embarrassed look. “Real quick, I need to um… use the restroom. Sorry.”

Killian chuckled again and fully let her go. “Go,” he said in an amused breath. “Take care of necessities while I make myself useful and get us some tea.” Waggling his brows at her he added, “Then we can cuddle up with a cuppa until the masses arrive.”

Emma smiled and threw out instructions of where to find things as she made her way to the bathroom. When she reached the door, she paused and turned back.

“Oh, and Killian?”

“Aye?”

Drawing in a cleansing breath, she declared, “I love you.”

He whirled around from the cabinets and beamed at her, elated. “And I you, Emma,” he murmured back, clearly torn between taking her in his arms again and letting her continue on with what she needed to do. “And I you.”

“Hold that thought,” she told him with a coy smile, her hand pressed against the bathroom door while her attention remained focused on him for a second longer. Watching him smile that adorable boyish grin as he went back to puttering around her kitchen, Emma placed her other hand over her chest. Her heart was full and feeling as though it might burst from relief and joy and hope and a certainty that settled deep within her.

They were going to be okay. There was a lot for them to face and get through and overcome, but… he loved her and she loved him. They were going to be okay.

Swinging the door open, she stepped into the bathroom, then stopped short with a gasp falling from her lips that took her elated smile with it.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed before clamping a hand over her mouth.

Killian’s rushed footfalls were accompanied by his frantic tone as he demanded, “What is it? Swan, are you--”

She flicked her gaze up to the mirror, her face white and her eyes wide as saucers. When he joined her his attention was on her reflection, but then followed her gaze as it returned to the counter, and the note laying there.

A note she somehow had not seen earlier when she’d quickly checked the bathroom for Killian.

A note that was sitting atop a very distinctive object.

“Is that…”

A pregnancy test.

Emma nodded and they both leaned down to take a closer look. Hands shaking, Emma picked up the stick and a shuddering breath left her lungs as Killian read the scrawling words that had been penned on the paper.

Pan says, congratulations are in order.

The End

(cue evil laugh)

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