#CS canon divergent ff

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Darkness Before Dawn (Leave Hope's Light On)"

This week's Self Promo fic is another older chaptered CS story that I am bringing back “out of the vault” lol ;p.  Though there will certainly be some angst this time around, there is also a happy ending - I promise. This one is a post-Christmas/New Year's themed one, and it takes place between the 4a and 4b timelines of the show (i.e. after the defeat of the Snow Queen, but before Gold returns with the Queens of Darkness) and diverges from there.

Summary: A lovely holiday season has come and gone, and Emma hates to see it end. However, much more pressing concerns quickly take precedence when she and Henry are in a wreck. Now the Savior is fighting for her life, and those who love her can only hope she'll find her way out of the darkness one more time...

*Also available on AO3 and ff.net, if you would prefer...

(I've posted all five parts in this Tumblr post for ease of reading)

by: @snowbellewells

i. prologue

Only three days after Christmas, and Emma Swan finds herself driving Henry back to Regina's where he will stay until New Year's Day. She can't help but feel that the holiday has passed her by in a flash, and she is loath to give up the sense of her first real Christmas with her family, and especially her son, around her. Though she is ridiculously grateful that she and Regina have worked out a schedule agreeable to both of them and Henry; now she is afraid that with Henry gone for several days, all the leftover bits of holiday magic, pure, innocent joy, and the light that might still be lingering, will go with him.

Shaking her head, Emma sighs as she glances across at her son in the passenger seat, lost to the newest app on his iPhone and luckily oblivious to her gloomy thoughts. There is no doubt in her mind that she is being more than a bit silly, but that doesn't make the feeling disappear. Realistically she knows that Regina truly needs Henry right now; he is the one bright spot in a horrible time of loss for the formerly Evil Queen. Emma doesn't want to begrudge the other woman what little joy she can find. Yes, Henry needs to spend the time with his adoptive mother, but Emma still hates to see him go, even for a few days. So much of Emma's life has been spent alone, with no one to care about her, much less be there to share Christmas traditions, and she feels a near-insatiable need to horde the precious moments now that she has them.

It has been more fun that she could have guessed taking Henry to her mom and dad's to help them trim the tree, watching F rosty the Snowman and How the Grinch Stole Christmas , helping Snow bake dozens and dozens of sugar cookies, both to decorate and eat themselves, and then passing the rest out to seemingly everyone in town. She wants to make the warm and jolly December evenings they've spent laughing cozily together last forever, so she will never lose the feeling of being curled up between Killian, whose arm stretches lazily along the back of the couch and over her, and her father, chuckling at Henry as he makes faces to entertain his baby uncle and exclaims over his presents. Emma knows they all felt similar emotions at times, like when her watery eyes met her mother's over the boys' heads and a lump rose in her throat. This year has brought her more of a holiday that she could have ever imagined having a part in as a cynical, unwanted foster child years ago. Killian's arms have tightened around her numerous times in the last few days, and she has known that he understands all too well from the life he had lived. Her father seems to find every possible moment to squeeze her hand in his, as if reminding her that they had always wanted her with them like this.

Without realizing it, Emma lets her mind wander and loses focus for the briefest of instants. It happens so quickly that cause or fault will never be clear. Emma only glances at Henry beside her for a moment; takes her glance off the road no longer that she would need to adjust the heat or the radio volume. Yet, somehow, they hit an unseen patch of black ice on the wintry road, going at full travel speed. The Bug skids, back end fishtailing out one way, and then almost up even with the front, putting the vehicle perpendicular to its original path on the pavement. Emma scrambles to right them, and Henry calls out a warning, but it happens too slowly and isn't enough. Their little yellow car shoots offcourse, seemingly flying from the road and directly into a pole at the shoulder.

Mother's instinct makes Emma's arm dart out in a desperate effort to shield her son, and she feels – with both hope and fear – some of her magical energy leaving her fingertips almost like second nature, in an attempt to protect him. It is the last thing she feels before impact, and then her world goes dark.

ii. the call

"Mom! Mom!" Henry snaps out of the daze he hovered in after the sudden stop and the settling of the car. He can see snowflakes falling thickly through the cracked windshield, and bitterly cold air is filtering in, though he doesn't remember it snowing before they skidded. If his mom had not told him the Snow Queen was dead, and actually hadn't been evil, he would blame the unseen ice and strange drop in temperature while they were vulnerable on her. It doesn't really matter now, but he is still trying to get his bearings and stop his head from spinning. For an odd second or two, it’s like he is in a vacuum; roaring in his ears and dizziness makes him off balance and sluggish, but when his mind clears and he sees his birth mother slumped over the steering wheel, a thin line of blood trickling down the side of her face, eyes closed, not moving, his concern bursts through the haze.

Henry realizes that she must have used her magic to cushion him somehow and didn't have time to do the same for herself. Yet, even as he registers what she has done, the air around him seems to waiver, flicker, and whatever shield she put in place weakens and fades, allowing him to reach beyond it and touch her carefully, worriedly, enough to see that she makes no response.

"Mom…can you hear me?" he tries again. When he still gets no movement or reaction, Henry begins scrabbling around in the seat, then on the floor, until he finds his phone where it has fallen in the confusion. Swiping the screen quickly, Henry calls his other mom, then his Gramps, in rapid succession – once he has gotten an ambulance on its way.

As far as the teen can tell, nothing seems to hurt and he is completely uninjured. The car is caved in clear to the windshield from where it smashed into the pole head-on, but his door isn't blocked. He can get out, but is determined not to leave his mom until help arrives. Whatever Emma did to shield him came at the expense of her own safety, and Henry swallows back both guilt and fear for her at that knowledge. He is momentarily glad to be alone when he feels tears welling in his eyes.

Reaching over the console to grasp his mom's fingers in his, Henry threads them together and forces himself to hope it will all be fine. Her skin feels cold to the touch, and his brow furrows in concern. "Come on, Mom. Hang in there," he murmurs to her fervently, leaning in as though he can assure that she will hear him. "Please."

For some reason, as the silence stretches on and Henry worries more the longer she remains still, he realizes who he has forgotten to call in his anxiety. Killian will have to be told and will be crazed with worry for his mom. How he didn't think to call his mom's boyfriend until now baffles him. Killian will be frantic to get to Emma, to help, to see that she is okay, and he deserves to be with her. Henry genuinely likes the reformed pirate. He has more than earned his place at Emma's side. Hating what he knows it will do to the Captain, Henry also can't put this call off. Dialing once more, the young man waits as he hears the phone ring two, then three, times before Killian Jones picks up, sounding half-confused, half-exasperated at the modern contraption in his hand.

His accent is clear through the wire as he asks, "Henry? What is it, lad? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Captain, I'm fine. Just listen to me, okay?" Henry swallows hard, not sure what to say, how to deliver what he knows will be an awful blow. Yet, one glance at his mom's still, expressionless face, and he knows he has no choice … Killian might even be able to reach her. Henry is no fool. Both sets of his grandparents are True Loves – and he sees something just as deep and strong, if not as clearly understood, between his mom and Killian.

"Aye, lad," the Captain's voice breaks back in to agree. "My apologies. I will simply listen then."

Henry draws in a deep breath. He hates having to put this into words, but then blurts it out in a pained rush, not trailing off until the end. "Mom and I had a wreck. The ambulance is on its way, and they'll help, but Mom hasn't woken up yet. She's hurt, and I thought you should know what was happening. …I'm sorry…"

Drawing in such a sharp breath it sounds like he has taken a physical blow, Killian is stunned by the news. His chest tightens at the mere thought of Emma and Henry in pain or danger, and his mind is already racing to where she is and how quickly he can get there, what he can do. Yet, in the next moment, he knows there is something else he must take care of first. He can tell immediately by the lad's tone that he is already feeling guilt at being alright when Emma is not, and also at having to be the bearer of such awful news. He speaks firmly, and with intent when he responds. "No, lad, none of that. You need not apologize. You did not cause this, and you should not feel sorry at being unharmed. I have no doubt that is how Emma wanted it. Understood?"

Henry nods reluctantly before realizing that Killian can't see him, then manages a begrudging, "Understood."

"Where are you?" Killian asks, already moving around his rented room at Granny's to throw on his coat and grab the grey knitted scarf that Emma had brought him just a few days ago with a gentle smile and concern that he would take a chill. He is already reaching for the door as he adds, "I'm on my way to you, just tell me the direction."

"Head to the hospital – that's where we'll be."

"I will see you there, lad. I'm starting off as we speak."

"Killian," Henry breaks in again, strangely sounding as if he wants to reassure his mom's boyfriend, even though he is the one who has been in the wreck and is sitting beside his unconscious mother, "I know you were there once. Remember, they patched you up, even though you'd been hit by a car. They kept my gramps alive when he would have died for sure in the Enchanted Forest. They kept me stable when I ate the poisoned apple. They'll help Emma too. They have to! She's going to be alright. Just…I'll see you there, okay?"

"Aye, of course, lad," Killian assures, hearing both the pleading note in the boy's voice and the need to have his hope confirmed. The pirate already feels himself growing more frantic every second, wondering just how bad it is, but he can still try to give her boy a bit of comfort before he gives into his own fear. Though he speaks calmly to Henry, the desperate thoughts are already swirling inside his head. 'What if she doesn't wake? ' His beautiful, blunt, brave sheriff-princess, and he might never speak to her again, nor see her lovely green eyes sparkle with mischief. Killian shakes his head roughly, forcing that line of thought away. 'Not again. Not this time. Swan is strong. She will come back to me.' Killian has to believe that he will not suffer the loss of someone else he loves; even his life cannot be so cruel. "I'll be there as fast as I possibly can," he finishes saying to Henry, hoping the boy will be somewhat appeased; it’s all he has to offer.

"Good. Come find Gramps and me when you do, alright? ... And Killian?" Henry's voice fades for a moment, then adds, "You be careful. Mom will need you when she wakes up."

~~~~~000~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After hanging up the phone, Henry lets out a breath of relief. Things aren't really any better, but the part he had been dreading is done. He looks back over to Emma, covering her hand with his own still-growing one, trying not to dwell on the chill to her skin. "Killian's on his way. Neither one of us want to lose you, Mom. I know you've had to do it a lot, but keep fighting. Stay with us."

Soon he hears sirens blaring, and then his grandpa peals up behind them in the town's outdated patrol car and runs to the Bug, ambulance wheeling in right behind him. Next thing Henry knows, David is jerking open the door and crushing his grandson to his chest. "Henry! Are you alright?!" he asks, drawing in a sharp breath as he sees his injured daughter over Henry's head. The EMTs are already easing her out of the car and onto a backboard for the trip to the hospital, and all he can really do is clasp Henry to him more tightly and watch. He feels the boy shaking slightly, even as he tries so hard to be strong. As a father, he wants to ask so many questions about his daughter. 'Has she spoken at all?' 'Opened her eyes?' 'What made her lose control of the car?' But he holds back, comforting his daughter's child instead. There is nothing he can do to help beyond that anyway.

Easing Henry out and guiding him with a hand around his shoulders, David ushers his grandson into the cruiser, studiously ignoring the sniffles the teen is trying to hide. He rounds the front of the vehicle, sliding behind the wheel and immediately turning it around to follow the ambulance. Still, he brakes for a moment, making eye contact with Henry and holding it determinedly. "She’s going to be fine. Trust me," he vows, knowing he shouldn't make such a promise, but unable to believe anything else. His daughter has been through so much to find her happy ending; it cannot be taken from her now. He hears Snow's eternally optimistic voice in his head, telling them to keep hoping, and he will not do anything less.

Henry merely nods in acceptance of his words though, and silence settles over them again as they make their way to the hospital.

iii. keeping vigil

Killian Jones cannot turn off the fear that has overtaken his mind – the worries for her, and the feelings of helplessness, that there is nothing he can do for Emma. He spends the whole walk – more run really – to the hospital with his heart in his throat, feeling it trying to choke him, in almost as much agony as when the Crocodile had held the organ and squeezed it in torture. His heart might as well be ash without her.

Unwanted visions of Emma lying pale and cold, as Milah had in death so long ago on the deck of his ship, flit across his brain – vicious waking nightmares that he cannot seem to banish. It pains him that he is already thinking the worst, when he knows he should not. Just as he once told Emma himself, his Swan too is a survivor. She has been proving so her entire life, and certainly as long as he has known her. Still, Killian cannot quell the near-paralyzing fear; he has lost everyone he ever loved, and he will not survive the loss of Emma as well, nor does he wish to.

Upon reaching Storybrooke General, Killian barrels into the ER, searching for Henry and David anxiously, and finding them in hard, plastic chairs in the waiting room to the right. "Henry! Dave!" he calls out, rushing toward them even as he gets their attention. "Have you had any news? How is she? Can we see her?" He does not mean to deluge them with questions, or to seem frantic in front of her worried son and her father, but he must know.

"Easy, Hook," David cautions, reaching out to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, "take a breath. We'll tell you what we know, but it isn't much at this point. We're going to have to wait."

Killian gives a curt nod and does try to draw in a deep, centering breath. He dearly wants to yell at the Prince, to rail at him for his seeming composure and for telling him to wait on word. Emma cannot wait; he needs to reach her. Instead, he forces the words down, blowing out a tense breath, reminding himself that David loves Emma as well, and is trying to help. "Fine," he grits, making his voice as controlled as possible, though still aching for something to hold onto, practically trembling with the effort of holding his body still, to appear calm. "Just please tell me what you know."

David nods, motioning for Killian to take the empty seat between himself and Henry, after moving their coats off it. "Emma's car hit a patch of ice. There didn't seem to be any others on the route they were traveling; it was just a freak chance of nature as far as anyone can tell. It was cold and starting to snow, and it just happened. They were traveling at road speed, so it's really a miracle Henry isn't in worse shape too."

"No miracle," Henry mutters, looking at his shoes forlornly, bitterness in his tone as he interrupts. "She threw her hand up, used her magic on instinct somehow to protect me, and she let herself get hurt."

Realization dawns on the Prince's face, as if he completely understands something that had been puzzling him. He doesn't comment on his thoughts though, instead moves as if to get up and embrace Henry. Killian jumps in first, getting Henry's attention and making sure the teen is looking at him. "Henry, what did I tell you on the phone? You can't blame yourself. Emma loves you more than anyone else in this world. She would never want to see you hurt if she could prevent it. There is no shame in that. She is your mother and will feel that way whether you are 13 or 33. She would not want you burdened by this, that I know."

"Hook's right," David seconds, making sure that his grandson knows no one believes Henry could or should have done anything more than he has.

Henry doesn't speak to agree or argue, but he seems less angry at any rate, and Killian's worry finally urges him to ask David to continue with his news of Emma.

Sighing, David does as he requests. "Regardless, Emma sustained a serious blow to the head, most probably from the dashboard, on impact. She almost certainly has a concussion, and she hasn't shown any signs of regaining consciousness. They have her in a private room under observation, monitoring to make sure she doesn't develop any subdural hematoma that puts undue pressure on the brain. If that happens, they will have to go in to surgically relieve it…" The Prince's face is grim as he tries to explain what he has been told, and Killian does not like the troubled expression the royal's eyes take on.

"Let us hope it does not come to that, mate," he offers awkwardly, not sure how else to provide comfort.

They sit in silence for a time, until Regina arrives. She and Henry leave to walk elsewhere in the hospital for a bit. Killian is honestly glad that Queen is here; she loves Henry dearly, and has raised him. She knows as well as anyone could what to do for him and what to say to him in this situation.

He clears his throat once they are alone and asks, "Is anything else being done for her? Can we see her? Sit with her? Anything?"

David shakes his head, trying to dissuade Killian before he goes up against the doctors and the hospital itself. "Right now, they aren't letting anyone in. She needs to be in a quiet, non-stimulating environment. When the doctor spoke to me, they didn't even want her to have visitors. After that, Dr. Whale assured me he would see what they could do. He said that her pulse was slow and a bit thready, while her blood pressure was up, and that her pupils were somewhat unequal in size. Both are concerns if she doesn't wake soon, and could indicate her unconsciousness deepening."

Thankfully, David pauses to draw breath and let that much settle in. Killian honestly does not know how much more he can stand, picturing Emma alone and helpless in such a fragile state. He wishes to be at her side, even if merely to hold her hand. She might have no awareness of him at all, but if there is any part of her which senses that she is alone, he would rather believe that she could sense if he were near as well. Killian knows that Emma's father is about to finish giving him what information he has, and is steeling himself for it, when they are interrupted by Regina and Henry's return and the arrival a few moments later of a harried-looking Dr. Whale.

"Any news on Miss Swan?" Regina asks brusquely of the doctor, cutting across both Emma's love and her father. Her voice sounds sharp and matter of fact, but Killian senses more care under the surface than he imagines Regina intends to show. She may be here for Henry's benefit most, but over time the Captain has seen her come to hold a grudging respect for his tough, no-nonsense Swan. They are qualities the former mayor has as well, and appreciates in others.

Whale looks startled by this new person firing questions at him, but as the prince does not seem to object, he answers anyway. "Not much has changed since I spoke with you last. Ms. Swan has withstood a significant blow to the head and is dealing with a concussion as a result. Her unconsciousness is a serious issue and must be monitored, but is not uncommon with this sort of injury. As long as her pulse returns to normal and her other vital signs remain stable, we are cautiously optimistic that she will wake once her body has had time to recover. If she remains unconscious through the night, we will make sure she is equipped to receive adequate nutrition intravenously in the morning. She will also need to be watched for respiratory difficulty or inability to swallow. However, we will deal with those issues if they arise. In the meantime, I am prepared to allow one visitor at a time, as long as each visitor remains quiet and calm."

Emma's four gathered visitors assure him that they understand all he has said and will abide by his orders; then they are led to the room where Emma rests. Killian is more than willing to allow Swan's father and her boy to each take their turns before him; he is so relieved to see her at all. Besides, once he reaches her side again, he has no intention of leaving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly two hours have passed when Killian Jones is finally allowed to slip into the silent room Emma occupies and be near her at last. It is nearing 9 o'clock in the evening, and he knows he could not have stood being kept from her much longer. David has gone home to update and reassure Snow, who had stayed with the baby, and all three of them will be back bright and early in the morning. Henry has left as well, with Regina only minutes ago, surprising Killian by wrapping his skinny arms around the pirate's waist in a tight, wordless grasp and furtively wiping a silent tear from his face as he pulled away. "Take care of her, Captain," he had murmured lowly, making Killian aware that the lad knew his intention not to leave her.

"Aye, lad," he had responded in a voice equally low. "Have no doubt of that."

Moving across the room dimly washed in the moon's glow through the blinds, he tentatively reaches Emma and looks down on her before sinking into the chair nearby. For a moment, words are lost to him as he wonders how to reach her. He studies her beautiful, pale features, unable to stop gazing on her as his hand comes up to lightly trace over her cheek.

Speech seems pointless in the stillness of the room and her unflinching slumber. He only wants Emma to know that she is not alone, that she is loved, that he would do anything to bring her back. Bending to place a kiss upon her brow, Killian only whispers, "Darling, if you can hear me…please come back to us, Love. I need you. Your boy needs you. I promise…I will be right here when you wake." He threads his fingers with hers, leaning over the bed rail to keep his face even with hers, to watch in hopes of seeing her eyes flutter open again.

And so he begins the vigil he will keep, no matter how long, until she returns to him.

iv. drifting

Unbeknownst to Emma Swan, New Year's Eve dawns clear and bright, a brittle chill in the air, but a piercing sunlit sky overhead as well. Her son, her family, and her devoted pirate captain have all been waiting, watching, hoping she will wake, wishing each time a new sun rises that her eyes will open to see it and return to them. With a little one at home, David and Snow take turns visiting the hospital in the morning and afternoon while the other stays home with the young prince. As they do everything, the two royals work it out seamlessly between them, an unbreakable team. They set a routine of arriving at 7:00 a.m. – coffee and doughnut in hand for Killian – and never fail to carry on hoping, letting not a single moment of weakness show or a second of doubt that any day now their daughter will be awake to return their morning greeting.

Killian has not left Emma's side since he was allowed in her room that first night. One determined night shift nurse had attempted to shoo him out at midnight, but the words had died on her lips as she entered to find him seated at the sheriff's bedside – silent as stone, fingers of his one good hand tangled with hers, hook resting on the covers where the metal gleamed sharply in the dim light. He had raised a dark brow in questioning challenge, but had not moved or made a sound. No direct threat had been uttered, but it was clear he was not going anywhere without a fight, and from then on they had allowed him to remain.

Regina brings Henry faithfully as well, timing it so that Emma and Killian are not alone long after whichever of her parents has made the afternoon visit is gone. In truth, Killian is grateful for the company. He can only sit so long talking to Emma with no response – no twinkle of her laughing eyes, no sassy comebacks for his best witty flirtations – without wanting to beg her to return, to collapse to his knees, to give into the tide of despair he feels hovering in the back of his consciousness as each day and then night goes by with no change in her.

An IV has been put in, to get fluids and nutrients to her, and though he knows it was necessary, Killian feels a sense of nausea climb up his throat at the thought of her being so helpless, how much she would hate not even being able to feed herself or take a drink of water. His Swan is stubborn to a fault, not willing to give up an inch, wanting to handle all that life throws at her with her own strength and her own two hands. If she were aware of what was going on around her, it would be driving her mad. What really sends him over the edge though is the confirmation that she truly is not present with him; she doesn't know what is happening around her and she can't do it for herself. He continually has to push down the fear that she will not ever again.

After the first two days, it is determined that there is no further swelling or dangerous intracranial pressure. Continued observation reveals Emma's pulse and blood pressure regulating back to normal and her pupils' return to near equal size. Each note is received gratefully by her loved ones, but Emma remains in her distant, suspended state. Dr. Whale tries to caution them all that the brain has its own way and time frame for healing. They need to stay positive, keep visiting and talking to her. He assures them that he has no indication she will not come out of her coma once her body is fully healed and ready, but he also cannot explain to them why it has not already occurred.

A feeding tube is mentioned on the night Emma has been in the hospital a week, and Killian is more relieved than words can say when her father protests rather strongly, asking them to give her a day or two more to wake up before taking that step. The process would not have driven Killian away; he would have been there at her side, squeezing her hand in his, trying to offer her comfort whether Emma was aware of it or not, but seeing plastic tubing forced down his love's throat while she is unaware and can't fight back or speak for herself on the matter – even if it is meant to help her – seems somehow cruel and barbaric to him. Killian honestly is not sure he has the resolve to stand by and allow it without falling apart, much less to be present and watch.

Gradually, with his extended constant presence, the former pirate has grown on Emma's two regular nurses. Though both the day and night nurses had been disapproving at first of this dark, forbidding man disregarding all their rules and haunting their halls, his obvious devotion, his desire to do anything he could to help, and his charming nature had won them over. The day nurse now greets him as she arrives each morning, giving him a maternal smile and encouraging his hope by asking if there has been any change in Emma over the night. The night nurse has more than once covered him with a blanket upon her arrival, finding him asleep in the chair right next to Emma's bed. She cannot help but admire a man who loves that deeply and holds on so tightly; she finds herself anxiously awaiting their little town's sheriff waking to see who she has in her corner.

As Emma's unconsciousness stretches beyond a week, and then two, the hospital staff watches more carefully than ever for respiratory distress. Due to her inability to swallow, they begin suctioning her mouth and trachea when necessary, wanting to prevent any chance of aspiration. After failing to get Killian to leave while the procedure is accomplished, they show him how Emma must first be turned to lie on her side, and he then gently holds her in place while they carry out their task. Emma's pirate remains undeterred by anything she needs from him, only wanting to aid in her comfort, to do anything that might help, might keep her safe until she returns to them. His hands are steadying on her shoulders; he can tell that even unawares the suctioning must cause discomfort from the crinkle that forms between her brows, which he lovingly smoothes with a tender touch. He aches to take the distress from her, and so he watches over her religiously, brushing her hair back from her clammy forehead, watching for even the tiniest hint of movement.

Once all visitors and staff have cleared out for the night and they are alone again, that is when Killian Jones can do nothing more than pull the blankets back over her, take her hand once more, kiss her palm, and whisper to her. "Come, Love, surely you've had more than enough of this. Open your eyes, Darling…please. I am not giving up on you. I know you can find your way back. You are too stubborn by half to let this beat you. This…cannot…be your end."

It is only then, as darkness falls in the middle of the night, the halls are quiet, and Killian is sure no one will see, that he lets his strength crumble. His weeping is silent and fleeting, but his shoulders shake, unable to throw off the fear that his princess has finally gone where he cannot follow.

~~~~~~000~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~0000~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma feels as though she is swimming through a hazy dream world, floating unaware and unconcerned by any of the worries, any of the cares that normally tie her down. She feels no pressure, no impending doom from some new villain, no worry over whether she is doing right by her son, spending enough time with her new baby brother and her parents, serving her newfound home as both sheriff and princess the way all expect of her. No sounds disturb the easy quiet surrounding her, wrapping her up like a warm, soft blanket. It almost feels as though she could close her eyes and sleep for hours, days even, and it wouldn't matter at all. There would be nothing to stop her.

As quickly as that thought comes though, her calm is somehow shaken by a tremor of fear. Sleep for days? No one there to notice or worry about her? No sounds, nothing to see, nothing to do? Something isn't right, and on the heels of that realization comes the awareness that she cannot seem to open her eyes to see where she is or what is happening. She cannot make her arms and legs move or respond to her gradually growing distress. Emma wants to open her mouth to cry out, but her lips don't part and no sound escapes. The cozy grey haze that had seemed so comforting mere moments ago has become a thickening fog strangling her and pulling her down into its depths.

A soothing croon breaks through the darkness surrounding her. Emma cannot immediately place the speaker, but she knows instinctively that this is a voice she loves, a voice she feels comforted by amidst the nothingness surrounding her. "Open your eyes, Darling…please…" the lilting voice pleads, and desperately, painstakingly, with every bit of determination and energy she came muster, Emma moves toward that sound – or at least she attempts to. She surfaces from the sea of swirling fog and finally opens her eyes.

v. welcome back, love

Joyous pandemonium is not an exaggeration for the scene in Emma's room just an hour after her waking. Despite Dr. Whale and the nurses' repeated cautions that they are still in a hospital, that the other patients should not be disturbed, and that Emma should not be overexcited after being unconscious for so long, Emma's family can't help their enthusiasm and relief. Henry is unable to cease motion; one moment he practically bounces on the balls of his feet at the foot of her bed, and the next he shuttles forward to hug her again, as tightly as he dares, and then backs away as if afraid he will break her.

For her own part, Emma never wants her son to let go, but she is still dazed and can barely speak around the lump in her throat, so she wordlessly lets him do as he will. She catches Regina's eye over his head more than once, and though the queen only gives her a silent nod of understanding, Emma senses that even her former adversary is relieved at her return. David keeps bringing her water, trying to smuggle snacks to her, and pestering her for anything else she might need which he can fetch. Snow simply stands at her shoulder, looking at her with a teary smile, and bouncing Emma's baby brother gently in her arms. It is more than a bit chaotic after the absolute peace and quiet Emma has been stuck in for so long…and she loves it.

It had been a different matter when she first opened her eyes an hour ago. Relief had flooded through her upon finding Killian there, fingers of his good hand wound up with hers, speaking to her through the quiet dark. Emma had been so glad she was not irrevocably lost in the grey vacuum of her subconscious that it had taken her a few stunned, blinking moments before registering her sailor's motionless shock, and how he could not cease staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes over tear-streaked, unshaven cheeks - drinking her in as though she might vanish from his sight once more and trying several times to speak before finally stuttering out her name. "Em – Emma? You can hear me?"

She wanted to tease him, to break the tense emotional stakes and make him laugh the hearty, uninhibited guffaw she had only recently learned he possessed. Instinctively though – knowing what he must have gone through if he was sitting there looking as bedraggled as he did while she found herself in a hospital bed – Emma bit back any smart retort on the tip of her tongue and squeezed Killian's hand gently, merely nodding her head in response to his question. She realized just how dry and unused her throat felt anyway; speech seemed a bit more of a challenge than she had expected.

Killian had not seemed at all disappointed by her stillness. The smile that crept over his face at her barest of responses was near blinding and adorably accented by the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Leaning over her, he delicately cradled Emma's face in hand and hook, then kissed her forehead. It might have appeared awkward to an outside observer, but Emma found the gesture immensely comforting. Still gaining her bearings, she swallowed hard, looking up to him for answers.

Her captain seemed to understand, as he always did, what she was thinking. "You've been out for more than two weeks, Swan. And…I will admit…you had me worried." He paused, seeming to need a moment to rein in his own reaction, brushing his fingers through her hair as he did. When he continued, his voice was suspiciously husky. "I must go find your doctor. He will no doubt want to check you over now that you're awake. I shall call your boy and your parents too; they have missed you tremendously."

She nodded her agreement, sensing that Killian hesitated to leave her alone, and gave him an encouraging smile. Secretly, she was thinking how good it felt to wake up to someone looking on her with such love. It was something she had been missing her entire life, and with him, it had been there the whole time – she had only needed to finally see. Twice in the last month, she had nearly lost this; first to Gold's attempt to crush Killian's heart, and now to her accident. Suddenly, Emma was clear on just how much she would be missing without this man in her life, how much she wanted to rest in his adoring gaze every night and wake up to it each morning.

His small upturn of the mouth showed once again that Killian possessed the ability to read at least some small portion of what was on her mind. "I will be but a moment," he assured her as he stood, then leaned back in with a whisper in her ear and teasing glint of white teeth in a happy grin. "Welcome back, Love."

Now, in the midst of the rest of her loved ones, and the night nurse who Emma can immediately see has fallen right under the spell of her pirate's irresistible charm, hugs are flying non-stop, and everyone seems to chatter and laugh at once, both in trying to fill her in on all that she has missed, and back and forth with each other. Emma feels wrapped in a warm, noisy nest of chatter and touch and genuine belonging, and instead of feeling smothered or pressured to respond in the right way, she simply feels happy and grateful to be back.

Killian is still hovering at her elbow. He smiles and nods along with what is said, responds when he is spoken to, but she can tell he is still shaken, still anxiously watching her, making sure she is alright. It is as though he had sat beside her standing guard for so long, fearing she was about to be snatched away from him, that he cannot yet relax and believe the ordeal is over.

As their miniature party breaks up and the rest of the group files out with embraces and promises to return in the morning when she is at last released to go home, Emma finds herself wondering how to comfort him. It was not so long ago that she had been standing frozen in the clock tower, powerless to do anything but watch as the Dark One prepared to kill her pirate. The anguish on his face when their eyes had met in that terrible moment; the corresponding pressure gripping her own chest as his heart was squeezed, and the irrevocable knowledge that Killian was slipping away from her against her will, were still incredibly fresh. The memory haunted her in ways she did not know how to express or assuage. Emma was all too well acquainted with how Killian might be feeling now, but what she didn't know was if she could provide any comfort when she had been the reason for his pain.

"Hey," she whispers, holding out a hand to him, urging her pirate closer to where the bed was raised for her to mostly sit up and interact with her guests more easily, "come here, Captain." Her voice is still a bit hoarse and strained from disuse, but Killian hears it immediately and is at her side almost before she has finished speaking. He had still been at the door from seeing everyone off, but upon her request, he is with her in an instant.

"What is it, Love? Are you in pain? Do you need something?" His hand hovers over her anxiously, smoothing back her hair and brushing over her shoulder, not sure where to settle.

If she doesn't stop him, Emma is pretty sure he will dart away again, off to fetch her something she doesn't even want, when all she needs is him – to draw him close and let him hold her. She isn't sure which one of them needs the contact more, but it has become a desperate necessity. "No! Killian, wait…" she swallows and licks her lips, trying to make her voice sound less scratchy and to gather her nerve. It may be the lingering weakness in her system, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable, but she finds herself needing to take the leap, to let Killian know he is as important to her as she is to him. "I'm fine. It's just…I just…I need you."

His gaze, as deep and blue as the ocean he loves, depthless and encompassing, warms her as he takes her in, almost as though he cannot believe her confession. "Of course…Emma. Anything you want, I will do. I promise, Darling."

Emma's throat nearly closes up at the glassiness of his eyes and the way his voice goes raspy with feeling. She knows by now that Killian Jones does not make a vow lightly, and her yearning surges even higher at his words. Biting her lip, she reaches to take his hand once more, tugs gently, and pats the space beside her on the mattress, before whispering, "Then come here…please…I need you to hold me. I…I th-thought you were gone…"

The hesitant look on her pirate's face is so worried and careful that it makes Emma want to giggle. If anyone who had known him as the fearsome Captain Hook could see him now, it would be hard to believe he was the same man. Yet, Emma can see the truth; his strength and daring have never faded, nor his dashing looks and unwavering air of command, but the drive and determination which had twisted into hatred and pursuit of revenge were once again fixed on heroism – and his commitment to her. "I don't want to unknowingly do you harm," he says anxiously, while refusing to meet her eyes.

"You won't," she breathes, pleading in her gaze when he finally meets it again, "unless you don't get in here." She gives him a playful wink as further reassurance and scoots over until she lies on her side, facing him with her back against the bedrail. She moves the IV so he won't pull it from her arm accidentally and then watches him and waits.

Heaving a sigh, Killian acquiesces, and though he wants to be sure not to hurt her, she knows he is craving the closeness as well. After shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it on the nearby chair and removing his shoes, he finally clambers gingerly up onto the bed next to her. Stretching full length on his side facing her, Killian leans in, nuzzling his nose gently over hers and kissing her lightly, still chaste and soft, but full of intense care. "Alright now, Swan?" he asks.

"Nearly," she responds a bit breathlessly. She reaches out to curl her fingers around the metal curve of his hook, taking this moment to make clear something he should already know. She is not repulsed by or fearful of his appendage – it is merely an extension of him. Pulling the blunted limb toward her body, Emma rests the arm on her hip, letting the hook wrap around her back. Then, she snuggles closer, fisting her hand in his shirt and burying her face in his warm chest.

They lie together like that for some time, comforted by the quiet closeness, heartbeats fitting to one another's rhythm. Finally, she pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye. Her words are fierce with passion when she speaks again. "I love you, Killian Jones. Don't you ever doubt that again."

He pulls her back, fervently ghosting his response with his lips at her temple. "You must know I feel the same, Emma. My love for you will never change – as long as either of us live."

The kiss that follows soothes both their fraught, churning hearts and finally brings the peace that both of them seek. Emma's hand finds the short hair at the nape of Killian's neck and begins to stroke through the dark strands. Killian's fear and sleepless vigil catch up to him in her embrace, and he soon drifts off to sleep. It isn't long before his warm, solid presence curled around her protectively does the same thing for Emma and she follows him into slumber.

Anyone else in Storybrooke General that night who peeks into Emma Swan's room cannot help but be touched by the sight of the lost princess- savior and her pirate prince finally at home…with each other. Right there for all to see is a vision of two healing souls finally granted a miracle.

Tagging a few who might enjoy (or have never seen this oldie!) : @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @drowned-dreamer @xarandomdreamx @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @statustemporary @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @zaharadessert @lfh1226-linda @wefoundloveunderthelight @mie779 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @bdevereaux @justanother-unluckysoul @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @ilovemesomekillianjones @thislassishooked @grimmswan

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

4th of July Reruns: Independence Day

Happy 4th of July week to all who celebrate it! I have a couple of old 4th of July themed CS fics that I thought I'd share with all of you, and if all goes well, I'll have a new 4th of July fic to add to Fluffy Fridays this Friday!

Word Count: 2082

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay 

@ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch 

@missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 

@laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 

@nickillian  @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4

 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious 

@laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight 

@lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64  @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv

 @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

Summary: This fic was originally posted to my Fluffy Fridays collection sometime around season 6. At the time, it was a "future fic", but now it is more of a slight canon divergence. 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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Independence Day

CS Genre: Future Fic

Spring slowly sizzled into summer—a particularly hot and humid summer in Storybrooke that had Emma grateful that they had indeed decided to stay in the Land Without Magic, a place where air conditioners were a thing.

Ever since the Black Fairy was defeated a few months ago, she and Killian had responded to far more “cat stuck in a tree” or “Leroy double parked in front of Granny’s” calls than “weird, fairy tale villain intent on world domination just destroyed something” calls.

In fact, they’d had no calls about fairy tale villains.  It seemed Storybrooke had finally settled down into a peaceful, sleepy little town, with its requisite cast of eccentric characters.

It had never been the kind of life Emma had imagined she would lead—sheriff in a small town where everyone knows everyone else, married to her true love and so happy she thought she might die from it.  But though it might not be the life she’d expected for herself, it was a life she loved with every fiber in her being.

Even when Regina decided to institute regular town meetings to discuss town business.  (Seriously, they really were turning into Stars Hollow.)  It was at one such meeting about a month ago, that the whole big production had been decided on.

“Now that we’re not, you know, fighting villains every other day,” Leroy had said when Regina called on him to speak, “I think we need to start participating in normal society things.  The 4th of July is coming up.  Let’s do it up right.  Parade, fireworks, the whole shebang.”

Killian leaned over to Emma.  “Perhaps I’m missing something love, but what exactly is the significance of the 4th day of July, and why would it call for an unusual amount of festivity?”

Emma smirked, so glad to get back to the business of enlightening Killian about the modern world rather than, you know, trying not to die or trying to keep him from dying.  “It’s Independence Day in the United States, which is technically the country we live in.  Lots of celebrating goes on that day.”

He’d, as usual, wanted to pepper her with about a million questions.  Seriously, her husband wanted to know everything about everything.  Usually, Emma dealt with it by telling him to go look it up on the “magic box”, aka Internet, but that wasn’t exactly practical during a town meeting.  Seriously, Regina was as strict about “no talking!” in her meetings as the most demanding teacher. 

“Shhh!,” Emma had said as various members of the town began brainstorming ideas for the best (and, honestly the first) 4th of July Storybrooke had ever celebrated.  “You can look it up later.”

In the end they had decided to go with, as Leroy put it, the whole patriotic “shebang”.  There would be a parade through the main street of town in the morning—complete with the Storybrooke high school band and various prominent citizens dressed in their Enchanted Forest finest.  Emma wasn’t sure exactly what their Enchanted Forest attire had to do with the 4th of July, but she’d long since learned not to question these kind of decisions.  It only led to confusion and headaches.  Oh so many headaches.

(And to be honest, as the meeting was really ramping up, Emma realized kind of vaguely that she’d been having more headaches lately…along with way more nausea at weird times…and moments where she felt faint…and so much exhaustion she felt like she could barely get out of bed some mornings.  Maybe she should make an appointment with Dr. Whale to see what was going on with her, but she thought she’d give it a few more weeks.  After all, she’d been under a lot of stress since….well, basically since she moved to Storybrooke, and these weird symptoms were probably nothing more than her body sloughing off the stress and trying to get used to this strange new phenomenon known as “peace”.)

Anyway, the festivities would continue with a town picnic around noon and then fireworks as night fell.

And so it was that Henry and Killian spread out a blanket on the hill overlooking town on the evening of the 4th of July.  Emma set her picnic basket on the blanket, and then sat down beside it, reaching for the ginger ale she always had at the ready lately.  With a small, secret smile, she put a hand on her flat stomach, both excited and terrified about the news she’d received just the day before.

“And you’re sure we’re quite safe, here, love?”  Killian asked as he sat beside her.  “I must admit to being more than a little uneasy at the thought of the dwarfs setting off explosive devices for our amusement.  It seems like a terrible idea.”

They’d talked about fireworks as soon as they’d returned from the town meeting back in June, and Henry had been amazed that Killian had never seen a fireworks display.  “Are you serious?”  Henry asked.  “You’ve never seen fireworks?  Fireworks have been around for like…ever.  I know they were a thing in the Enchanted Forest.  I saw them in my storybook—during Cinderella’s wedding!”

Killian shrugged.  “Oh aye,” he’d said, “I’d heard of them, of course, but as a slave I’d not had much occasion to observe them.  And then once I’d become a pirate…well, I was far more interested in causing the explosions than viewing them.”

“But fireworks are way better than just explosions!” Henry had assured.  “They’re colorful and sparkly.  Sometimes they have special designs.  Some of them light up the sky, and others are like…little bursts of bright light and sound.  And fireworks displays always have a grand finale and it’s just…I can’t explain it, but it’s awesome!”

“How precisely do they work?” Killian asked.  “One lights a fuse and there is an explosion, aye, that I understand, but how do such explosions result in different formations and colors?”

“They just…do,” Henry said, with a little shrug.  “I don’t know how it works.  I just know it’s amazing.”

“I believe I shall consult Mr. Google, then, lad,” Killian said.  “I find it far preferable to understand the mechanisms of my entertainment.”

Of course he did.  Emma should have known.  It had been two weeks after they’d moved in together before they could have their first family movie night because Killian insisted on researching what movies were, how they were made, how they were projected on screen, and how thin, circular discs inserted in a machine could cause said movies to appear on the “moving picture box”.

Her husband was a full-fledged nerd.  A hot one, for sure, but a nerd nonetheless.

“Yes, Killian,” Emma said, coming back to the present and laying her head on her husband’s shoulder.  “I’m sure everything is totally safe.  Leroy’s got everything organized.  Just relax and enjoy the show.”

“I shall attempt to do so,” Killian said, “but I fail to see how colorful lights can elicit as much excitement as you and the lad…ooooooh!”

Emma giggled as the first firework—a large one that changed color from red to white to blue, lit up the Storybrooke night sky.  Killian looked up at the display in wonder, his eyes wide as saucers, a soft, boyish smile draping his face.

Sometimes she looked up at him and it just overwhelmed her all over again how much she loved him.  Now was one of those times.  She felt the tears come to her eyes, and Killian looked down at her in concern.  As usual, he could sense her moods.

“Is all well, Swan?” he asked in concern, reaching up to catch the single tear that fell from her eye.

“It’s more than alright, Killian,” Emma said.  “It’s perfect.  All of this is perfect.  I just love you so much, and I love our life together, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it, but life is just about perfect right now.”

He smiled tenderly, and leaned in to kiss her, but just before their lips connected, another firework went off, and Killian turned back to the light display.  Emma smiled, laying her head once again on his shoulder as Henry wandered off to find Violet and watch the show with her.

The fireworks went on and on, and as they moved closer to the grand finale, Emma heard one of the dwarfs (she thought it was Happy’s job?) start the music.  It had been decided that they would end the fireworks display with the 1812 overture, complete with the big finale coming during the cannon fire in the music.

Of course, as soon as it had been decided, Killian had gone to the library and pestered Belle for any information she could give him about the piece of music.

“The customs of this land are incomprehensible, love,” Killian had said that night as he helped her make dinner.  “Why is it customary for this ‘1812 Overture’ to be played at celebrations of this country’s founding?  The founding did not happen in 1812, but a generation before.  What’s more, the piece was written to commemorate an event that has nothing to do with the United States.  That Tchaikovsky fellow wrote the piece to commemorate the moment the Russians defeated Napoleon in his attempts to take over Russia. (Incidentally, is it only me, love, or does this Napoleon sound significantly like the Crocodile?  Small in stature, lust for power, dreams of world domination…)”

“I really don’t know why the 1812 is so popular,” Emma said as she carefully pulled a casserole from the oven.  “It just…is.”

“And it’s full of nationalistic anachronisms,” Killian had continued.

“What’s full of…what?” Henry asked, filching a roll from the bread dish and sitting at the table.

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Your step-dad was about to explain about all the nationalistic anachronisms (whatever those are) in ‘The 1812 Overture’.”

“Quite so,” Killian said.  “The piece features the French national anthem, La Marseillaise, for example, but in 1812, the song had been banned by Napoleon (the total ponce).  Furthermore, the piece utilizes the Russian anthem ‘God Save the Tsar’ near the end, but it had not yet been written as of 1812.  Not much of a historian, this Tchaikovsky.”

Henry groaned.  “Mom, I think we need to ban him from the library.  I already have to suffer through history lessons in school.  Don’t need them when I get home, too.”

A particularly loud volley of fireworks brought Emma back to the present.

“So, are you enjoying your first 4th of July?” Emma asked.

“It’s been quite enjoyable, Swan,” Killian said, “but then any day I get to spend with you and the lad is.”

Emma’s nerves began dancing within her stomach (or was that just the nausea again).  The moment was just about here.  As soon as she’d learned the news from Whale, she’d decided she’d tell Killian just at the climax of the fireworks show.  She wanted to make this moment special.

She just hoped he was as excited about the news as she was.  They hadn’t talked much about it.  This wasn’t something they’d planned; it had just sort of…happened.  What if this wasn’t what he wanted?

“Anything the matter, Swan?” Killian asked just as the cannon began to boom in the music.

“No,” Emma said, taking a deep breath.  “Something’s actually pretty great.  At least I hope you think it is.  I mean, I do, but we haven’t talked about it and…”

“Swan,” Killian said, looking more concerned than ever, “out with it, love.”

Emma took a deep breath, and then leaned in and whispered in his ear.  “Killian, in about 7 ½ months you’re going to be a daddy again.”

His eyes got round again, as he sat up abruptly.  “A father?  I’m to be a father?  You’re with child?”

She smiled tremulously.  “Yeah, Whale thinks I’m about 6 weeks along.  Are you…are you happy about it?  I mean I know we haven’t really discussed it and this is a surprise and…”

He cut her off with a swift, passionate kiss, his hand moving to rest on her still flat belly.  When he pulled back, there were tears in his eyes.  “How can you even ask that, Swan?  Of bloody course I’m happy.  A baby!  A product of our love!  I do believe my life is now absolutely perfect!”

Emma leaned over and kissed him again, the tears streaming from her eyes as overhead the fireworks celebrated right along with the Savior and her Pirate.

[exhaustedpirate]

i'm your dead girl walking

if you recognise the title, welcome to my heathers the musical brainrot! the song definitely influenced this absolute smut fest of a fic but there is a very fluffy ending! one day i'll learn to just give you smut but today is not that day! i give my heart to @belovedcreation for her amazing support and beta services for this fic, you're the best, babe!!

rated E | 8127 words also on AO3

summary: Regina manages to delay Peter Pan's curse for a few hours during which she spends time with Henry. Emma, having spent quality time with her family, decides to spend time with another equally special person. With only 6 hours until she is separated from Killian what else better to do than get "freaky"?!

Storybrooke’s Main Street was empty. All lights were turned off and the only source of light was the full moon. It was both eerie and peaceful, knowing what was to come.

Pan was defeated. Rumplestilskin was dead. There was a curse coming.

Emma sighed in the quiet night. Maybe she should be used to it, this impending doom every year, but really, who could? 

According to Regina, the curse would hit at dawn. She was glad for the extra time Regina gave them, time to say goodbye, time to just be together. After that, Henry and Emma were off to an adventure of their own and they would be separated from their family.

Right, there was no getting used to that. 

But now, with her parents asleep, Henry at Regina’s and everyone else making use of their last hours in the modern world, Emma felt restless. They had had a nice dinner at Granny’s, drank, and talked. There had been no tears, no frowns, no goodbyes. 

But he had been there, sitting in the furthest corner of the counter. He had shared a drink with David, smiled at something Granny told him. Had spoken to Neal, hugged him. Had looked at her, watched her and turned away when she looked back. And yet, no word to her.

Well, if that’s how he was going to play it then- Emma sighed again, interrupting her own thoughts. They had 6 hours before their whole lives would be disrupted, before they were all separated once more. 

Fuck it.

It was easy to reroute her wandering path. Before she knew it, Emma had stopped in front of Granny’s inn, her foot hovering over the first step. There was a faint light coming from the door, just like it had been two years ago when she first arrived in town. Walking through that door would be like proclaiming to the whole town what she intended to do and that was a mood killer.

Taking a step back, she saw one more light on. It was just as faint but it was on the second level and she could feel it, deep in her gut, that that was the window she was looking for. Emma took a deep breath as she looked up at it. Was she really about to do what she thought she was about to do?

Was she drunk enough for this? She could still feel that last drop of liquid courage in her stomach but really all that walking had sobered her up. Hopefully it was enough to give her that push. And really, it was a wonder she didn’t fall to her death as she climbed the trellis on the back wall, her only goal that faint light in the window. If she was thinking of anything but her destination, she would have laughed at how she wasn’t climbing with him but to him this time.

The window was locked because of course it was but she could see him lying in the bed with his back on the headboard, a beat-up book open with one hand, his hooked arm over his thigh. Hook was the picture of relaxation, his billowing black shirt unbuttoned, black leather trousers and bare feet on the bed. He really was making use of Granny’s offer of modernity on their last night in town.

It was now or never. Later she should have a chat with Granny about how easy it was to snap the window lock but it boded well for her tonight. Before she took a breath, Emma was stumbling into the room with an incredible lack of grace. 

“Swan.” As she fumbled to stand up, she watched Hook put down his book unhurriedly. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Shh.” She brought a finger up to her lips as she fumbled to remove her boots. “There’s only a few hours until everything goes to shit.” She took a mental picture of the amused and confused smirk twitching his lips as she approached the bed. “Now is the perfect time for you to give me that ‘fun’ you promised.” His eyebrow hitched before the other joined in shock when she straddled his lap. “Or was that all talk?” His book was thrown to the floor in a flash, his eyes never leaving hers.

“No,” Hook answered quickly. “I just didn’t think-”

“It’s like I said,” Emma interrupted. “We understand each other. This world is really unfair so I say we make it beautiful here.” Leaning over him, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

She saw lust, desire, confusion, sadness, affection in his eyes and that should have made her run out of that room. But how could she when this was what she wanted most? His hand found her hip and she deserved an award for keeping it together at the touch of his strong, warm hand. “What do you say?” She urged.

“That works for m-” 

Not wanting to waste any more time, she pressed her mouth against his just like she did in Neverland. And just like in that jungle, it only took a second for Hook to reciprocate the kiss, his mouth opening under her ministrations and giving just as good as she gave. His hand left her hip to thread into her hair while hers gripped his shoulders tighter, before she moved them down his shirt. 

She had never seen him so undressed before, not even in the sweltering heat of Neverland. Her fingers found the open parting of his shirt and felt the surprisingly soft chest hair underneath. His responding moan to her touch had her hand clench in his chest, a wave of arousal wafting over her. His lips left hers and for a split second she was going to complain before she felt his lips on her jaw, on her neck, by her ear. Her mouth opened in silent pleasure as she felt his hand on the small of her back pressing her closer to him. Her hands were trapped between their chests but she wasn’t complaining.

His lips found her ear and she gasped at the feel of his teeth nibbling her earlobe before his tongue soothed the sensitive skin. A moan escaped her lips as her nails dug into his chest, his skin warm under her touch and making him gasp against her skin. Pulling away enough to free her hands but not so much as to stop his ministrations, she slipped her hands inside his shirt and began to slide it down his arms. 

His hand left her back to completely remove his shirt and throw it god knows where. Without the distraction of his lips or her anxiety at starting this tryst, she took her time to look at his chest, her hands absent-mindedly following the path of her eyes. She took in his strong build, the muscles originated from hard work while at sea, his dark chest hair and the way it led down to a treasure she was excited to plunder tonight. 

“Looked your fill?” Her eyes wandered up slowly to where he was watching her with interest, his lips red and full from the kisses they shared, his cheeks pink. 

“Nope,” she answered, watching as his eyes widened in surprise before crossing her arms in front of her and pulling up her sweater and undershirt in one go. Boy, was she glad to have left her coat at home. She threw it behind her without looking, focused instead on the way his eyes took the same path her eyes had. His gaze felt like a touch and her skin broke into goosebumps at the thought. “Have you?”

He shook his head slowly as his hand ghosted its way up her back. She arched at the soft touch and she could swear his eyes darkened at the sight of her chest so close to his face. Before she could straighten her posture, she felt him pull her to him and then his mouth was on her collarbones, on her shoulders, on her chest, on the curve of her breast, pressing open mouth kisses on her bare skin. She fumbled behind her to unlatch her bra, removing it without disturbing his excellent work. She keened loudly when his lips latched onto her nipple, tongue lashing relentlessly and causing her to grind slowly against his lap.

She felt his responding groan against her flesh and his impressive erection between her legs. Her whole body lit up like the freaking fourth of July, her hands grabbed onto his head to keep him where she wanted him, to keep his talented mouth on her breasts. She had heard rumors of women orgasming just from this and thought them liars but this man was making her believe.

His hand, redundant in keeping her close to him, moved down her bare back until it reached the waist of her jeans. She wondered if he even knew what jeans were, if she should say something, if she should help him. All thoughts vanished from her head when he pressed his thumb hard against the ridge of her jeans, right on top of her aching clit. Was there like a clit magnet in that man’s finger? Her loud moan silenced any other noise.

With his left arm around her waist, his mouth on her other nipple and his thumb causing friction against her clit, she was almost sure that she was about to come like this. But there was something missing, and it wasn’t the way his teeth nibbled her flesh.

Her hands left his head and without the pull, he unlatched his mouth from her breast, looking up at her with dazed eyes and heavy breath. God, she wanted to commit that face to memory, engrave it in her brain. On instinct, she fused their mouths together, her nibbling on his lower lip just as he had done on her breast. He whimpered under her attention and, regrettably, his hand stopped moving. But that was probably for the best because it gave her the clarity of mind to reach for the button and zipper of her jeans.

“Emma…”

The way he moaned her name against her lips drew a shiver up her spine, her skin trembling in anticipation. With a last kiss to his swollen lips, she pulled away from his lap, sitting perpendicular to him on the right side of the bed. Glancing at his face, she saw the worry on his brow and the fear mixed with the lust in his eyes. But she couldn’t look at him any longer if she wanted to get out of these jeans. After a short struggle, she managed to peel the denim off her as well as her socks. Maybe she should be more concerned over where her clothes were going to end up but really, looking up to see the dark gaze of a plundering pirate just made everything else disappear.

Gone was the worry and fear, there was only desire in his eyes. Her mouth was parted as she breathed heavily and she leaned back on her hands, leaving her chest prominently out and vulnerable to his intense gaze. His hand landed on her ankle where it had landed on his lap, his thumb rubbing on her skin and causing goosebumps to rise up. Seemingly fascinated with her response, he moved his hand up her leg slowly before stopping on her thigh. His thumb reached the inside of her thigh and began to massage it carefully. An unexpected moan left her lips and she opened her legs wanting more of his touch and wanting it where she craved it most.

Swift as a cat, she blinked to find him on his knees between her legs, his eyes never leaving her underwear-clad center. His hand continued its upward motion on her leg, stopping at the apex of her thigh. His gaze met hers and his thumb met her clit, rubbing it in a slow circular motion. She moaned, throwing back her head. His thumb pressed firmly and she found her moans silenced by his desperate lips. 

“You’re so wet, Emma,” he whispered against her lips, his thumb circling softly while his fingers quested to her center. Her hips stuttered under his touch. “Can I taste you?”

His desperate question had her letting out a quiet moan before nodding her head. Her head was full of fantasies of what his touch and kisses merely hinted at. He hooked his finger and metal substitute on her underwear, the cold of the appendage causing her skin to tremble. She raised her hips to allow him to remove them and he surprised her by placing a kiss above her clit, a small hint of what was to come, his breathy chuckle making her shiver as it hit her skin.

She couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop watching the way he kept his eyes on her center, on his focused frown, on his adoring lips. Damn, why hadn’t she done this before?

She watched as he laid down between her legs, as he raised her hips to place his arms underneath her ass, as his eyes darkened when her folds opened under his gaze. She watched as he lowered his head and yet still let out a gasping moan when he dragged his tongue from her center to her clit, wrapping his lips around it just as he had done with her nipples.

“You make the most delicious sounds, love,” he murmured and she felt the vibrations against her center making her thighs tremble. 

“Please.” She begged quietly, unused to the feeling but knowing that there was nothing else she wanted to do. She begged for his touch, for his mouth, for him. “Please, Killian.”

She felt his eyes on her before, with a loud moan, his tongue returned to her aching center, flicking over her clit and taking her breath away, her hands grasping for his head, tangling in his hair. His hand grabbed onto her ass cheek, bringing her as closer to him as he could, kissing her below as he had up top. And what a talented mouth that man has.

“Say it again,” he asked desperately against her before his tongue flattened against her clit and wiggled.

She wasn’t even sure what he wanted or had enough breath to ask but when she cried out, “Fuck, Killian,” it must have been the right answer. Suddenly, he raised to his knees, bringing her hips up with him, keeping her against his mouth. Her legs fell over each of his shoulders and his arms wrapped around her waist. Fumbling to grab onto the sheets, onto something, she settled in for a loud ride. His mouth was relentless against her cunt, licking against her clit, penetrating her with his tongue. Her moans were ringing in her ears but all she cared about was how she could keep his mouth against her forever. When his lips wrapped around her clit once more and sucked, everything shattered around her, back arching as she called out his name in her climax.

Her breathing was heavy, her legs turned to jelly and she didn’t even know how she was going to move after that. His hand and hook gently lowered her to the bed and she brought her hands to her hair, trying to get a hold of her breathing. Damn.

“Alright, Swan?”

His voice caught her attention and she opened her eyes to watch him looking down at her, his eyes burning with desire, beard glistening, chest heaving and hand shifting his cock over his tight trousers. That vision caused a fresh wave of arousal to pool at her center. 

Fuck. 

She must have said it out loud because his hand tightened and his lips parted in a quiet gasp. Drunk on the way he was watching her, Emma lowered her hands down her chest, passing across her nipples. The short contact had her biting her lip as it sent a spark down her body. His eyes followed her hands as she slowly ran them down her belly to stop at the top of her thighs. His tongue passed through his lower lip and he closed his eyes in a hum. 

The realization that he had likely tasted her in his lips had her circling her clit with her right pointer finger. He opened his eyes and she bit out a gasp at the way his pupils dilated at the sight of her pleasuring herself in front of him. Without taking his eyes off her circling finger, he unlaced his barely laced trousers, his cock springing out thick and hard. He took hold of it, his fist tightening around his base, and her mouth went dry. 

Two of her fingers slid easily inside her and she delighted in the way his head tilted and his teeth dug into his lower lip. She brought them out to circle her clit and back inside a few times, with the same rhythm he ran his hand up and down on his cock. Satisfied with how much of her fluids she managed to accumulate on her fingers, she sat up under his watchful eyes. 

Carefully bringing her fingers to his face, she smirked with the way he dutifully opened his mouth to welcome them. Her mouth parted as she breathed in sharply at the way he sucked and ran his tongue between them, cleaning all evidence of her arousal off of her fingers. Seemingly satisfied with his work, he released his hold on them but not before nibbling on her digits. 

Biting her lip, she manhandled him until he was sitting back against the headboard. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed in confusion but, as she began to pull on his trousers, he bit his lip in excitement and lifted his hips to help her.

“Damn trousers,” she muttered in impatience under his amused grin.

“Never heard you complaining before.” 

She rolled her eyes and his whole face lit up in mirth. Wanting to stop his amusement and proud that she had finally removed the leather, she ran her tongue across the length of him. His teasing stopped as he let out a guttural moan, his hand clenching into a fist where it rested on his lap. She grinned victorious as she took hold of his shaft to bring his tip into her eager mouth and sucked.

“Fuck.” 

She preened under his unveiled pleasure, moving her hair over her shoulder, licked into his slit and moaned at the way his hand dug into the back of her neck. She took him further into her mouth and felt his hand clench in response. Taking hold of his wrist to urge him to take that control he so wanted, she relaxed her jaw and slowly lowered her head. He gasped and she felt him pull on her hair, inching her closer and closer to the base of his cock and she groaned in pleasure around him. She could feel herself getting wetter as she took more and more of him until her nose ghosted over his hip bone.

She felt him quickly pull her away from him and her bottom lip jutted out in an instinctive pout. She wanted more, needed more. He grinned over his heavy breathing and ran his thumb over her lower lip. She licked its tip and his grin widened. 

“I’m afraid I would spend myself in your lovely mouth if you kept going.”

She rubbed her thighs together at the image he made appear in her head and she pinpointed the moment he noticed by the glint in his eyes. Maybe next time. 

But there wouldn’t be a next time, would it? 

She could feel her spiraling thoughts get out of control and before they could ruin this next, her last night, she straddled his hips, a knee on either side of him. Before he could take his next breath, she slanted her mouth over his, letting the feel of his mouth and her lingering taste in his tongue overwrite any thoughts that weren’t about him and his talented mouth.

Her hips ground against his length, slathering it with her arousal, and his hand left her head to take hold of her ass, fingers tightening against her flesh and urging her to keep moving her hips over him. She moved her lips over his scruffy jaw, his mouth free to encourage her with his heavy breathing and quiet moans, until she carefully bit into his earlobe.

“Killian,” she whispered, receiving a louder moan in return, her hand running down his chest until she felt his tip on her fingers. “I need it hard.” 

As she bit more firmly in the flesh behind his ear, she raised her hips and lowered herself onto him. He entered her fully, taking away her breath and making her arch her back in one swift move. His moan was echoed in hers as she felt his left arm wrap around her waist to keep her close.

She tried to control her breathing, her body adjusting to his length, to the wonderful feeling of being connected to him. She joined their foreheads with a satisfied sigh and moved her hips in a tentative thrust. The feel of him inside her had them moaning in unison and she wanted nothing more than to hear that sound over and over again. Grasping onto his shoulders, she raised her hips until only his tip rested inside her.

“Tonight, I’m yours,” he whispered against her lips, his hand returning to the side of her neck, his left arm still heavy around her waist.

Tonight, she was his. 

She slammed her hips down on his and didn’t wait before she raised them again. Her movements were helped by his returning grip to her hip, urging to move as fast as she wanted, to take as much as she needed. He gave her control and she took it, moving up and down in his lap, taking her pleasure. She buried her face against his neck, her moans silenced against his skin, thighs trembling as she felt her orgasm build up. 

His thumb against her clit had her tumbling down into her climax, her back arching and head thrown back in a loud moan of his name. With a growl, she found herself on her back, his still hard length deep inside her and his mouth on her neck bringing her back to the present. 

She dug her fingers through his hair, keeping him against her skin, his almost imperceptible thrusts along with his hardworking lips preparing her for another round. Never had it been like this. She pulled his head up to look at her, wanting to look into his eyes, wanting to see his face when he came. She ran her thumb over his swollen bottom lip like he had done before and felt the rush of affection mirrored in his eyes overtake her.

“Make me forget,” She pleaded, her eyes reflecting the anxiety and panic she wanted to push away. All she wanted was to forget that soon, she would have to leave this town behind. She would have to forget her family; she would have to watch the only people who had ever wanted her disappear.

His hand trailed from her shoulder down and up to her wrist. He moved one of her hands away from his neck so he could kiss her palm, a kiss she felt all over her eager body, before he placed her arm more firmly around his neck. Knowing what he wanted from her, she moved her own arm, holding her own hand behind his neck. His lips ticked up in a small smile and he urged her to wrap her legs around his waist.

She let out a gasp when he shifted his hips adjusting his position. He smirked before he planted a lingering kiss on her lips. “As you wish, Emma.” The sound of her name washed over her and lit up the smoldering fire inside her.

Her moan was loud and deep at the way he began to thrust against her, a slow, deep grind made to fan the fire into a hot blaze. His chest rubbed against her nipples and her breath quickened. She could feel the hum inside her telling her that this orgasm would be just as good as the others, even if he just kept that touch, that speed.

To her displeasure, he stilled his hips and moved his chest away. Her nails dug into his back, desperate to keep him there, desperate for the release. She whined, opening her eyes to complain but fell silent when she saw his wrecked expression, his mirrored desperation.

Waiting, feeling the buzz of expectation under her skin, she watched as he took a deep steadying breath. She watched as he kneeled on the bed, his thighs glued to hers. Her hands fell to the bed as he straightened up, fisting the sheets at the look of hunger in his eyes. He ran the side of his hook down her thigh, the sensation making her bite her lip and moan when the tip rubbed carefully over her nipple. So lost in pleasure, she barely noticed when he maneuvered her legs until they were straightened against his chest. His hook left her breast so he could lift her hips up off the bed and slide a pillow under her ass, aligning them perfectly. 

Without warning, he reared his hips before slamming against her causing her to scream out. “Oh, fuck!” His lips pulled into a dirty grin, she could feel every inch of him inside her and, unable to gain any traction, all she could do was hang on for the delightful ride.

With unrivaled gusto, he slammed his hips again and again, the sounds of slapping skin, of his heavy breathing, of her loud moans, filling the room. The world around them vanished, all that existed was him and her, his touch, his moans and groans, her whimpers and shouts, his skin, her skin, them. 

The speed at which her orgasm hit her should have surprised her but he felt so good and filled her up so well that she was more surprised that it had taken that long. She clenched around him and his hips stuttered before he threw his head back, the veins in his neck straining with his restraint.

“Come, Killian,” she begged, needing to feel him, needing to see him. “Come for me.”

As if he had only been waiting for her order, his deep groan preceded the twitching of his cock inside her as he spilled his release. The feel of him filling her drew out her orgasm, making her feel so full, so right, so complete. His grip on her legs loosened as he came down from his high and, no longer restrained, she let them drop to the bed on either side of him. Grabbing his wrists, she eased him down on top of her until his warm body covered every inch of her, his head nestled on her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair as they took control of their breathing, as she felt him soften inside her, as their bodies cooled down, unrushed.

Her fingers drifted onto his back, running up and down the light welts of scars she could feel, the marks of his long life, of his difficult life. She felt him placing chaste kisses on her skin as his breathing returned to normal. He touched on her own scars with those gifted lips, touched on the scars of her loneliness, her abandonment, and created another, a deep cut down her chest, and cauterizing it with the warmth of his breath. Her sigh was deep and satisfied as she cupped his head. His teeth nibbled on her stomach and she let out a breathy chuckle that he returned.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of sleeping tonight,” she warned, his mouth on her keeping the fire inside her alive. “It’s not morning yet.”

He hummed a denial, the vibration against her nipple making her bite her lip. “With you in my bed? Not bloody likely.”

Her laugh turned into a moan as he sucked a mark on her breast, her nails digging into his shoulders. His hum of pleasure guided her into dragging her nails down his back, likely leaving red marks in her way. Still inside her, she felt his cock twitch. Interesting.

Taking hold of his hair and pulling his face to hers, she took a mental note of their mutual enjoyment of hair pulling and landed a smacking kiss on his lips. She pulled away to find him grinning at her, his eyes soft under the blaze of renewed desire. She clenched around him, drawing a hiss out of him and a grin from her.

“I need to go to the bathroom but-” She gestured with her head before pushing against his chest and against her will, causing him to slip out of her. He moved away slowly, reluctantly until they were both sitting on the bed. She pulled him to her for a dirty kiss, swallowing his moan with her lips. “Get yourself ready for me, won’t you?” Her innocent question was accompanied by a not-so-innocent drag on her nails over his hip bone, his responding moan feeding her growing arousal.

He nodded dazedly, watching her under hooded eyes as she slipped out of bed. She turned around to step to the bathroom, stopping when she felt the swat of his hand on her ass. She looked over her shoulder to see him settling down on the bed with a poor imitation of an innocent smile. She rolled her eyes to mask her smile before carrying on her way.

When she exited the bathroom, she found him still splayed on the bed watching for her return, his hand moving slowly up and down his half-hard shaft. Leaning against the doorway, she saw his cock twitch under her interested gaze, her hand moving up her body. Under his wicked grin, she sauntered to the bed, settling into his inviting lap, kissing the smile off his face. 

The next hours passed much like the previous, his talented mouth and cock dragging several orgasms out of her, his body full of marks from her own mouth, her nails and palms. His hook had created its own set of marks on her body, marks that drew a symphony of moans from her before it ended up digging into the mattress, cutting into like a hot knife through butter. They didn’t talk, nothing except moans, praises and demands escaping out of their lips. 

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won't think of you,” he’d whispered against her temple as she came down from another earth-shattering orgasm and she wanted nothing more than to return the sentiment, to assure him that she would think of this night, of him, everyday. 

But she couldn’t, so she kissed his chest instead, moving her lips higher and higher until she found his lips, leading them to another round, to another orgasm, to another memory. And at dawn, she kissed his parted lips and slipped unnoticed from his slumbering body. 

She met her family at the townline, almost thankful for the sadness of the moment as it stopped any questions they might have for her whereabouts that night, or why she winced with every step she took and how it masked her anger at having to say goodbye to something she was already missing. And she missed him. Missed them. Missed her family. Missed Storybrooke.

But still, she drove away from the town she had called home with her son beside her and sent a silent goodbye to the man she wished to remember, the man she had left asleep in his room. She said goodbye to Killian Jones and to the future he could have given her. She was almost thankful that she was losing her memories.

---

When he appears at her door, a bright happy smile on his face and her name spilling from his lips, she is surprised to find him in front of her. For so long, he was the main character in her dreams, in her fantasies, the first and only person she would think about at night, the man whose mere idea was enough to have her refuse that furniture seller’s invitation. And feeling his lips against hers sparks something inside her, a feeling of right, of balance, of peace. 

But she pushes him away, she brings her knee up to his crotch and she closes the door on his face. It’s impossible and she refuses it, ignoring the way her heart is still pounding on her chest.

But he’s persistent. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give up. He says his name is Killian and she can almost feel the way her mouth would wrap around it in the throes of passion. His name is Killian and he tells her impossible things. He begs her to trust him and damn her, she does. She takes the vial from his hand and downs the liquid in one go. The memories assault her all at once - her parents, her son, Storybrooke, him.

“Killian?”

His eyes soften with his smile. “Did you miss me?”

She hears the teasing tone in his voice but she also sees the way his eyes plead with her, burn into her, and she does, she misses him so much that it’s almost like a physical tether pulling her to him. She takes hold of his face, vial forgotten on the floor, and pulls his lips to hers, hoping her desperate kiss answers his question. His arms wrapping tightly around her waist tells her it does.

“Emma-”

“I’m sorry for leaving you,” she interrupts, her forehead touching his, her eyes clenched shut. “I wasn’t going to be able to leave if you were awake, and I-”

He silences her with a kiss, this one a mere press of his lips and she feels his smile against her mouth. “I know, love.” His hand cups her face, his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “I missed you too.”

She pulls him for a deep kiss, her tongue finding its way into his mouth, their moans lost against their lips, her fingers buried in his hair. She can still feel the way he touched, the way he held her, the way he marked her, the way he filled her. There is a burning inside her and she yearns for him just as she did that night a year ago.

“Wanna come to my apartment?” she murmurs against his lips, grinning at the way his hand tightens on her hip. 

“I’ll follow you anywhere, love.” And she believes him.

The walk back to her apartment isn’t long and she has done that path many times over the past year but now, hand in hand with the man she wants nothing more than to see naked again, it feels like an eternity. As they reach her door, she sends a silent thanks to Henry’s sleepover plans before opening it. She pulls Killian inside by the lapel of his coat, his back slamming against the door and closing it in a quick movement. His pleased grin tells her he likes it when she takes control but she is much more interested in what his mouth can do when it’s kissing her.

She has eliminated any space between them, letting her feel his moan reverberate against her chest. Her hands have found their way inside his coat and she is grasping and pulling at his shirt and waistcoat needing him naked. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” She complains before she slips his large coat from his shoulders.

“So are you.” His hand grasps at her jean-clad rear while his hook digs into her sweater. She hums in agreement and grins at his displeased moan when she pulls away from him.

“I need space to take off my clothes, don’t you think?” With a pointed gaze, she drops her coat and pulls off her sweater. 

“I’m incapable of thought around you, love.” He speaks towards her breasts and she would roll her eyes if she didn’t feel the goosebumps his intense gaze caused. Wanting to expedite the removal of their clothes, she began to walk backwards into her room and away from his grasp. 

Almost like he is reading her mind, he unbuttons his vest one-handed, the sight reminding her of his masterful fingers and the way he played her. He unbuttons his shirt only enough to pull it off by the collar. Her hands fall to the button of her jeans just as his find his laces. She kicks off her boots and throws them somewhere in the room, his bigger ones receiving the same treatment. They stand in the middle of her bedroom when she finally removes her jeans. His trousers fall to the floor and she is reminded of how the Enchanted Forest probably doesn’t have boxers when his cock is free to be admired by her lustful gaze.

“Swan.” His hoarse voice makes her drift her gaze up to his eyes and she is reminded of their fire, of their lust, now and then. “You’re looking at me like you want to devour me.” There’s no complaint, it’s almost like a wish he doesn’t want to admit to but she does.

Slowly, she steps up to him, his cock so close to her. Her eyes remain on his and the way they darken at her proximity. With a smirk, she grasps his length in her fist and nibbles at his parted lower lip. “That’s because I do.” 

Swiftly and silently thanking her carpeted floor, she sinks down to her knees, wasting no time in dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock, the memory and the feeling of how he feels inside her mouth causing her to moan against him. His hand wastes no time in grasping onto her hair and she rewards him by welcoming him inside her mouth.

His moan echoes in her room and she closes her eyes in pleasure, in happiness. Her mouth works around him slowly but determinedly, his loud response spurring her on. Her hand slips between her legs to find her already wet center and circles her clit with her finger. His hand flexes on her hair and she drags her teeth over his underside dragging a loud curse from him. Tongue lapping over his slit, she looks up to find his eyes on her, burning with hunger.

“Pull my hair,” she orders before taking a deep breath and taking his whole length down her throat. His shout is loud and she slides two fingers inside her. She smiles internally when his fist twists in her hair and pulls, moving her up and down his length, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Fuck!” he curses before she feels him pull her away from his cock. She looks up at him breathing heavily and with her fingers rubbing small circles over her clit. “Fuck…” he repeats in a dazed whisper before he pulls her to her feet by her hair and crashes their mouths together, moans lost in the intense kiss. “What a heavenly mouth you have, Swan,” he whispers when they pull away, his teeth pulling on her bottom lip.

“I need you inside me,” she whimpers, grinding her hips where his cock is pressed against her belly. “Please, Killian.” 

His growl is the only warning she gets before his lips slant over hers and his hook tears at her bra. She moans against his mouth as she removes it the rest of the way and her nipples rub against his chest hair. She feels the bed against the back of her knees but is not allowed to fall with the way his left arm holds her against him. 

“I won’t last long,” he warns, looking into her eyes, his lips swollen and red like hers must look.

“Me either.” She can feel it, deep inside her, that earth-shattering orgasm she knows is about to be pulled out of her. They have all day, all night, forever. That thought has her pull his lips to hers, her nails digging into his back, his moan reverberating in her chest, in her heart.

He nods with closed eyes before he turns her around and she finds herself face down on her bedspread, feet on her carpeted floor and nudged apart by his. Her hips sway in expectation, in the feeling of him filing her once more, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She feels him peeling off her underwear and then his lips at her lower back, at her hips, kissing at the uncovered skin of her plump cheeks, her hands fisting her sheets at his touch. 

At the same time her underwear slips down to her ankles, his mouth finds her center, pulling a gasping moan from her lips. His pleased hum vibrates against her folds and she moves her hips closer to his face. “You’re so ready for me, love.”

She nods and looks at him over her shoulder. “It’s been a long time.”

A shadow passes over his eyes before he nods. “Then let’s not wait any longer.” 

“Please.” Her hips wiggle and begging becomes easier with him, when she knows she can lower her walls and he’ll keep her safe.

The world rights itself when he slowly drags against her walls and she feels like she found the missing piece of a puzzle. His chest is heaving as he waits for her to adjust to him, his eyes burning against her skin when she clenches around him. “Take me, Killian.”

His hips pull back and she is already waiting for the moment they’ll return to her. Her moan is lost in the plush quilt when he bottoms out inside her. His pace is relentless against her and it almost makes her forget the year they were apart. Almost. His brace keeps her hips in place while his hand on her upper back keeps her chest against the bed, her nipples rubbing against the fabric with every thrust. His hips stutter against her at a particularly deep thrust and she wonders how long he’ll be able to last and if it’ll be long enough for her to join him.

Before she can move her hand to her clit to help her along, his hand runs up to the back of her neck, fisting her hair and pulling. The pain mixed with pleasure is delicious and she needlessly places her hands on the bed to hold her up. “Yes! More, please, harder!” 

His fist tightens in her hair and it’s almost perfect, she just needs- The curve of his hook on her clit, pressing against her bundle of nerves, brings her to a loud climax, his name echoing in the hot room. She is pulled to an upright position and his arms wrap around her waist, slamming one, two, three more times against her before he comes with his mouth against her shoulder. His chest heaves against her back, his breathing is hot on her shoulder and she can feel their release drip down her legs. It’s perfect.

“Emma,” he whispers as his lips kiss their way up her neck. “I missed you so much.” His voice is wrecked over more than their straining activities and she lets her head fall over his shoulder to kiss his jawline. 

“Come with me,” she mumbles against his skin, wincing when he slips out of her. Taking hold of his hand, she pulls him to her ensuite. “We need a shower.”

They are quiet as she guides him inside the glass case before she follows. They are quiet as the warm water runs down their bodies, as they slather their bodies in soap, as he massages shampoo in her hair with his hand, as she does the same for him, as they let the water clean them of any remaining product. It’s good - feeling him so close, his touch, his presence. She wants it everyday. She wants him, not just his body, him.

Still without talking, she guides their dry bodies under her sheets, not caring for the afternoon sun still shining outside her window. She needs to lay with him, she needs to have this slow moment with him, to have this time. His eyes stay on hers as they lay on their sides facing each other under her cozy sheets and his hand leaves her grip to move her still damp hair behind her ear, his fingers ghosting over her jawline until his thumb runs over her bottom lip.

“You came to bring me home, didn’t you?” She doesn’t wait for his answer, knows it already. “Something happened.”

“I came back for you,” he answers, his hand taking hers back in his grip. “Something has happened but to be honest, I was just waiting for an excuse to come back to you. Someone sent me a memory potion and a message that a curse was coming, so I took the Jolly Roger as fast as I could away from its purview.”

Her eyes widen. “You outran a curse?” 

“I’m a hell of a Captain.” His smirk is small but it still makes his eyes shine and she brings her free hand to his face. His eyes flutter closed at her touch. “As soon as the dust settled, I knew that the barriers were down and all I needed was a magic bean to find you.”

“Magic beans are not easy to come by.” Her eyebrows rise in surprise and suspicion.

“They are if you have something of value to trade.” His words are careful and his eyes lower to her shoulder.

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head before returning his gaze to hers, pain hidden beneath resolve. “Now that you have your memories back, we can return to Storybrooke and see what the damage is. All that matters is that you remember.”

There is more to the story, she can tell. She had seen his desperation for her memories to return and now she sees the grief he tries to hide. “What did you trade for the bean, Killian?”

His eyes and mouth widen at her unrelenting questioning and for a moment, she wonders if he is going to lie to her. “It really is of no consequence, Em-.” 

With her hands on his shoulders, she forces his back onto the mattress while she sits looking down at him, her eyes drilling into his. “What was the price?”

He sighs defeatedly. “The Jolly Roger.”

Her breathing stops and she feels her lips part and eyes widen. His ship, his home, and he traded it to bring her back, for her. She can feel her heart slam against her chest at the realization but instead of panic, there is something else, something scarier, something that had ruined her before. 

But as she looks into his eyes, those loyal, determined blue eyes, she realizes that this is different, she is different and he is different too. And suddenly, it all comes down to a simple truth. “I love you, Killian.”

It comes unrestrained, the words wrapping around the silence that fills the room. His eyes are bright and wide, an overwhelming hope and disbelief making her want to repeat those words until he believes in them. So she does, her voice stronger than before, more confident. 

“I love you.”

She is an open book to him. He reads her heart in her eyes and she sees the moment he finds that simple, wonderful truth. His lips stretch out into a dazzling smile, the definition of happiness. “I love you, Emma.” And how could you not smile at such beautiful words?

Their lips meet in a soft kiss, softer than any kiss they had shared but just as good, if not better. The kiss is more than skin connecting with skin. She feels whole as his arms wrap around her and her hands cup his face. She loves him and he loves her. 

It is perfect.

Tomorrow, she’d worry about fairytale parents, villains and curses. Tomorrow, she’d be their Savior. Tomorrow, she'll go back home. Tomorrow, she’d worry.

Today? Today, she is going to enjoy the feel of Killian’s arms around her. Today, she is going to let him love her with his mouth, with his body, with his words, with his actions. Today, she is going to be Emma Swan, the woman who loves a fairytale pirate and is loved in return.

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Trying Something New: Chapter 2: The Healer and the Thief -- a Captain Swan, Once Upon a Time fanfiction

Summary: 

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.

Read on fanfiction.net or AO3 or below.

Note: Remember that Emma and Killian have given themselves the aliases of Emily and Colin, and they told Marian that her name was Maria. So any POVs that aren't Killian or Emma with an exception or two, will call them Colin and Emily and Maria. I know it will be confusing for a bit, but that's partly why I chose names so close to their actual names, not just to help Emma and Killian remember but to help readers as well.

For my own sanity, Marian's POVs the narration still calls her Marian, but she will call herself Maria. 

Also, while I was writing the muse went wild and decided to bring in a character from a certain kingdom that I wasn't prepared for. 

And the muse decided Killian's new backstory, not me. I don't know why I let the muse out of the kennel, because she always goes wild. 

Hope you guys enjoy. 

Chapter 2: The Healer and the Thief

When they arrived in town, Killian led them to an inn further away from the docks where it wasn’t all that busy. The small inn looked quite cozy with its brick facade and warm light shining through the windows. 

He opened the door for Emma and Marian, allowing them to enter first. 

Emma was relieved to be inside where it was warm and where she was one step closer to a bed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could’ve spent walking, even with Killian's support. She felt like a freight train hit her and she'd collapse at any moment. 

The late fall chill was settling in and soon enough winter would be coming. Emma hoped they’d be back home by then if she could get that stupid wand to actually work. 

“May I help you?” An older woman with a kind smile, but sharp brown eyes, looked at them from behind round glasses. 

“Yes, milady.” Killian stepped forward with a charming smile. “My wife,” he motioned to Emma, “our companion,” he motioned to Marian, “and I were all traveling on our way to your lovely town when our horses were stolen.”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “Oh my dears, I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

Killian played his part well as he asked her for two rooms; one for Marian and one for them. 

The older woman looked at Emma softly, clearly pleased that a young, newly married couple (according to Killian’s story) were planning on making Marawick Harbor their home. As Killian laid on the charm, Emma smiled small and shy, acting the part of the blushing bride. Honestly, she was too tired to try to speak and add to their act.  

Marian smiled as well, but with her memories gone, she wasn’t too confident in her interactions. 

“Of course, dear.” The old lady smiled a little bigger. “I’m Mrs. Wright. How long will you three be staying with us?”

“Well, we’ll be here for a while.” Killian said. “It might take some time to find more permanent lodgings.”

“Oh how wonderful.” Mrs. Wright smiled. “Since you don’t know how long you’ll stay, perhaps pay for five days and should you find more permanent lodgings before then, you’ll be reimbursed.”

“A lovely idea.” Killian said. “I’ll be paying for both rooms. Poor Maria here lost the most in the robbery. She helped us when we needed it, so it’s only fair to return the favor.”

Emma looked around as the prices were discussed and the room paid for; it was very clean and tidy, which gave her hopes for their room. It was then that Emma realized a flaw in the marriage plan. They’d be getting one room which very likely would have just one bed. Even if it was a big bed, it was still one bed. They’d slept near each other before, camping out in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland, but this would be different. They’d be in closer quarters for one thing. He’d probably be a gentleman and take the floor, but having slept in worse places, Emma didn’t want him to suffer a full five nights or longer if they couldn’t find a place to live. 

“Ready, my love?” Killian asked, turning to her. 

Marian was already following Mrs. Wright up the stairs. 

Emma smiled and took his arm again. Her heart skipped hearing the “my” before love, but she knew that it was just for show for the old lady. Of course, he had feelings for her, but he couldn’t love her so soon? Well, all right, they’d known each other for over a year and a half, but the better part of it they were separated and she hadn’t even remembered him. 

They were led to a room on the second floor, the lady unlocked one for Marian and then the one across the hall for them. One key went to Marian and the other to Killian. “A hot bath will be brought up shortly for both of you young ladies.”

Emma and Marian both thanked her. When Mrs. Wright disappeared, Emma stepped towards Marian. “I could heal your head if you’d like.” Really Emma felt obligated to since they caused her head injury, but she wasn't sure if she could stand to use more magic. 

Marian shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve done so much for me already. Both of you. I don’t even know where to begin thanking you.”

“No need to worry about it.” Killian reassured her. 

Marian smiled before entering her own bedroom. 

“So what do we do now?” Emma asked once they were ensconced in the sanctuary of their private room. Emma unbuttoned her cape, glancing at the single bed at the center of the room. It looked to be about full sized. That would be close sleeping quarters. Emma draped her cape over the back of the armchair by the fire, which was low, but still burning. She ignored the singular bed for now, moving instead to sit in the armchair in front of the fireplace. It was a great relief to sit down. 

“Well, if we’ve learned anything on this adventure, we can’t mess with the main timeline.” Killian said, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. “So best thing to do is stay low. We’ll need to find work and a place to live since we don’t know how long we’ll be here. Marawick is a busy port, but it’s far from your parents and Regina.” He explained. “I can guarantee my crew only docked here in emergencies, and since we know my ship, should that happen, we can easily avoid that.” 

“Okay.” Emma nodded. “What job is low profile?” 

“What skills do you have?” Killian asked. 

“Well, I’m a former thief, waitress, bail bonds person, and sheriff.” Emma said. “I doubt the Enchanted Forest has many female law enforcement officers.”

“Well the military is the law.” Killian said. “But you’re not wrong. Female soldiers are unheard of. I’m not sure about waitresses, but a barmaid might be too risky, especially if someone we knew or my past self showed up.”

Emma could agree with that. In her time, bar brawls were a constant, so she expected taverns in this day and age would be full of fights that would draw way too much attention. “So that leaves me with nothing.” 

“We’ll figure it out, Swan.” Killian reassured her. “We just have to stick together.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.”

His heart stuttered a bit in surprise before he smiled shyly at her.

Emma’s own heart skipped a beat. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Hurrying over to the door, Killian opened it to find maids with the bath. Once it was settled and they were given towels, rags, and soap, the women asked if anything else was needed. 

“No, thank you.” Emma smiled, allowing Killian to usher the maids away.

Killian set up the privacy screen. “I can leave if you’d like.” 

“The privacy screen is enough.” Emma said, walking behind it. She saw Killian’s silhouette through it due to the firelight behind him. She watched him sit in the armchair, which had its back to Emma. As she took off her clothes, hanging them up, she realized that they didn’t have clothes for bed. With how much magic she used today, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to use it anymore. “What about you?” Emma asked, making conversation to distract herself from that line of thought.

“I can live without one.” Killian said. He took a seat in another armchair and closed his eyes. It had been quite an exhausting couple of days. 

“Why don’t you use the bath after me? I’ll be quick so the water will be warm.” Emma suggested as she soaped herself up. 

“Don’t worry about me, love.” Killian said. “Also, soap in this time isn’t used in hair. You’ll have to use hair oil. Over there on the vanity.” 

Emma glanced over towards the vanity where there were a few bottles of oil, a hairbrush, a comb, a hand mirror, and other items sat ready for use. “Killian, we can both take a bath. We both need it.”

Killian wasn’t too sure about that. Then he looked over at the bed. The lone bed. That was an easy enough fix. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

A huff of frustration left Emma over the subject change. Why was he being so stubborn? “We’re adults, Jones. We can responsibly share a bed.”

He sighed, sensing that they’d only end up arguing more about it if he didn’t concede. Maybe she’d fall asleep first and he could sneak onto the floor. It probably wouldn’t effect her as much as it would him for them to share a bed together anyway. “Fine.”

Emma knew the conversation wasn't over and he was still going to fight her on this, but Emma was tired enough to take whatever victories she could get. Sinking into the warm, steaming water, Emma bit back a moan of pleasure. It wouldn’t do to make sex sounds in mixed company, particularly company she knew would enjoy hearing those sounds. Despite the warm water, thinking about sex and Killian in the same go sent a thrill down her spine. Stop it, Emma. Come on, you can’t think about this. When you get back home and things settle down, then you and Killian can have a long talk. 

Emma continued to lather herself up, trying to dismiss the man from her thoughts, despite him being only feet away. 

Killian stared into the fire, desperately trying to block out the sounds of water splashing behind him. The last thing he needed was picturing Emma naked and wet. Shaking his head, he thought about the next steps that needed to be taken. They needed more clothes. Emma couldn’t keep conjuring things or transforming items. She was hiding it, but he could tell that her magic was draining her. Perhaps in the morning, they could go to a tailor and order some clothes. He’d also have to give some money to Marian as she was as much his responsibility now as Emma, even if he felt Emma was his priority above all else. 

He walked over to where he left his coat and took it back to the armchair. Going through his pockets, he emptied everything out onto a small circular table beside the armchair just to double check how much he had after paying for the rooms in advance. A handful of gold and silver coins, which would last them awhile. Various jewelry pieces with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and opals. Those would fetch a good price. He’d probably use up the coin they had while job and house hunting and save the jewelry for emergencies. He returned everything to his pockets and realized the room was silent. He looked over at the privacy screen. “Emma?” 

There was no answer. 

“Emma?” He called again. When there was still no answer, Killian hesitated, but he had a feeling she’d fallen asleep. Carefully, he peaked around the screen, trying not to see anything he shouldn’t. As he looked, he saw Emma was asleep, her head bent back over the tub rim, hair cascading out. Knowing how tired she was, he was loathed to wake her, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to get her out of bath without her consent. He walked over, kneeling next to the tub. Reaching out his hand, he gently shook her exposed shoulder with his hand. “Emma, love, wake up.”

It took a few more shakes and calling her name for her eyes to flutter open. “Killian?” 

“You fell asleep in the tub.” Killian explained. He stepped away and grabbed a towel as Emma moved to sit up. He held it out for her, diverting his eyes. 

Emma sleepily stood up in the tub and took the towel from Killian, shakily wrapping it around her body. She swayed a bit as the fog of sleep refused to clear. Damn, her magic took more out of her than she thought.

Realizing that Emma was still tired, Killian held his hand and fake hand out to her. “Here, love.”

Emma took his hand and allowed him to hook his arm around her to help her out of the tub. “Thanks.” As she steadied herself, she looked up at him. “We don’t have sleeping clothes.”

And she was too tired to conjure any. Killian understood her meaning. “Go ahead and dry off. You can sleep in my shirt.”

Emma nodded and walked over to the bed. 

Killian quickly unbuttoned his vest and hung it up, before pulling off his shirt. He walked over to find Emma sitting on the bed, wrapped in her towel. “Here you are.” He set the shirt beside her and turned away. 

Quickly Emma shrugged on the shirt over the towel. She stood up, straightening the shirt, and dropping the towel to the floor. She pulled back the covers and fell into the bed, letting sleep claim her once more. 

Killian turned after a few minutes and saw Emma passed out, the covers haphazardly over her. His brows drew together with concern. He shouldn’t have pushed her to use her magic so much when she wasn’t used to it. Walking over to her, Killian properly tucked her in before taking his own bath. The water was lukewarm, but that was fine. At least he’d get clean. Once he was done, he took a throw blanket and the other pillow and made a pallet on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d slept on worse. Finally letting the days catch up to him, Killian let his exhaustion take over and he soon fell asleep. 

****************************

After her bath, Marian realized since they were robbed, she had no other clothes. She dried off and decided to sleep in her tunic and undergarments. There was no money on her, so she wasn’t going to be able to buy much of anything without a job. 

Colin had been too kind to pay for her room for the week; he and Emily both did so much for her that she felt she could never repay them. 

Still, her lack of memory didn’t sit well with her. Her head ached, but it dull now. Colin and Emily looked so surprised at her amnesia that Marian doubted they were involved. They’d been so kind she doubted there was anything nefarious motivating them to help her. 

But why could’t she remember anything? Even her own name eluded her until Colin told her it was Maria. Her name didn’t feel quite right, but if that’s the name they knew, surely it had to be her name? Who was Maria though? Where was she from? Why had she been on her way to Marawick Harbor? Did she have family here? Or had she left family behind her?

It was all so confusing and overwhelming. 

Dressing for bed, Marian tried hard to think of anything. What was her mother’s name? Her father’s? Did she have any siblings? Aunts? Uncles?

Nothing came to her. Her mind filled with absolute nothingness.

She fell into bed, her dull ache pounding as her mind fought to uncover its secrets. 

Tears filled her eyes as a deep sense of pain and loneliness overcame her. No one knew who she was, not really, and she had no memory of those who knew her. Colin and Emily, kind as they were, were strangers. Even they admitted they’d only just met her on their travels; likely they’d known her for a day or two at most. 

Why had she been traveling alone before? Perhaps she was independent and stubborn. Had she decided to go out on her own? Had she left a home behind to forge a new path?

Her pillow muffled her sobs as Marian allowed the emotions of the day to possess her. 

****************************

He was up before the sun, still feeling exhaustion in his bones. Pushing himself up, Killian looked up at the bed from his position on the floor, finding Emma still asleep. Good, she deserved rest after everything that she’d been through. Unfortunately, that also meant that he couldn’t get his shirt back just yet. He hoped to get some things done this morning, but he didn’t want to wake her. Perhaps he could don his vest and coat, but that would get him some strange stares. It wasn't cold enough to have his coat fully buttoned up. No, he’d just have to wait until Emma awoke. 

Killian rose from the floor and stretched away the soreness from the past few days and sleeping on the floor. After a good stretch, he went over to where the water pitcher was and poured a glass. Leaning against the dresser, he watched Emma sleep while he drank the water. Sometime in the middle of the night, she moved to the middle of the bed, her arm stretched out over one side. Her face was relaxed in sleep, not peaceful, but at least open and unguarded. It was a nice sight to see. One day, he hoped to see her unguarded in her conscience state as well. 

He wondered if Marian was doing all right. Before they headed out into town, he’d need to give her some money to buy herself some things. While they had to look out for Marian, Killian wished he could keep his focus on Emma. Even though Marian had no memories, surely some things from her life still stuck with her, but Emma was completely new to this world and he had to help her learn. It would be hard to help her with Marian around and not raise Marian’s suspicions. 

When he finished his water, he perused the room for something to do. There were a few books, but nothing piqued his interest, so he chose to sit in the armchair. Once Emma was awake, they’d dress and get Marian and then get some breakfast. Then they’d get clothes and much needed items. After that, permanent lodgings would be a priority. Jobs would be another matter. Since this was a port town, perhaps he could be a fisherman or find some job on the docks. Those were the ones he was best qualified for. For Emma, that would be a little harder. Marian was another story altogether. 

They agreed a barmaid was too risky for Emma. There weren’t truly any jobs that her bail bonds or sheriff skills would be of use. It truly was unfortunate how limited jobs for women were in the Enchanted Forest. There had to be something that Emma could do. Though they wouldn’t know what jobs were even available until they ventured out in the town.

He watched the sun rise through the window of the inn, lost in thought as his mind turned to ways to return to their future. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t a viable option, but Killian didn’t know much of other sorcerers or witches around who could help. They still had the wand, of course, but Emma hadn’t gotten it to work. He wasn’t sure if Rumplestiltskin had been lying or not, but if he’d been telling the truth and Emma’s magic was back, then why hadn’t it worked? What was keeping them here?

As the morning sun rose higher, Killian's attention returned to Emma. Concerned that she wasn't waking, he walked over to the bed, sitting at her side. Gently, Killian brushed a few errant locks away from her face. "Emma?" 

No response. She was breathing; her chest rising and falling steadily. 

That was a relief, but Killian wondered if her magic use had unintended consequences. "Emma, love, can you wake up for me?" 

Not even a groan or grumble left her. She was warm to the touch, but not feverish. She was sleeping, just not waking. 

There was a knock on their room door.

Killian silently cursed. Clearly her magic exhausted her, but it wasn't something he could explain to the maids. Not if they wanted to keep her magic secret. "Who is it?"

"It's Maria." Marian called through the door. 

Killian waked over to the door and opened it, pulling her inside, before shutting the door. 

Marian registered that he was shirtless and tensed up. "Now just wait a minute, you cannot just manhandle..."

"I know, I'm sorry." Killian said, cutting her off. "Emily isn't waking up." He headed back towards the bed, not sure what to do. 

"What do you mean she's not waking up?" Marian followed him, concerned. 

"I think she used too much magic." It was the only thing Killian could think of for Emma's state. "She's not use to using it so much."

Guilt settled in Marian's gut. Hadn't she pushed Emily to use her magic? "What can I do to help?"

Killian brushed his hand against Emma's cheek. He figured she'd be all right for now if she was just sleeping off the ill effects, though Killian worried about just how long Emma would stay like this. "For now, I don't think there's anything we can do." He turned to Marian. "I need to go around town and get some things done. Since we didn't have sleeping clothes, Emily borrowed my shirt. Can you help me change her into her undergarments?" 

Marian nodded, walking over to the vanity where Killian folded up Emma's clothes the night before. 

Killian leaned over Emma and whispered. "Forgive me love. I'll be on my best behavior." His joke fell flat even for him. 

When Marian brought Emma's undergarments and tunic over, they worked together to undress her and redress her, Killian keeping his touch as light and noninvasive as possible without causing suspicion. After all, he was meant to be Emma's husband. This wasn't supposed to be the first time he ever saw her fully unclothed. With Marian's help though, it was a quick process. 

"Could you stay here with her?" Killian asked Marian. "I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Not at all." Marian said. "You've done so much for me, this is the least I can do."

Killian nodded gratefully. He pulled on his shirt and began to fully dress for the day. "I don't know if a healer can help her, but I look around for one. I have other things to do, but I'll come check in when I can. If there are any changes, send someone for me." He ensured all of his coins and jewels were on him. Once he was ready, Killian couldn't help himself, he went back to Emma and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back, Swan." He whispered. "I promise you'll be all right." 

He turned to Marian. "Take care of her." 

"I will." Marian said, not sure exactly what she else she could do.

Killian left the room with a determined stride. He needed to find a healer, but not just any healer. He needed one who understood or had magic. Could he find one here? 

Mrs. Wright might know where to start. 

He headed down to the front desk. 

"Good morning, Mr. Jones." Mrs. Wright greeted. Then she saw his grim expression. "Is everything all right?"

"My wife seems to have fallen ill." Killian said. "Do you know where I can find a healer?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Wright said. "There's a woman who lives near the docks. Vivienne Wilder. I'm not one to fall ill myself, but others say her touch is like magic."

Magic. That intrigued him. "Thank you, Mrs. Wright."

Now, he needed to find out if it was like magic or actual magic. 

****************************

“Oh leave me alone.” An old man growled at the young woman standing before him. His scowl deepened the wrinkles on his pale face. One milky blue eye didn’t see ahead of him, while the other glared at Vivienne Wilder, the resident healer of the Wharf.

Vivienne, who looked in her twenties, sported long black hair in a tight bun. Sepia skin stood out underneath her pale yellow top, and her brown corset and skirts were plain. Sharp dark eyes rested under an arched brow. “Mr. Holbrook, I need to check your ankle.”

“Grandpa.” A young red-haired girl of about ten poked the older man in the shoulder. “Let Miss Vivienne take a look. Grandma says it’s been bothering you.”

“I don’t need no healer.” Mr. Holbrook huffed. “Me ankle is just fine.”

His granddaughter shook her head and spoke to the healer. “Grandma says he’s been limping for days now. Thinks he pulled something.”

“You hush now, Eileen.” Mr. Holbrook admonished. “I can move around just fine.”

“Mr. Holbrook, are you in pain or is your ankle just causing discomfort?” Vivienne asked, deciding to ignore his cantankerousness. 

Holbrook huffed. “It’s just fine I tell you.”

Vivienne shook her head. “Fine. If it’s causing true pain I suggest drinking a cup of ginger tea in the morning and at night.” She handed a vial of oil to Eileen. “Also, rub rosemary oil along the ankle every night and wrap it in a cold compress.” 

“How much for the oil?” Eileen asked.

Vivienne smiled. “No charge this time, but if he’s still having problems, let me know.”

“I ain’t having problems.” Holbrook grumbled. 

Vivienne shook her head and walked away. Mr. Holbrook would come around; he was just old and stubborn. She needed to see to other patients. While she'd lived in Marawick Harbor for just over a year, it took time to earn trust and build up her reputation. 

It wasn’t the first time she had to start over and she doubted it would be the last. There were times she missed home, of course, but going back wasn’t an option. 

As Vivienne turned up an alley, an old woman caught her eye. Wrap in a cloak of black, with silver hair framing her ancient features. 

The Crone’s grey eyes pierced Vivienne in place.

Vivienne curtsied. “Well met, Wise One.” 

“Well met, daughter.” The Crone said. “Lir’s son returns. He has the Light with him.” The Crone was never one to beat around the bush. 

Vivienne’s heart stopped for a long moment. “The older one or the younger one?” 

The Crone grinned showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “The younger one.”

“And he has a Savior with him?” Vivienne scoffed. She remembered him well. Always trailing after her and his brother. Unlike his brother, Lir’s younger son inherited the sea’s tempestuous nature. Leap first, think never. 

“Not just any Savior.” The Crone said. “The Savior. The one to finish what your father began.” 

Disbelief was a rather paltry term for what Vivienne felt in that moment. “The Savior?” It took a moment longer to compose herself. That’s why the Crone was here. “You need something of me?”

“The Savior is untrained. Reckless with her magic.” The Crone said. Her ancient eyes looked Vivienne up and down. “You’ll have to do.” 

“Me?” It didn’t take long for her to understand. “Me? You want me to train the Savior in the craft?” 

“It isn’t as though your father is available.” The Crone lamented. 

Of course, she’d prefer it if he was. Vivienne thought bitterly. Her father was The Sorcerer after all. “What of Lir’s son?” 

“He remembers nothing.” The Crone shrugged. “That is for the best. He’d be much more dangerous if he did.” The old woman stepped forward, looking Vivienne straight in the eye. “Train the Savior, and you will be rewarded.” Then she disappeared in a swirl of mist. 

“Fuck.” Vivienne cursed. The last person she wanted to deal with was Killian Jones. 

****************************

His eyes searched the market for a new mark. Sure, he got proper work once in a while being a lamplighter or a courier ever so often, but Dodger couldn’t let his skills get rusty. 

Any thief worth their salt kept perfecting their art. 

A new face to market caught Dodger’s attention. Average looking fellow, with a thick beard. His clothes were rather nice. A determined stride told Dodger the man was on a mission, which meant he’d be too focused on his goal to pay much attention. 

Dodger used the alleys to get ahead of the man. It looked as though the man was headed in the direction of the docks, so Dodger hurried along in between buildings, coming out near the end of the market, closer to the Wharf end. 

He was now in front of his mark, watching the man walk through patrons with ease. Dodger pretended to be looking at stalls as he made his way towards his mark. Passing by closely, Dodger’s feather light touch fished a few coins out of the man’s pocket. 

Smirking at his success, Dodger didn’t expect a hand on his arm, jerking him back. 

Fierce blue eyes glared at him. “I’ll have my coins back, if you please.” 

His mark marked him. Great. Okay, time to play the innocent victim. 

“I beg your pardon, sir.” Dodger’s offended act was instinct. Even as he looked at the man, sensing danger, he thought maybe he could keep it up. After all, how dangerous could this posh bloke be? "Whatever do you mean?"

The man rolled his eyes. “I don’t have times for games. Hand over the coins and I won’t alert the authorities.” He held out his hand expectantly. 

Dodger stepped back to put distance between them. “Good sir, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about." He needed to convince this man that he was wrong; if he left now, the man would alert the soldiers, and Dodger hadn't gotten caught in Marawick yet, but he didn't have the means to leave the city. 

The man smirked and Dodger's blood ran cold. Calculating anger filled blue eyes. Dodger swallowed. You sure know how to pick 'em, Dodge. 

"Perhaps you didn't hear me clearly." The man stepped closer, hand grabbing Dodger's arm in a vice grip. "I've no time to mess about. Give me my coins, and I won't gut you like a codfish and leave you here for the vultures to pick apart."

Something in the man's eyes made Dodger believe his threats. Unassuming as the man was when Dodger marked him, this man was far from unassuming now. Dodger debated for a moment longer; run or give in. Though he doubt he'd be running from this man for long. He handed the coins over. 

"Thank you," The man grinned tightly before walking off. 

Dodger watched him go, an intense curiosity filling him. Just who was that man?

Don't do it, Dodge. He told himself. Leave it be.

Ah hell, he was the Artful Dodger. When did he ever leave well enough alone?

Dodger kept to the shadows as he followed the man into the Wharf. 

****************************

Emma woke up in a meadow of pink flowers. The sun shone through the canopy of trees, birds chirped, but the world felt as though it was covered in haze. 

"Killian?" Emma called out. Where was he? Where was the inn? She remembered being in the bath and then briefly Killian helping her out. 

She was fairly certain that she fell asleep in a bed. "Killian?" She slowly stood up, looking around at her surroundings. 

"He isn't here." A man spoke, appearing out of nowhere. 

Emma stepped back. "Who the hell are you?"

The man appeared young, in his late twenties or early thirties, it was hard to tell. He was dressed in a thick, brocade shirt, underneath a brown leather tunic vest, and brown pants. His dark brown eyes felt ancient as they looked her over. "I'm Merlin." He said simply.

Emma stared him down as she processed that. "Bullshit."

Merlin grinned. "You're parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, you've met the Evil Queen, Rumplestiltskin, Peter Pan, and your lover is Captain Hook, but Merlin existing is a stretch?"

"Hook isn't my..." Emma shook her head. "Never mind. So what, Camelot and Excalibur are real too?"

"Indeed they are." Merlin smirked knowingly. "But they are also concerns for another time. Right now, I'm more concerned about your appearance here."

"Where is here?" Emma asked. 

"The Astral Realm." Merlin said. "A plane of existence in between living and dead." He motioned to the meadow around them. "This is the Middlemist Meadow of Camelot. I used to tutor my students here. It's a place I find calming. You see, I'm in between life and death myself, trapped for eternity. This is my piece of home." Merlin focused on Emma. "It worries me that the Savior is here."

"I'm not dying, am I?" Emma asked, fear gripping at her heart. She didn't want to die without seeing her family or Killian again. 

"Depends on how you came to be here." Merlin said. "What happened, Miss Swan?"

"Uh, well, it's a long story." Emma said. 

Merlin smiled patiently, a paternal air about him. It made Emma wonder just how old he truly was. "I have plenty of time." He sat down amongst the flowers and beckoned Emma to join him. 

Warily, Emma joined him, uncertain about whether or not to trust him. Even so, she briefly explained her plight leaving out some details here and there she didn't deem necessary, but explaining about the time travel and her overuse of magic. 

"Ah, so you've been training under the Evil Queen." Merlin said. 

Emma hadn't mentioned that. "How did you know that?" Her eyes narrowed as she leaned away from him.

"The Astral Realm transcends realms." Merlin said. "I can be anywhere, any time, and watch anyone."

"Creepy." Emma huffed. 

Merlin shrugged. "It's useful. I've seen Storybrooke and I'm aware that Regina and the Dark One are the only two people you could learn magic from. Considering your magic is the antithesis to the Dark One, he certainly would never teach you. That leaves Regina, and she isn't one to actually sit you down and explain things."

"You're right about that." Emma said. "So what is happening to me?"

"You're fine." Merlin said. "You're in Healing Sleep."

"What is Healing Sleep?" Emma asked. 

"Magic drains the system." Merlin began. "Regina uses magic all the time, so she's built up a tolerance to the drain. More than that, she also isn't very powerful and limited on how much magic she can expend, so even if she felt the drain, it wouldn't cause total exhaustion. There are certain beings, demigods, products of True Love such as yourself, elves, true sorcerers, who have so much power that it's harder to control. You aren't limited on how much magic you can use like Regina is, which means you can overdraw your power. Thus causing Magical Fatigue. Healing Sleep happens when you over use your magic to the point your body forces you to rest in order to refill your magical reserves."

Disbelief overcame her. "Wait, I have unlimited magic?" 

"No, you have a higher limit of how much magic you can use." Merlin explained patiently. "True Love is the most powerful magic of all, but you don't have the same benefits of other species, who have power. You're still a mortal, you still bleed, and you will fatigue. Even after training and building up your tolerance, you would still need to watch how much magic you call upon." 

"Okay, well, I'm stuck in the past for the next four years," Emma sighed. "I'll need to learn this stuff. I just need to wake up first."

"Fate already has a teacher in mind." Merlin smiled. "You'll meet her soon. As for waking up, well, depending on your body's recovery time and how much magic you used, you could be asleep for days, or weeks, or..."

"Don't finish that sentence." Emma glared. "If you're some great sorcerer, why can't you teach me?"

"I'm indisposed at the moment." Merlin said. "You can only meet me in the Astral Realm, but it's dangerous to spend too much time here if you're a novice. It likes to play tricks sometimes, which means if you aren't careful to spot them, your soul could move on into the Afterlife."

Definitely want to avoid that. Emma thought. "Is there a way to speed up this sleep?"

Merlin's infernal knowing grin returned. "You'll learn in due time. Until then, rest and enjoy the Middlemist." 

****************************

Marian ate only a little of the soup the maid brought up for her and Emily. She told the maid that Emily was just sleeping off her illness, and she hoped she was right. Emily was still breathing, and she was warm. Nothing seemed amiss other than Emily would not wake. 

Marian attempted to wake her for lunch, but the blonde woman didn't react. Not a mumble from her lips, not a flutter of her eyes. 

She worried that Emily might not ever wake up. Colin was convinced that her magic had something to do with this, and he would know better being Emily's husband. Marian wondered if this was common. She wasn't surprised by magic existing, though her memories were gone, so surely magic was commonplace.

Why then did Colin and Emily want to hide Emily's magic? Was magic good to have, or was it dark? Colin and Emily didn't seem like bad people, and Emily's magic seemed so helpful.

Could she really trust these strangers after all? Or was it better to move on, and try to rebuild her life on her own? Her gut said Colin and Emily didn't mean any harm, but they also didn't know her. Should she try and find out who she was? Should she ask them if she mentioned where she was from and why she was moving here?

It was just strange that everything was gone. Even her dreams were hazy images, but nothing indicating her past. 

Marian sighed, pushing away her half eaten soup. She glanced where Emily lay, sleeping peacefully, wishing she could sleep just as well. "Why can't I remember?" She whispered to the silence around her. She looked at her hands. There were callouses, light as they were, so she was used to work off some sort. 

But what work? Did she do cleaning? Was she a barmaid? A seamstress? That was just another thing to figure out. Once Colin returned and she knew Emily was going to be all right, Marian needed to go into town and figure out just what to do next. She couldn't rely on them forever. It was time to figure out what little she could and go from there. 

Starting with a job. 

****************************

Killian waited outside a boarding house, where he was told the healer currently was checking on a patient. He hoped this Vivienne could help him. He figured someone with magic would be better, but perhaps the healer knew someone who could help with their situation. 

He just wanted Emma to be all right. He couldn't let anything happen to her, not when he promised to get her home. Not when he needed her safe and happy for his own sanity. 

A young woman with black hair exited the building, a basket of herbs, potions, and poultices in hand. 

Killian pushed off the wall of the house across the street and put himself in her path. "Excuse me, Miss?" 

The healer froze at his voice before turning to face him. Oddly, her dark eyes recognized him. 

An uneasy feeling settled over him. Had Emma unintentional glamoured the face of someone from around here? He doubted it. 

The woman glared at him. “How can I help you sir?” Her defensive stance had Killian backing up a bit.

He wasn't sure why she didn't like him, but he wasn't going to chance pissing her off more than she already was, not when he needed her help. “So sorry to bother you.” Killian smiled gently. “My name is Colin Jones. My wife and I recently moved to town.”

Surprise flickered over her expression. Vivienne relaxed a bit, realizing Killian truly didn't seem to remember her. Though she was confused about the wife part. The Savior couldn't be his wife, could she? That was a dangerous match if that was the case. As it was, the Savior needed to work on her glamour spell. It worked well for non-magical people, but if Vivienne could see through it, then so could the Dark One, or others a might more powerful. This close to the sea, it would be better to disguise Lir's son as strongly as possible. "And why am I interested in this information?"

"I heard you're the healer in town. My wife fell ill on our travels." Killian said. "I hoped you'd come look at her. She's not waking up."

His concern for the Savior was genuine. What did he mean by her not waking up? 

Vivienne wanted to tell him no and go back to her rounds, but the Crone wanted her to teach the Savior. It seemed that for the time being Killian and the Savior were a package deal. Vivienne would deal with that later. "Does she have a fever?"

Killian shook his head. "No, she's warm, but not feverish." Killian glanced around and slowly stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. "What do you know about magic?"

"Enough." Vivienne challenged. There was no way she'd give away her hand. Not to him. "Why?"

"Because my wife has magic." Killian spoke lowly as to not be overheard. "I think she used too much of it." He looked at her imploringly. 

Here's where Killian not having his memories hampered him. He'd been one of her father's best students, all the more why Vivienne disliked him, and now he had to come to her for basic magical knowledge. She'd feel smug if she didn't hate him so much. 

Alas, she had to teach the Savior, so she'd have to suffer Jones all over again. "All right, take me to her and I shall see what I can do."

His immense relief was palpable. "Thank you, miss."

"Vivienne." She introduced. "Vivienne Wilder."

[spartanguard]

green with envy

Summary: Being back in Storybrooke brought up a lot of emotions in Emma—some forgotten, some new, and mostly unpleasant. Is that why she literally seems to be turning green with envy? And what can she do about it? (canon-divergent-ish from 3x14)

A/N: Hello! I am still here! This is just a kind of silly idea I've had floating around for a while, and finally finished. All the thanks to @optomisticgirl​ for looking it over! Hope you enjoy it!

rated T | 5.7k | AO3

Emma was wired with nervous energy as she and her dad shuffled into the loft. Finding the Witch’s hideout—and apparently that she had been holding the supposedly-dead Dark One captive—was definitely jarring, but it wasn’t the only thing that had her on edge.

That moment with Hook in the woods was still playing through her mind. 

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

Despite the distance she’d put between them after it (even though she came dangerously close to closing it), the idea lingered. She hated that he wasn’t as wrong as she wanted him to be, but mostly, she was envious that he could still have such an optimistic outlook, especially knowing that he’d been through as much shit as her, if not more, in the heartbreak department. 

Jealousy wasn’t a good look on anyone, but that hadn’t stopped her from metaphorically taking on the same pallor as the forest around her. So she was going to try to ignore that—and him—as much as she could. There were much bigger issues at hand. But for now, she’d settle with a nap and a drink.

Cruelly, though, this new curse had taken her mother’s expectant condition into account, and upon inspection of the cabinets and fridge, there wasn’t a drop of anything harder than ginger ale in the loft. She was making a mental note to bug Granny for the good stuff once she got back to the inn, but her mom had a different idea.

“Well, Zelena left this tea here,” Snow offered, holding what looked like a homemade tea bag. “It’s green, so it’s got too much caffeine for me, and your father doesn’t like it. Why don’t you take it?”

Eh, what the hell; it would do in a pinch. And Emma did have to admit, as she sipped it from one of the mugs she’d favored before the first curse had broken, that it was probably the best green tea she’d had in a while, even better than from her favorite sushi place in New York. 

It worked, for a bit, even though it made her a little homesick for the Big Apple. (The shot of whiskey she eventually got from Granny helped, too.) 

And, like she was prone to, she swallowed down all those difficult feelings as she drifted off to sleep that night.

═══════════════

The alarm on her phone came way too early the next morning, even if it was one of her favorite songs. She started to groan and curl inward, until she remembered that Henry was still asleep, and quickly silenced both her phone and herself. She shivered a bit as she got out from under the thick covers, wishing she could stay in the warmth but knowing she had stuff to do.

That didn’t stop the brief pang of jealousy as she looked over at Henry, still asleep and snug in his bed. But that was why she was doing this, right? To make sure he stayed safe and comfortable? She’d take a nap this afternoon or something.

As quietly as she could manage, she grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom to get dressed and ready. Except—was it just her, or were the lights in there terrible? She knew she was probably a little pasty after having spent most of the last year indoors, but she didn’t think she looked…green.

It looked better after she put on her foundation, though, so she finished her makeup, pressed a kiss on Henry’s head, grabbed her coat, and headed downstairs to meet her parents and the rest of their motley witch-hunting crew.

She blatantly ignored the flip of her stomach when she saw Killian was already in the sitting room, quickly jumping into business with her parents, who were also expectedly punctual. They set a plan for the day, and if Killian noticed that she intentionally put distance between them—both during their meeting and in their plan of action—he made no effort to breach it, thankfully.

Though even that was its own kind of torture—that he knew her so well as to give her space. Ugh.

Anyways. The rest of the day went without event—no progress, but no setbacks, either. She’d take that as its own kind of win, and couldn’t wait for one of Granny’s grilled cheeses for dinner.

At least, she had been, until she walked into the diner and saw Killian seated at the counter, leaning across it with a lascivious smirk on his face as he apparently flirted with Ruby. That jealous feeling from this morning turned her stomach again, so badly that she made a dash for the restroom. She thought she heard a “Swan” spoken on her breeze as she crossed the dining room, but she didn’t want to stop.

In the privacy of the ladies’ room, she took a deep breath. The nauseous feeling dissipated, but the longing didn’t quite. She splashed some water on her face to cool the flush that had arisen, and put a bit on her neck, too—but when she brought her hand back, it wasn’t red on her throat…it was more green, all along the left side. Not anything dramatic, but a noticeable change from her normal skin tone, and she couldn’t blame it on the lighting this time..

What the hell? Was there something wrong with the water? Maybe she should shower at her parents’ tomorrow.

But for now, she just tied her scarf tighter around her neck and decided to call it a night; there were some Pop-Tarts in the room that would have to suffice (goodness knew she’d had worse meals in the past). 

She hit something warm, solid, and wrapped in leather when she emerged, though. “Love, are you alright?” Killian had a steadying hand on her shoulder and worry in his brow.

“I’m fine; just tired,” she said quickly, stepping away from him—and pointedly avoiding his eyes.

“Swan, I know that’s not the whole of it,” he protested as she started to move for the stairs.

“Well, it’s certainly part,” she tossed back. “I’ll see you tomorrow; tell Ruby I said hi.”

She probably didn’t need to say that last part, but the jab felt good as she took the stairs two at a time. (The fact that he had no response—and knowing it was a low blow—wasn’t something she’d think about until she was safe in her room. She also may have feigned a headache as a reason to dim the lights, lest Henry notice the odd spot on her neck.)

═══════════════

It seemed like the spot had faded the next day; or, at least, she’d done a good job of convincing herself it had. She still needed her scarf to cover it, though; winter in Storybrooke necessitated one, so no one would really notice. 

In fact, she was feeling totally fine until she got down to the dining room. Henry had headed down first (only after promising not to talk to strangers, which was still most of town) and she saw him across the way, seated at a booth, laughing. For a minute, she was confused, until she saw David was sitting across from him.

She should have been happy to see that, even without Henry’s memories, he was still getting on well with his grandfather, and how good David was with him regardless. She may still have a hard time accepting David as her father, but there was no denying the man’s paternal leanings. 

The longer she watched, the more that sour, jealous feeling stirred in her stomach again. Henry didn’t have a complicated relationship with his father—not that he knew about, anyway; and he didn’t have to grapple with all the fairytale BS in his background. (She may have told him that he came via stork when he asked when he was 5, but that was still more probable than being shoved through an intra-realm portal in a tree.)

But at the same time, she didn’t want to rain on their good time with her descending mood, so she took the last seat on the counter instead. Granny almost immediately noticed the way she was slouching in her seat. “Hot chocolate and bear claw?” she called out from the other end of the bar.

“Please,” Emma gratefully replied.

It only took her a minute to get the necessary sustenance to Emma, and she expertly slid them across the counter. But before Emma could even pick up the mug, Granny’s firm grip was holding her chin. “Hold on there, girl; you have something on your nose.”

Emma had never known the feeling of a grandparent tending to her; it was simultaneously touching and embarrassing—especially when Granny used a little too much force trying to wipe away whatever was on her face. “Huh; it’s not budging. How did you get green on there, anyway?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and peering closer.

Shit—more of that? What the hell? “Oh, I must have knocked into something and bruised it,” she quickly lied, hopping up off her stool and out of Granny’s grasp, covering her nose with her hand. “I should…probably go look at it; I’ll bring the dishes back,” she blurted out, grabbing her plate and mug, and hurrying back upstairs (well, as fast as she dared with a mug of steaming hot cocoa).

Once back in her room, she set the food items aside and ran to the bathroom, flicking on the light. Sure enough, there was a greenish smudge on the side of her nose—not terribly dark, but noticeable.

Quickly, she grabbed her concealer stick and attacked her nose. A few times. That seemed to moderately cover it up. But this was getting weird; just what was in the water here that was causing—whatever this was? A rash, maybe? She’d gotten hives from nerves a couple of times; maybe this was related?

She stared for one more minute, but then just sighed and put her concealer in her pocket. There were bigger things to worry about than some weird blemish.

To her dismay, she ended up needing it more often than she expected. It seemed like every time she was in the restroom, she was reapplying makeup on some new spot. The rest of her nose changed color after a meeting in the mayor’s office, where Regina and Robin were shamelessly flirting (and honestly, they should just get together—but she envied that they both seemed so comfortable together); she had to cover up a spot on her chin after patrolling the woods with Robin and Roland and being in awe of how great a dad Robin was (she was jealous of how confident he was, and maybe a bit that Henry didn’t have any positive male role models like Roland did in abundance); and nearly caked it on the back of her hand during another stop at Granny’s, just after seeing a mouthwatering-looking grilled cheese on someone else’s plate.

As she frowned at her pallor in Granny’s washroom, still coveting that sandwich, she had to remind herself that envy didn’t look good on anyone, even though that was all she’d been feeling all day.

Wait—was that it? 

Was she literally turning green with envy?

This was Storybrooke; stranger things had certainly happened. (Flying monkeys, anyone?)

But…this seemed like a step too far. No, it was just a weird rash or something. She’d just make a dermatologist appointment when they got back to New York, she’d get some cream, and it’d go away in a couple weeks. Yup, that was all.

And everything was fine until she went back out to meet Henry for dinner. She glanced around the dining room for him, only for her stomach to turn more than once. 

First, when she saw Killian seated at the counter with Tink, deep in what seemed like a friendly, light conversation. There was a salacious smirk on his face, but Tink looked to be giving it right back to him—especially when he threw his head back and laughed, showing off the cords of his neck and that constantly teasing bit of chest hair that seemed to become even more exposed as his body heaved and shook. She’d love to have something like that with him, but her damn walls and worries kept that from happening.

Forcing herself to look away, her gaze settled on her parents, seated together on one side of a booth. The way they were cuddled together was almost sickly sweet, but what really got to her was the way David’s hand rested high on Snow’s so-round baby bump, likely feeling her future little sibling move around. God, was Granny chopping onions? She wiped some mist from her eyes, but it was hard to ignore the overwhelming jealousy she felt—both that her baby sibling would always know they were loved and wanted, and that she had to go through her own pregnancy just like she’d done everything else in life: alone.

God, she was queasy from how much it stung—both of those sights. Hopefully no one had seen her yet because, oh god—she was gonna be sick.

Fast as she could, she ran back to her room, just making the toilet in time before bile came up. She felt flushed and angry and bitter, even if she really had no reason to feel those things—or every reason to, and had just been triggered too many times in one day.

She turned back to the sink and ran the cold water, splashing a bit on her face to hopefully cool her overheated skin. She closed her eyes and did briefly enjoy the sensation; it helped a bit. At least, until she opened her eyes.

Because when she did, it became blatantly obvious that her hands were green.

And so were her forearms, when she pushed up her sleeves.

And then she looked in the mirror—and let out a yelp. Because whatever this new skin condition was had covered her entire face and neck now—even her scalp, when she moved her hair a bit to check. It wasn’t an ugly green, at least—kind of a light fern-y color—but still, so wrong.

What the fuck was going on?

She felt her face; her skin didn’t have any different texture than it usually had, so maybe the rash idea was out. 

Algae in the water, maybe? No; that didn’t do…this, whatever this was.

She’d look perfect if she wanted to audition for Wicked once they got back to New York, but there wasn’t enough concealer in the whole town to cover this up until then.

For a moment, she was envious of the way she looked when she woke up that morning—and, to her horror, watched herself turn a shade of green darker as that jealous feeling overcame her.

Fuck. She hadn’t been wrong—she was literally turning green with envy.

She groaned and hung her head. This. This was why she wanted to go back to New York. Where none of this stupid magical shit happened. At least, she had to assume that was the cause; she’d worry about the ‘how’ later; for now, she just had to not make it worse.

Maybe if she just stayed away from the stuff that seemed to be triggering it, it might reverse itself? With all the other crap going on, she didn’t want to pile this on—but at the same time, she knew trying to go out and about would inevitably draw attention to it, and her mom or someone would want to fix it.

But mainly—how the hell would she explain it to Henry?

So yeah, trying to resolve on her own was the best plan of action.

She called down to Granny to see if she could run up some food; the old wolf was confused by the request but complied, and Emma was careful to make sure she’d gone back downstairs before opening the door to grab the (perfect, beautiful, delicious) plate of grilled cheese and onion rings.

Playing the headache card again bought her another night in the dark with Henry, but she’d have to come up with a valid reason for that tomorrow. (Was it logical to say there was a power surge and the room was out of electricity? Even though there were other empty rooms on the floor? Eh, that was a tomorrow Emma problem.)

Thankfully, he didn’t question it again, and she was able to chalk up the hoodie wrapped tight around her head to the room being drafty.

But the next morning was another story. She woke before he did and tiptoed to the bathroom, but there was no change in her complexion. Damn.

She managed to get back under the covers and wrap them around her head before Henry stirred. Bless her caring boy, he figured she was still asleep and moved quietly around the room as he got ready before gently shaking her “awake”. “Hey Mom, you want to get some breakfast?”

She had to feign sounding ill. “Sorry, kid; I’m not feeling the best,” she said weakly.  “Maybe go see if Killian wants to go with you? And ask if you can hang out with him today?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a stomach bug; I’m feeling a little green around the gills,” she said, then winced at the accuracy. “Give me a day and I should be fine.”

“Are you sure? Want me to get you some ginger ale?”

“Mm, maybe later; I just want to sleep right now.” Thank god her internal lie detector wasn’t hereditary.

“Alright,” he said, though he sounded uncertain. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she chuckled. “Have fun.”

She felt him press a kiss to the blanket wrapped around her head, then waited until she heard the door click shut to remove it. Hopefully, she could convince Granny to do delivery again.

Several minutes later, she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling her phone absentmindedly (she’d been about to call Granny when she got distracted by a Facebook notification) when a sudden, insistent knock on the door made her jump and drop the device in her lap.

“Swan? Are you alright, love?”

Dammit. She should have known Hook would want to check up on her after Henry talked to him. Though, based on the way he’d been flirting with every other woman in town the last two days, she was mildly surprised.

“I’m fine,” she called back. “Just a stomach thing; I’ll be good by tomorrow. Can you watch Henry today?”

“Of course, but who’s going to look after you?”

She scoffed. “Me. I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly; she almost didn’t hear it through the thin door.

“I’ve made it this far,” she bit back. “I’ll survive another day.”

“Can I bring you anything, then?”

“No!” she yelled, mostly out of panic; knowing him, he wouldn't be satisfied to leave her something without actually seeing her. “I’ll be fine; just—go.”

He sighed, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him hanging his head in frustration. “Can you at least open the door for a moment? Assuage my worries?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I look super gross.” That part wasn’t entirely a lie, at least.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Trust me,” she lamented, looking over her chartreuse hand. “Seriously, just—take Henry fishing or something, or go hang out with Tink; I know you’d be happier hanging out with her.”

“Swan, you do realize that by insisting on my absence, I’m far more likely to want to stay?”

Emma groaned at his persistence and flopped back on the mattress, making her phone clatter to the floor. 

“What was that? Hold on; I’m coming in.”

“No!” she shouted again, jumping up and running for the door. Henry hadn’t locked it so Hook had no trouble turning the knob. But she was on her feet immediately, and he’d only opened the door a few inches before she was slamming her whole body against it, forcing it shut. 

“Emma, what the bloody hell is going on?”

“Nothing! Can’t I just have a day to myself?”

“If it were that simple, then why feign illness?”

“Well, I thought that meant people would leave me alone, but I guess I was wrong.” Who knew she’d long for the days when she didn’t have people looking out for her—but, more importantly, expecting her to save the day? She held her hand up, and sure enough, it turned another shade of green darker. At least she’d have good camouflage the next time she went into the forest.

“Perhaps it’s because people care about you,” Killian snapped. He may not have said it specifically, but they both knew he was referring to himself. “Have you considered that?”

“Yeah, well, maybe they care too much. The sooner they figure that out, the better.” She was being dramatic, she knew, but until she got over this thing, it’d be better to keep people at arm’s length.

“Swan,” he nearly whined. “You can’t possibly still think so little of yourself. There are so many people here who—”

“Don’t even start,” she cut off. “I’ve heard that hope speech before. But it’s not exactly something you can easily accept when your whole life, you’ve been some orphan freak. No one wants that.”

Well, now it was getting personal, it seemed. Why did he always have that way of cutting to the deep of her issues?

“You are not some ‘orphan freak’, love,” he replied, almost indignantly. “You are a fierce, strong—”

Okay. It was time to shut him up. Without even thinking, she swung the door open and finished his sentence for him. “Green-skinned weirdo?”

It was rare she was able to render him speechless; this situation wasn’t quite the confidence boost it normally would be, though. His jaw hung slack and she could see his eyes roving over what skin he could see (not much outside of her hoodie and sweats). 

After an eternal several seconds, he closed his mouth and swallowed. Then, to her surprise, he gave her a smirk. “That’s quite the look, Swan—it rather complements your eyes.”

She rolled her eyes; of course he’d turn this into flirting, so she tried to close the door on him. But he stopped it with his hand. “Hold on, darling—might I come in? I suspect you don’t want to draw any wandering eyes into our forthcoming conversation.”

She hung her head; he was right—they needed to talk, but she didn’t want anyone else to see her. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s downstairs with Ruby.”

She snorted. “Surprised you’re not there to properly teach him how to flirt.” It slipped out automatically.

“Beg your pardon?” Killian sounded slightly offended. 

“You heard me,” she scoffed. “I saw you with her yesterday; I know you can’t resist her charms,” she replied, mimicking his accent (poorly).

His brow furrowed, but not in anything resembling the shame she wanted to see on his face; no, his eyes were wandering over her own face and neck in a way that made her feel exposed. She looked away, down at her feet, but that was when she noticed that the skin of her hand was yet darker. Dammit.

She just sighed and stepped aside, extending an arm to invite him in. He slipped into the room swiftly and quietly with a grace that she was doing her damnedest to not be envious of; surely there was a maximum on this thing? (Plants could only turn so green, right? Maybe this was a…chloroform? No, chlorophyll—thing. She’d never paid much attention in science class.)

She closed the door quickly behind him, and he turned to face her, his jacket swishing distractingly around his legs and making it seem like he was taking up more of the room than he actually did. Or maybe it was just the overall immensity of his presence in the room, or the weight of the tension between them. 

“Is it safe to assume that this isn’t a cosmetics choice?” he started, gesturing at her face.

“Obviously,” she confirmed, rolling her eyes. “And last I checked, my foundation hadn’t gotten moldy.” Though she did need some more—she’d just about used hers up with all of this.

“Am I to gather, then, that it’s something a bit more…supernatural in its occurrence?”

“If that’s your fancy way of asking if it’s magic, then yeah; at least—I think so,” she shrugged. “I don’t know how or why it started all of a sudden, but every time I feel jealous, I get a little more…like this. Looking like the freaking Wicked Witch herself.”

“Do you think it was her?”

“I don’t know; maybe,” she huffed, then flopped down on the end of the bed. “I hadn’t exactly gotten that far. It’s not like I’ve really had a chance to think about the things happening to me. It’s as good a guess as any, but it doesn’t solve a damn thing.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he concurred, his voice gentle, and she could almost cry—it was the first time anyone had just simply agreed with her in nearly a week and let her vent. “What started it?”

She recounted as much as she could remember over the last couple of days—the little things, like wanting to sleep in or coveting a sandwich, and the bigger emotions from last night when it came to her parents and Henry. She couldn’t bring herself to mention anything regarding her emotions towards him, though.

He listened, but tilted his head when she was done. “That doesn’t seem like everything, love. I’m no expert on magic, but I know it involves emotion, and you haven’t described anything particularly deep.”

“What, seeing my parents getting ready to have the perfect life with their new baby isn’t a deep enough emotion? Why would they still want me around when they’ll have everything they ever wanted with that one?”

It was a cathartic release of everything she’d been holding in on that subject pretty much ever since they got back to town. Killian said nothing, just stared intently, seemingly inviting her to go on—so she did.

“And Henry—I’m so jealous of the fact that he doesn’t have to deal with all this magical bullshit, but even the fact that he’s missing those memories is magic in itself and…god, I wish I was still there with him. I miss our old life, and I feel like such an awful parent having to lie to him constantly here.

“And you!” she continued, now on a roll. “I’m still mad and a little heartbroken over the Walsh crap—absolutely not in the market for a new guy, at all—but you’re here and being all caring and I think, y’know, maybe? But then I see you flirting with Tink and Ruby and I just remember—why on earth would you want someone with all my baggage?”

She paused to catch her breath. Then, in a small voice, ended with, “And how much of an asshole am I for thinking all of this?”

She wasn’t prepared for whatever judgment was on Hook’s face, so she just fell backwards against the bed and threw her arm over her eyes. 

No response came immediately, but then she felt a dip in the mattress near her and the springs squeaked as Hook took a seat a respectable distance away. “A completely normal one,” he finally said. “Perhaps even justified.”

She rolled her eyes, even if they were still hidden under her arm. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. It’s not uncommon for an older child to feel replaced by a younger one; even if the age gap is a bit more dramatic here, given the course of your life, it’s completely understandable. And it’s even more so that you miss what you and Henry had; even if it started falsely, the last year was real, and special, it sounds like.” There was a bittersweet edge to his voice at that, reminding her that he still hadn’t been fully honest with her regarding his past year. Not important now, though.

“And, love,” he went on. His careful fingers found her wrist and gently pulled her arm away from her face. She was hesitant to meet his gaze, but when she finally did, the condescending look she was expecting wasn’t there—only a small, almost insecure smile and understanding. “I don’t know why you’d think I’d be concerned about the complications of your past, when my own is significantly moreso—a fact of which I know you are aware.”

He had her there; it was no use to try to argue that fact.

“And when it hasn’t stopped me from admiring you thus far,” he added, a bit quickly—like he was blurting out a confession, even though he’d never exactly hid his feelings. She certainly hadn’t forgotten the Echo Cave, or their brief encounter prior to that. The one that meant a lot more than she’d told herself it did.

Although—she’d kind of just admitted as much, hadn’t she? She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she blushed (and wondered what color it came up as). 

“Yeah, well, I’m sure your daydreams didn’t include some green freak,” she countered, rolling on her side away from him and crossing her arms. Even if she had just accidentally admitted her feelings, that didn’t mean she was ready to pursue them right away. So back behind her walls it was.

“Emma,” he sighed, sounding almost exasperated. Good. He stood and stepped around her, looking down at where she was pouting. “Despite my care for my personal appearance, I’m not actually that shallow. I don’t give a damn what’s on your outside; your spirit and your soul are what’s beautiful to me. And don’t you dare doubt it for a second.”

She swallowed; he sounded genuinely angry, and she could see something resembling hurt within the fire in his gaze. She sat up. “You really mean that?” she asked quietly.

He sat down again next to her. “Bloody hell, love; how else can I convince you?”

Her entire body was suddenly aware of how close his was to her—even more than their moment in the woods the other day. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling heat from the adrenaline of their conversation, or just off of him, or both, but she found herself swaying ever so slightly closer to him, chasing it, until her face was hardly even an inch from his.

He was watching her carefully, his blue eyes taking her in under the studious set of his brow. She held his gaze, but then glanced at his mouth—and that was all it took.

Almost involuntarily, she leaned the rest of the way in and found his lips with hers. He stiffened at first, but only for a fraction of a second before leaning into her, his hand finding its way into her loose hair.

She hadn’t forgotten how skilled he was in this department, but it was a nice refresher; like their first time, she grabbed his jacket to get closer and deepen the kiss. His hand slid down, gripping her waist, and she felt his hook settle on her other hip.

And as they sat there making out, it was like a weight lifted off her—yeah, she was dealing with some pretty heavy feelings, but she didn’t need to feel guilty about it; she just needed to feel them, and then move on. The people that loved her would love her no matter what. She maybe wasn’t ready to admit that was what the situation was with Killian, but he was on her side—and that was enough.

And goddamn, could he kiss.

She couldn't help it—she was craving more and threw her leg over his lap to straddle him. But he wasn’t ready for that and ended up falling back on the mattress, bringing her with him. “Oh, shit—sorry!” she blurted out (while trying to catch her breath).

He just laughed, that deep chuckle that did nothing to tamper her growing arousal. “It’s plenty fine, love,” he wheezed, grinning with his eyes squinted shut.

She at least rolled to the side so she wasn’t crushing him while he tried to catch his breath, and couldn’t help but laugh a bit herself. Finally, he turned his head to her and opened his eyes, a soft expression settling over him. “There you are, Swan,” he said, reaching across and brushing her hair out of her face. “Looking more yourself already.”

Huh? She glanced at her hand where it had settled on his chest, temptingly close to the open vee of his tunic. It was back to its normal (probably too) pale color. 

“Though I must admit, the green had been growing on me,” he quipped. She lightly slapped his chest where her hand rested. “You seem to be in better spirits, then,” he observed.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “Thanks for getting me through that.”

“Anytime, love,” he said softly, and she knew he meant it.

So she kissed him again.

(Several times.) (And maybe a bit more than kiss.)

═══════════════

They did eventually meet back up with Henry, who had been hanging out with Ruby in the meantime. He might have given Emma a knowing smirk she pretended to ignore, but was mostly happy she was feeling better. (And later, when he got his memories back, was far too amused by the fact his mom was dating Captain Hook.)

She might have leaned a little bit harder into her parents’ hugs that week. And might have enjoyed a couple more grilled cheeses.

But the most satisfying moment came during an encounter with Zelena at Granny’s, once they knew she was their enemy. She looked at Emma and sneered. “Why aren’t you green?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder at Killian, who was giving her an encouraging smirk. “Guess I just didn’t let envy get the better of me. Better question is: why aren’t you?”

Zelena screamed in frustration and disappeared in a cloud of green smoke. They hadn’t beat her yet, but with everyone who loved her on her side, they were bound to yet.

Though if she took a few extra kisses from her pirate for moral support…that was her business.

═══════════════

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic​  @phiralovesloki​  @thisonesatellite @iverna  @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture  @wingedlioness @word-bug  @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa-default @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich  @athenascarlet​ @kmomof4​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @jrob64​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @deckerstarblanche​

[snowbellewells]

@jrob64 I know it’s taken me a minute, and I apologize for the wait, but it is finally time for your newest story, Joni!! I love that you’ve started this in Season 2, particularly in that stage of our (and Emma’s) getting to know Hook, where we really found ourselves drawn to him more than we felt we were probably supposed to be. He is still a man bent on revenge against the Crocodile above anything else, and you make that clear here in no uncertain terms. All the same, you also allow these very strong and definite glimpses of deeper humanity to show throw in his reactions and words, particularly when he is dealing with Emma. He does care, and it hurts when he isn’t believed or trusted, and he DOES NOT want to see her hurt the same way his Milah was.

It amazed me how you gave many of the season two events we remember their own slightly different twist or minor alteration, yet really the overall plot still progresses much as it would have done. If anything, you made it more sensible and streamlined- and allowed us to see more of Hook along the way! 😉 I would rather have your version of events and I’m curious to see where it will go from here now that Gold and Emma, followed by Hook are all headed for New York.

I also really liked your interaction between Emma and Mary Margaret near the beginning of the chapter, Hook’s interactions with the both of them, Emma and Hook and Hook and David at the station, and I always get a kick out of Leroy as well!

This may have been a gift for Krystal, but I am already finding it to be quite a treat as well!! 😍😍😍

Exacting His Revenge - Chapter 1

It's an international holiday, also known as @kmomof4's birthday! This story has been floundering in my WiPs folder for months under the title 'Bad Boy Hook'. I finally decided to try to finish it for Krystal's birthday, even though she actually helped plot it out! I'm not finished writing the story yet. It will have 3 chapters and chapter 2 is nearly finished, so hopefully the rest of it will be posted soon. Happiest of birthdays, K!!!

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom.

Story Summary: 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. 

Rating: T

Words: 6980

Also posted on ffn and A03

(Story found under the cut)

*********

Hook stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the dank wall of the dungeon containing the cell where Rumplestiltskin had once been imprisoned. He stared at the four women currently trapped there; or more accurately, he stared at Emma Swan, the woman who bested him twice in the last few days.

He refrained from snorting derisively as he listened to Cora taunt them, directing her venomous comments toward the dark haired woman who was somehow Emma’s mother. The Queen of Hearts was attempting to sound like a loving mother who just wanted to make her daughter Regina happy, but he knew better.

“...and now I’m going to give her the one thing she’s always wanted - your heart. Goodbye, Snow.”

Hook flinched as he watched Cora thrust her hand toward the other woman’s chest. When he saw the Swan girl push her mother out of the way, he dropped his arms and jerked forward, his own heart in his throat and sick despair in his gut. But before he could utter the warning that was on the tip of his tongue, Cora’s hand plunged into Emma’s chest.

Frozen in place - extremely unpleasant and unbidden memories parading themselves across his mind - he waited for the inevitable. He didn’t think he would be able to stand to watch the blonde’s heart get crushed and see her crumple lifelessly to the ground.

“Oh, you foolish girl!” Cora chided. “Don’t you know? Love is weakness.”

Hook’s eyes closed as he heard the unmistakable squelching sound of a heart being seized, but they popped open again when Cora’s gasp of disbelief reached his ears. She was tugging repeatedly, unable to extract the organ.

Suddenly, Emma straightened and stared straight into her adversary’s face. “No,” she stated, forcefully. “It’s strength.” The moment she uttered those words, Cora was thrown backwards by a stunning blast of magic.

Hook stood numbly, his jaw slack with shock. In his entire association with Cora, he had never seen anyone who could repel her magic. Yet here was the Swan girl, seemingly a complete novice in the practice of magic, completely knocking the witch off her feet. It was at that moment, Hook made the final decision of who would receive his allegiance.

Cora pushed herself to her feet with a curse, dramatically brushing the dust from her gown and glaring at Emma. “I should make you pay for that little stunt, but simply knowing you will die a slow death in the dungeon of your parents’ own castle is enough satisfaction for me.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she pivoted and swished past the pirate. “Come, Hook. We have everything we need to get to Storybrooke.” She said the last word pointedly, obviously knowing the pain her statement would inflict.

Hook watched her go, fingering the withered bean he pilfered from the giant. He took a step toward the cage as he considered giving it to the Swan girl, but thought better of it and placed it in his pocket instead. He just witnessed the powerful magic she had within her and had no doubt she would somehow be able to break them out of the cell.

Ignoring the pleas of the four women, he turned to follow Cora out of the dungeon, checking his hook to ensure it was securely locked into the brace. Moving stealthily, he came up behind her, hesitating only a second before plunging the appendage into her neck. His aim was true, puncturing the carotid artery. Cora stumbled and fell to her knees, clutching at the wound which was spraying the walls with her blood.

Kneeling beside his former ally, he plucked the compass and Aurora’s heart from the floor where she dropped them, and quickly located the vial containing the ashes of the magic wardrobe. Then, looking into her rapidly paling face, he stated, “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I find I am no longer in need of your services.”

Choking on her own blood, her answer came out as a gurgle. Her fingers clawed at the leather of his vest, desperately trying to cling to life, but to no avail. He watched the last flicker of light leave her eyes, then her lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

*********

Hook was waiting outside the castle when the four princesses came rushing out some time later. Aurora’s hand was covering her mouth, clearly queasy after seeing the grisly scene on her way out.

Emma stopped short when she spotted the pirate, lounging against the stone wall at the entrance of the dungeon as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I’m assuming that’s your handiwork in there?”

“What, Cora?” he asked nonchalantly, making a show of polishing his hook with his sleeve. “Aye, it is.”

“Why did you kill her?” Mary Margaret asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you do it?”

Hook slowly straightened up, taking his time before answering. “Cora was not to be trusted. I only worked with her because she appeared to provide the best opportunity for me to meet my objective, but now that is no longer the case.”

“So you found another way to get to Gold?” Emma asked.

“Indeed, I did.”

“Then why are you still here?” Mulan questioned.

“Because you lovelies are that other way.”

“Us?” Mary Margaret squeaked. “But we haven’t figured out a way to get back to Storybrooke yet.”

“I believe I have everything necessary to accomplish that,” Hook said, patting the satchel resting on his hip. “And I also have this,” he added, reaching into the bag to pull out Aurora’s red, glowing heart. He held it out to Emma, who took a step back.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it takes magic to return someone’s heart, Love.”

“But I…” Her voice trailed away.

“Have magic, Swan,” Hook continued her thought when it became clear she wouldn’t.

She squirmed under his penetrating gaze, her mind struggling to come to grips with the thought. Did she have magic? It was unbelievable! Then again, a week ago, she wouldn’t have believed she could slay a dragon or break a curse with True Love’s Kiss. But freaking Captain Hook was obviously convinced she did.

What even was her life?

“Please,” Aurora pleaded, interrupting Emma’s spiraling thoughts as she stepped in front of her. “Hook’s right. It has to be you.”

Emma stared at her disbelievingly for a few moments, then finally held out her hand for Hook to place the heart into it. Balancing it on her palm, her face tightened into a mask of determination before she thrust her hand forward, burying it in Aurora’s chest. The princess gasped, nearly doubling over, then straightened and beamed at Emma as she withdrew her hand. “You did it! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

Emma stood looking down at her hand with a slightly squeamish look on her face. “That is definitely something I hope I never have to do again.”

Aurora grabbed Emma and gave her a hug, before turning to Mulan. “We need to get back to Philip.”

Mulan glared at Hook with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure that’s wise? Snow and Emma might still need protection.”

“Do you really think I pose a threat to them when they are going to help me get my revenge?” he growled.

“Who’s to say you won’t kill them once you do?” Mulan countered. “You disposed of Cora once you didn’t need her anymore.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Aww, don’t tell me you had become fond of her.”

Mulan straightened her spine to stand at her full height. “Of course not! She was pure evil, but you killed her in cold blood.”

“You have no reason to fear for your friends’ lives.” He almost looked offended by Mulan’s words. “I don’t intend to harm them, but you saw what Cora tried to do to Snow White in there. She was the one who was going to enable her daughter to murder in cold blood. I was simply putting a stop to her reign of terror.”

“Look, I don’t really care who murdered who in cold blood,” Emma interjected. “I just want to get home to my son! Mulan, go with us or don’t, it doesn’t matter. Aurora, go find your prince. Hook, show me what you have in that bag and tell me how we can use it to get to Storybrooke.”

“There’s the tough lass I’ve come to know,” Hook smirked, lifting the flap on the satchel and reaching inside. “Compass and magic wardrobe ashes,” he recited, placing each of the items into Emma’s outstretched hands. “Cora’s theory was that the ashes could create a portal, but just in case she was wrong, I also have this.” Drawing the string containing the giant’s magic bean over his head, he let it swing at eye level between them.

“How is that supposed to help?” Snow asked. “It’s dried up, useless.”

“Ah, but the waters of Lake Nostos have regenerative properties. That’s where Cora and I were going before she met her…unfortunate demise.”

“That lake doesn’t have water in it anymore,” Snow said. “We…we needed it to save David’s mother, but it was completely dry because he had killed the siren who lived in it. Of course, she was trying to kill him first.”

Hook turned his eyes on Emma. “Cora said the lake could be restored with magic. That’s where you come in, Love.”

Emma stared wide-eyed at each of the four people surrounding her in turn. “I know nothing about how to use…” she paused and waved her hand around, having trouble actually saying the word, “...magic!”

Snow stepped in front of her daughter and grasped her upper arms. “You can do it, Emma! You said it yourself - love is strength. If you just concentrate on the love you have for Henry and how much you want to get back to him, I’m sure you will be able to make your magic work.”

Blowing out a long breath, Emma said, “Well, I guess I won’t know until I try.”

“Too right, lass,” Hook agreed. “Now, shall we be on our way? I have a crocodile to skin.”

After bidding goodbye to Aurora and Mulan, Hook led the way to Lake Nostos, attempting to engage Emma and Snow in conversation along the way. “So, tell me how the two of you are mother and daughter when you look to be nearly the same age. Have you been to Neverland where time stands still, Milady?” he asked Snow.

The two women exchanged glances. “It’s a long story,” Snow said.

“My schedule is pretty open right now,” Hook quipped.

“You were with Cora. Did she not tell you about the curse her daughter cast?” Snow asked.

“Ah, yes, of course. She did explain the significance of the wardrobe ashes. So, you were caught up in it and didn’t age, while your daughter was sent to the Land Without Magic by herself, essentially an orphan.”

Emma’s eyes flitted over to him at the reminder of the words he had spoken to her on the beanstalk. “Do we really have to listen to you talk the whole way? I’m trying to concentrate on how I’m going to make my magic work once we get there.”

“I shall endeavor to give you the silence you request, Princess,” Hook said with a slight bow.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered under her breath.

“As you wish, Emma.”

She glared at him, eliciting a smirk before he turned his attention back to the path in front of them. They walked on in silence for a while, until Snow quietly said, “The lake wasn’t completely dried up when we reached it, you know.”

“Why couldn’t it save my grandmother, then?” Emma asked.

When Snow didn’t answer for a few moments, Emma looked over, her brow furrowing when she saw that her mother was obviously struggling with her emotions. Her chin trembled and Emma could see the glistening of tears in her eyes. Finally, she whispered, “Because she insisted that I take the swallow of water left to reverse the curse of barrenness King George put on me. If she hadn’t…well…you wouldn’t be here.”

There was silence between the three of them as they pondered that revelation.

“Then you and David were married on the shore of the lake, right?” Emma asked, seeking to lift the somberness of the moment.

“Yes,” Snow smiled slightly. “Lancelot married us, so Ruth could witness it before she passed.”

“That’s quite the romantic tale, Milady,” Hook murmured.

“What would you know about romance?” Emma mumbled.

Hook’s eyes snapped to hers and she saw a flash of hurt in them. Remembering what he said about Milah when they were at the top of the beanstalk, she immediately regretted her words and was opening her mouth to apologize, when he cleared his throat and responded, “I’ve wooed many a woman, Swan. Perhaps you desire to be one of them.”

Although she could tell he was using the innuendo to mask his true feelings, she couldn’t keep herself from retorting, “In your dreams, buddy.”

He turned and took a step closer to her, bending until his face was within inches of hers. “Since it appears that you’re amenable, I will see you in my dreams, Swan.”

“I think we’re almost there,” Snow stated, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption.

Hook gave her one more meaningful look before turning and glancing around their surroundings. “Aye, you’re correct. It should be just around that bend in the road.”

They finished the journey in silence. Once they reached the edge of what obviously used to be the lake, Hook came to a stop in the soft sand, halting Snow and Emma in their tracks. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Well, this is it. Time to work your magic, Swan.”

“You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” she grumbled, her eyes flitting over the barren ground in front of them.

Snow stepped up beside her and took her hand. “I believe there is powerful magic inside you, Emma. No one has ever been able to defeat Cora like you did. You don’t need to fill the lake, all you need to do is generate enough water to restore the bean.”

“Yeah, okay,” Emma answered, widening her stance and setting her jaw in determination. She closed her eyes, picturing her son and father in her mind. A tingling sensation worked itself up from her chest, down her arms and to her fingertips. Stretching her arms out in front of her, she felt the sensation build until she was sure it was ready to burst, then thrust her hands forward.

She heard her mother gasp beside her, but Emma kept her eyes closed, afraid to open them for fear it hadn’t worked. Suddenly, she felt Hook’s presence beside her. “Well done, Love,” he murmured into her ear, sending a different type of tingle through her body.

Her eyes popped open, her knees nearly buckling as she beheld the sparking blue water of the lake, filled so completely that the water lapped at the toes of her boots.

“You did it, Emma!” Snow exclaimed. “I knew you could!”

As Emma continued to stare in disbelief, Hook once again pulled the string containing the magic bean over his head. Holding it out to Emma, he asked, “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, snapping out of her trance to take it. Bending down, she dipped the black, shriveled bean into the water, waiting a few seconds before pulling it out.

Snow gave a little cheer when the crystal clear bean emerged, fully restored. When Hook reached for it, Emma pulled it back. Slipping the string over her head, she said, “I think I’ll hold onto this, if you don’t mind.”

Once again, she caught a quick glimpse of hurt pass over his face before he composed himself and replied, “As you wish.”

“What’s the next part of the plan?” Emma asked.

“Now,” Hook replied, “we sail to Storybrooke on my ship, the Jolly Roger.”

“Of course we do,” mumbled Emma. “Why am I not surprised?”

*********

Hook decided to use the bean to create a portal and, in a surprising show of generosity, gave the vial of ashes from the wardrobe to Mary Margaret ‘for the sake of nostalgia.’

“I had no idea you had such a soft side,” Emma commented.

“I don’t,” he was quick to reply. “Just don’t have any need for sparkly dirt.”

Emma could tell he wasn’t being completely truthful, but decided getting to Henry was more important than questioning him.

He quickly got the ship ready to sail and they were soon out at sea, dropping into a portal that looked like a whirlpool. It was the middle of the night by the time they reached Storybrooke.

“It’s been a pleasure to travel on such a beautiful ship!” Mary Margaret proclaimed.

“Aye, my ship - she’s a marvel,” Hook agreed proudly, guiding the Jolly Roger into the harbor.

“I can’t believe you were able to sail it without a crew,” Emma said.

“I’m a hell of a captain,” he smirked. “Besides, I had the two of you to help and you were fast learners. You’re welcome to join my crew.”

“Don’t count on it,” Emma mumbled.

“Pity, that,” Hook commented. “I could take you on exciting adventures, show you exotic places that are beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I’ve had enough adventure in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Right now the only place I want to be is with my son.”

Hook hummed, nodding his understanding as he expertly maneuvered the ship into a berth. As soon as it was docked and he dropped the gangplank, Emma and Mary Margaret hastily thanked him and wasted no time disembarking and hurrying down the street.

Hook stood alone, watching them until they disappeared around a corner. Even without Emma in his line of view, he could still see her in his mind’s eye, blonde locks flying behind her as she ran, her lithe body moving effortlessly.

Mentally shaking himself, he tried to force his thoughts toward how he was going to exact his revenge on the crocodile. He had been waiting for this opportunity for over two hundred years, and now it was within his grasp.

So why was winning the affections of the feisty Emma Swan suddenly more important?

*********

Storybrooke was an enigma to Hook. It was nothing like the Enchanted Forest, but some of the same laws of magic still applied. Even though they were in the ‘Land Without Magic’, magic had somehow found its way there, and the Dark One was still the Dark One, with the same power and immortality.

Hook had trouble reconciling the fact that the distinguished-looking Mr. Gold was the persona adopted by the evil imp, Rumplestiltskin. Yet, as he spied on the man day after day, he could see that he exhibited the same despicable and selfish tendencies when interacting with the residents of the town.

He was stunned to learn the Dark One had a lady love - Belle French, the beautiful, mannerly librarian. When Rumplestiltskin was with her, his behavior was entirely different, and Hook could tell she had won his heart. This knowledge helped him hatch a plan that was sure to destroy the crocodile’s life, just as he had destroyed Hook’s.

By listening carefully to snippets of conversations while he covertly roamed around Storybrooke, he learned no one could cross the town line. Rumplestiltskin, however, had apparently found a way around that little problem.

While gathering that information, Hook also kept an eye on Emma Swan. It turned out she was the town’s law enforcement, so was often out on the streets. He watched her from a distance and felt a pang of jealousy every time he saw her with a handsome, sandy-haired man, until the day he saw the same man with Mary Margaret and realized he must be Emma’s father.

He also saw her with the boy he assumed was her son. It felt odd to have a sense of pride at being able to help reunite the two. The lad didn’t seem to be any worse for the wear, having nearly lost his mother and grandmother. He was always speaking animatedly to Emma as they strolled down the sidewalk together.

Hook had been able to avoid contact with Regina thus far. He was hoping not to have to explain his role in her mother’s death. Her relationship with Cora was contentious, but she was still Regina’s mother and he was sure to be the recipient of her wrath and perhaps a fireball or two.

His stealth as a pirate served him well, and he was able to elude being noticed by the crocodile. However, hiding the Jolly Roger was a completely different matter. He knew his ship was too visible in Storybrooke harbor, but he needed her to be at his disposal. He finally settled on docking her around the bend at a rocky outcropping where she would be concealed, while allowing him access via a secluded section of beach that seemed to be ignored by the citizens of the town.

The day Rumplestiltskin planned to cross the town line finally arrived. Hook hid himself amongst the trees along the road early that morning, unsure of when the attempt would be made. He checked and re-checked the gun he managed to pilfer from the sheriff’s station. It was similar to the pistols he used for centuries, but was smaller and easier to handle. After watching Emma using one to shoot target practice in the middle of the woods one day, he knew it would be much more efficient than his hook in reaching his objective.

When Hook heard one of those odd contraptions called a car approaching, he made sure the gun was ready to fire and got into position behind a large tree. He watched Rumplestiltskin and Belle exit the vehicle and step toward the town line. Belle held a shawl in her hands that Hook recognized as one Milah made, and Rumplestiltskin held a potion bottle. Hook saw him speaking to Belle, but wasn’t close enough to hear what he was saying. The way she stood there gazing at him as if he hung the moon turned Hook’s stomach.

Rumplestiltskin took the stopper out of the bottle and poured the potion on the shawl, then tossed the bottle away. Hook saw the fabric glowing as Belle placed it around Rumplestiltskin’s neck.

“Here we go,” he said, then slowly limped over the town line. Turning, he hesitated for a long moment, then pointed at the auburn-haired beauty and said simply, “Belle.”

She let out a joyful laugh and said, “It worked!” Taking his hand, she added, “Now you can find your son.”

Just as Rumplestiltskin began to respond, Hook stepped out from behind the tree.

“This is for you, Milah,” he whispered, then pulled the trigger.

Belle’s scream ripped through the air as Rumplestiltskin stepped quickly over the line to catch her before she fell. Looking up, his eyes filled with rage at seeing his old nemesis. “What have you done?” he screamed. “Belle has done nothing to you!”

“I can’t kill the Dark One, but I can kill the woman who holds your heart. You killed my love. Now you know the feeling.”

Rumplestiltskin turned his attention back to Belle, searching for her injury. Meanwhile, Hook started walking back through the woods, intending to return to his ship and sail away, his revenge complete.

He was on the outskirts of town when he heard the sounds of what he had learned were sirens. His smile of satisfaction faded, knowing Emma would soon find out about his murderous act. She was sure to disapprove. Apparently in this modern world, scores weren’t settled with a life for a life.

Hook finally reached his ship and went aboard. He was in the process of readying it to sail when he heard a familiar voice.

“Going somewhere, Hook?”

Walking across the deck, he looked over the side. The light from the moon illuminated the blonde hair of Emma Swan, who was standing on the beach below.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?” he asked non-chalantly.

“You do know it’s against the law to shoot someone, don’t you?”

“In the Enchanted Forest, it’s called vengeance.”

“In Storybrooke, it’s called attempted murder.”

Hook’s brows shot up. “Attempted?”

“Oh, are you disappointed you didn’t succeed in killing an innocent woman? You shot her in the shoulder. She’s been taken to the hospital, but she’s expected to be fine.”

“Bloody hell,” Hook mumbled, pounding his fist on the wooden railing.

“Are you going to come down here or do I have to come onboard?”

He decided to try turning on the charm. “Why Swan, are you seducing me?”

“You’re not funny, buddy. Belle isn’t only a citizen of this town, she’s also my friend. Now, I’m not asking, I’m ordering. Get down here right now. You’re under arrest.”

Hook sighed. He knew if he tried to sail away, he would appear to be a coward. Might as well face the music. “Very well,” he said, starting to saunter over to the gangplank.

“And bring the gun you stole from the sheriff’s office. You’ll be charged with theft for that, too.”

Hook briefly wondered how she found out about that, but didn’t ask. Being such a brilliant lass, he was sure she figured it out on her own.

She met him at the bottom of the gangplank, a set of handcuffs in her hand. “Hands behind your back,” she instructed gruffly.

“Is that really necessary? I’ll come along peacefully.”

“It’s standard procedure,” she said, encouraging him to turn around by tugging on his arm.

Once the cuffs were firmly around his wrist and the brace holding his hook, she patted him down until she found the gun in the deep pocket of his long duster. Holding it up in front of him, she snarled, “I can’t believe you stole a gun from the police. When did you manage to do that?”

“I can’t give away all of my secrets, Swan.”

“Fine, but you’ll have plenty of time to reconsider. You’re gonna be locked up for a long time,” she stated, giving him a not so gentle shove to get him moving.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, throwing her a look over his shoulder.

“You should count yourself lucky that you’ll be locked up. Gold is furious and if he gets to you, it’s hard to tell what he’ll do.”

“I’m not afraid of the bloody crocodile,” Hook said, a sardonic grin on his face.

“Keep smiling, buddy. You’re under arrest and handcuffed. He’s on his feet, immortal, has magic and you hurt his girl. If I were to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.”

Hook turned away from her and continued trudging along the beach. Neither of them spoke again until they reached the squad car. After locking him in the back, Emma seated herself behind the wheel and picked up the radio. “I have the suspect in custody,” she reported. “I’ll be at the station in five minutes.”

Once they arrived, David came out of the building and opened the back door. Grabbing Hook by the arm, he roughly pulled him out of the car. Keeping an iron grip on him, he led him into the station, Emma following along behind.

“Any news on Belle?” she asked.

“Whale took her in for surgery a little while ago. He said he would update us when he’s finished.”

“Is Gold at the hospital?”

“Yeah. I asked Leroy to hang around and let us know if he leaves. I’m sure once he finds out Hook is locked up here, he’ll be paying us a visit.”

“Good idea. I’m sure Leroy won’t mind being our informant.” Holding up the gun, she added, “Got this back. I’ll tag it for evidence.”

“Think you’re pretty clever stealing a gun from the police and using it to shoot an innocent woman, don’t you, Hook?” David said, practically spitting the last word at him.

“I’m usually a better shot, but I’m not used to such a small weapon,” Hook quipped. “My weapons are much bigger and have better accuracy.”

“Why didn’t you just use one of them, then?” Emma asked, stepping behind the camera to take his mugshot.

“Alas, I failed to procure more ammunition before embarking on our trip to your fair Storybrooke.”

David positioned him in front of the wall, instructing him to look at the camera. He glowered as Emma took the first picture. “Turn to your right,” she ordered.

“You look good, I must say. All ‘turn to your right’ in a commanding voice. Chills,” Hook commented as he followed her directions.

Emma rolled her eyes before clicking the button on the camera.

After the pictures were finished, David unlocked the handcuffs, telling Hook to take off his heavy coat, which he did without complaint. However, when Emma told him to remove his hook, he balked.

“No arguments,” Emma commanded. “You’ll pick the lock with that thing.”

He glared at her for several moments, but it made no difference. She stood there with her hand out, staring him down until he finally twisted the device out of the brace and begrudgingly placed it in her palm.

Soon he was escorted into one of the jail cells and the door slammed shut behind him. “I’ll take the first watch,” Emma told David. “You go home to Mary Margaret and tell Henry I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” David asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he gave Hook a hard stare. “I’d be happy to stay here and let you go home to get some sleep.”

“It’s no problem. I’m too wound up to sleep, anyway.”

“Or you could both go home,” Hook stated. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Yeah, like I would trust you,” Emma spat.

“Okay, I’m taking off. If he gives you any trouble, call me. I’ll be more than willing to punch him in the face,” David said.

“Quite hostile, aren’t you?” Hook drawled, casually leaning against the bars examining his fingernails nonchalantly.

“Just making myself clear,” David responded. Turning back to Emma, he added, “If I hear anything from Whale or Leroy, I’ll let you know, but they will probably call the station first.”

“True. I’ll text you if they do.”

“Text?” Hook questioned.

“It’s a way of communicating through the phone,” she explained, waving the device in the air to show him. “Something a thousand-year-old pirate wouldn’t understand.”

“More like three hundred,” Hook grumbled.

David and Emma said their goodbyes, then she sat down in the desk chair, swiveling it back and forth as she crossed her arms and fixed Hook with a stare. “So let me get this straight - your idea of getting revenge on Rumplestiltskin was to steal a gun and shoot his girlfriend, then sail away?”

“As you’re well aware, the Dark One can’t be killed. I wanted him to know the pain of losing a woman he loved. That pain is worse than death.”

“From what you said at the top of the beanstalk, I surmised he killed the woman you loved. ”

“Aye, my Milah. He pulled her heart out and crushed it right in front of me.”

Emma winced. “No wonder you hate the guy. What did you do to him to make him do something like that?”

Hook wandered over and sat on the cot, leaning back against the wall and crossing his own arms. “Well, you see, Milah was Rumplestiltskin’s wife, but she left him because he was a coward. The laughing stock of the town. She couldn’t take it anymore and ran away with me to live a life of adventure on the high seas.”

“You were either brave or stupid to fall in love with the Dark One’s wife.”

“He wasn’t the Dark One when I fell in love with her.”

Before Emma could answer, the phone sitting on the desk began ringing. “Sheriff’s station,” she answered.

Hook listened to her side of the conversation, watching her furrow her brow and nod. After she hung up, she said, “That was Whale. Belle is out of surgery. The bullet came out clean and she’s going to be fine.”

“Is she in pain at least?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Belle is sweet and would never hurt anyone.”

“Neither would Milah,” he shot back.

“Still, don’t you feel at all guilty about shooting Belle when she didn’t do anything wrong?”

“She fell in love with the bloody Dark One! She should thank me for trying to put her out of her misery.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t feel any remorse. You are a pirate, after all,” she scoffed with disdain.

A flash of hurt passed across his face before he huffed, “Aye, that I am.”

Emma placed a call to David to tell him the news about Belle. After ending it, she and Hook fell into silence. He lay down on the lumpy, narrow cot, dramatically punching at the pillow with his fist, then closed his eyes to make a pretense of falling asleep. Every time he cracked open his eyes to peek at Emma, she was staring at him.

“See something you like, Swan?” he finally asked.

“No. I just see someone who can’t be trusted.”

“So you plan to remain awake all night to make sure I won’t escape?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Rest assured, Darling, I have no way to escape this cell. You can go to sleep.”

“Actually,” she said, standing up and striding over to a file cabinet, “I have a lot of paperwork to fill out because of your little stunt tonight. Might as well put this time to good use.”

Sitting back down at the desk, she pulled out a pen and started writing. Hook watched her for a few minutes until he got bored, then closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. He dreamed that Milah was lying on the deck of the Jolly Roger in the exact spot where she died, sobbing and telling him that he failed her again.

*********

When Hook woke up the next morning, David was sitting at the desk, playing solitaire with a deck of cards.

“So that’s what you look like when you don’t get your beauty sleep, Swan,” Hook quipped.

David didn’t even look up. “I see sleep doesn’t improve your ability to be funny.”

Hook sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot, looking around the cell. “I don’t suppose you have a chamber pot available, do you mate?”

“No chamber pots and I’m not your mate,” David said, pushing himself away from the desk. “I can let you use the bathroom, but if you try anything…” he patted the gun in the holster he was wearing.

“I wasn’t asking to take a bath, sheriff,” Hook said, over emphasizing the last word. “I just need a pot to piss in.”

“A bathroom is where you do that in the modern world, pirate,” David retorted. “Haven’t you heard of a toilet?”

“Can’t say that I have since I’ve only been in this world for a few days. How long did it take you to adjust to all of the changes?”

David unlocked the cell door and swung it open, reaching in to firmly grip Hook’s arm. “I don’t know. I was in a coma for twenty-eight years.”

Hook gaped at him as he stumbled out of the cell. “I suppose that was Regina’s doing?”

“Yeah, She also provided me with a wife, and it wasn’t Snow.”

“She really had it in for the two of you, didn’t she?”

“The three of us, actually. We were forced to send Emma to this world just minutes after she was born in order for her to escape the coming curse. We hoped she would be able to find us and break it someday.”

“And she did,” Hook stated knowingly.

“Of course she did. And besides that, the first day she ever handled a sword, she slayed a dragon,” David said, puffing his chest out proudly. “In case you haven’t noticed, my daughter is the strongest, bravest, most intelligent person you will ever meet.”

“I have noticed, believe me,” Hook muttered.

They reached the bathroom and David gave him a small push inside, then closed the door behind him. After a moment, he called out, “The toilet is the thing with the water in it. Don’t pee in the sink!”

*********

Hook was surprised Emma didn’t come into the station that morning. Ruby arrived to deliver breakfast from Granny’s for David and Hook, but otherwise, it was just the two men ignoring each other.

It was almost noon when Leroy burst into the office, spouting something about Gold running off to New York City. None of it concerned Hook, who was happy to hear the crocodile would be leaving town, until he heard the dwarf mention Emma.

“Why would Emma go anywhere with him?” David asked, launching himself out of his chair.

“Gold said she has to help him because he doesn’t know how airports work,” Leroy explained. “He said if she won’t, he’s going to come here and kill Hook.”

“What’s the downside of that?” David asked.

“Hey!” Hook protested.

“I’m going to go home and try to talk some sense into her,” David said, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Can you stay here and keep an eye on him?”

“Gladly,” Leroy growled, glowering at Hook. “If he tries anything, do I have permission to shoot him?”

“He won’t try anything, will you, Hook?”

“I wouldn’t dare, after being threatened by a dwarf,” Hook responded derisively. He watched David sprint out of the station, hoping he would be able to talk Emma out of the insane idea of traveling with Rumplestiltskin.

Leroy plopped into the chair David had vacated, crossing his arms across his chest with a furious look on his face. Hook wasn’t in the mood to deal with the dwarf, so he lay down on the cot, turning to face the wall.

He had no idea how much time passed before he heard David come back. He continued to pretend to be asleep, hoping to hear information about Emma.

“Did he give you any trouble?” the sheriff asked.

“Nope. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. Must not have wanted to tangle with me, because he hasn’t said a peep.”

Hook rolled his eyes so hard, it was almost painful.

“Were you able to talk your daughter out of the cockamamie idea of going to New York with Gold?” Leroy continued.

Hook’s blood froze at David’s next words. “No. She’s as stubborn as the day is long. They’re on their way to the airport right now. Henry is staying with us until she gets back.”

“Do you think she’s safe with him?” Leroy asked.

“The only consolation I have is that he needs her to drive him there and navigate the process of flying. He won’t gain anything by hurting her.”

In theory, Hook knew that was true. But he also knew the Dark One tricks and the Dark One lies. He didn’t put anything past Rumplestiltskin. His mind began churning with ideas for how to break out of jail and get to Emma before something happened to her. If he had to kill Rumplestiltskin to accomplish that, so much the better.

While David and Leroy continued to talk, Hook formulated a plan.

The first step was accomplished shortly after Leroy left, when Ruby delivered lunch from the diner. While David was occupied chatting with the waitress, Hook used a large hairpin he kept in his pocket to help him pull the small buttons of his shirt through the buttonholes, to pick the lock of the cell. It wasn’t easy doing it with one hand, but he managed in a relatively short amount of time.

“I’m going to wash my hands, then I’ll give you your lunch,” David announced, turning his back to walk toward the bathroom. Hook slipped out of the cell, immediately going for the crowbar he had noticed sitting in a corner of the room. Stealthily, he moved to stand outside the bathroom door with the weapon raised in his hand.

When David emerged a minute later, Hook clocked him, muttering, “Apologies, mate, but if you aren’t going to ensure your daughter’s safety, I guess it’s up to me.”

Stepping over David’s unconscious form, he went to the desk and started opening drawers. Finding his hook in the bottom one, he clicked it into place, grabbed his heavy duster from the coat rack and left the station.

After making it down Main Street by ducking and dodging into alleys and behind dumpsters, he arrived at Gold’s Pawn Shop. He made quick work of picking the lock on the back door, entering quietly and starting his search.

He soon found the case where Gold kept his potions and poisons. The bottle filled with a thick, inky liquid drew his attention. He carefully unstoppered and sniffed it. Finding it to be exactly what he was hoping to procure, he stuck it into the deep pocket of his coat and rushed back out the door.

The trip to the Jolly Roger was without incident or coming into contact with any of the townsfolk. Since it was made ready to sail the night before, he was out on the open water in record time, sailing toward the mysterious land of New York.

*********

Thank you for reading. Please join me in wishing Krystal the happiest of birthdays!

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[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Cold as Stone” {CS three shot ff}

I originally wrote this less than a week before "Once" returned for season four. The show didn’t go this way with the Snow Queen arc, but I couldn't get how heart wrenching and dramatic it would be out of my mind, so I had to give this a shot.  In a way, I’m almost glad it didn’t go in this vein (though it would have been more true to the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale) but it would have HURT to watch...

{3 part canon divergence pre-Season 4}

Also available on AO3 or ff.net, if that’s your preference...

Summary: His heart - always so warm and open to her - has been frozen, and the Savior will have to truly thaw hers as well for a chance to get him back. 

i.

She should have known something was wrong the first time he didn't answer her call.

True, he was a one-handed, 300-year-old pirate to whom cellular technology was quite the foreign concept, more than a bit tricky to master, and strangely off-putting for one so fond of hearing his own voice – Emma Swan smirked to herself at that one – but Henry had gladly taken to showing him how the "blasted contraption", as Killian referred to it, was operated and the many things it could do. When Captain Hook had finally cottoned on to the fact that he could speak to her – and ask her questions, annoy her, lob unending innuendos at her – even when they were apart, his protests against his own cell phone had ceased.

Since then, he had never failed to answer the phone for her calls – often before it could even reach a second ring. The fact that she had called him half a dozen times in the last three hours with no response or call back, and that David hadn't seen him either, was not lost on Emma. She hated that she had tried him so many times, that she was frantic to find him, and that the panic was churning in her stomach as she slammed back out of Granny's – the last in her line of Killian's haunts where he was nowhere to be found. She did not want to be that needy type of girl she had always despised. Yet she couldn't let it go. At that point, she sensed something wrong – simply felt it in the same way that one senses she is being snuck up on from behind or that a storm is coming even before the first rumble of thunder.

The brisk bite to the air as she plowed down the street again only worsened the chill of foreboding in her gut. It might have been autumn in New England, but it was downright icy, and much too cold for September. She tried to bury her chin into the collar of her coat and think of another place to look for her erstwhile pirate, when right up ahead of her on the street, Killian Jones himself strolled around the corner of the building – leisurely, unconcerned – and not at all appearing to be looking for her.

Emma stormed toward him, feeling as though there might be actual steam pouring from her ears. She was so ridiculously worried about him – thinking some new baddie had come out of the woodwork and taken him as their first victim, that he had electrocuted himself by getting his hook caught in the toaster, or that he had been hurt, or lost… She wanted to smack him upside the head for making her so crazy, or handcuff him to her so he couldn't disappear on her again. It would serve him right for standing there looking so smug, so unfairly gorgeous, and as if he had not a care in the world.

"Something I can do for you, Lass?" he asked blithely, a devilish smirk quirking his lips. "You're staring."

It was only then that Emma realized there was something strangely off about her sailor. His voice and manner were as effortlessly flirtatious as ever, but the light in his smile was absent. The love and concern behind the play, the things that made him her Killian as well as the consummate pirate rogue, were somehow missing. While his ocean eyes usually reminded her of flames hot enough to burn blue, now they were crystalline shards of ice. A stranger was looking back at her from behind them. Emma's breath caught, and she stumbled backward as if she had been struck in the chest.

He looked at her with puzzled curiosity, but not the immediate desire to help or make it better that she had finally come to depend on from him. It was Killian…and yet, it wasn’t him at all. "Should I know you, Darling?" he said harmlessly. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

And that did it; she shook her head blindly as tears began to fall, already freezing on her cheeks in the cold, while she pressed her hand against her mouth to hold back the cry of anguish.

Yes, she should have known something was wrong, but how could she have imagined this? Her True Love was standing right in front of her…but he no longer knew her at all.

ii.

Emma stood frozen to her spot until David came squealing up in his truck, peeling in behind where she had parked the cruiser. She had not moved or hardly breathed since Killian walked away. He had disappeared down the street again when she was unable to speak around the panic and hurt rising in her and clawing up her throat. Seemingly oblivious to her distress, or even unconcerned, which was so unlike him it made the trauma worse, he had headed off, bidding her farewell and turning his back without another glance.

"Emma!" David's voice was taut and intense as he ran up to her, seeing the expression on her face and immediately pulling her into his arms. He could see that she was not in physical danger, but that something had struck her hard; whatever had happened, the damage was already done. "What is it?! Did you find Hook?"

The dam against her emotions broke at his words, and Emma leaned into her father's strength, crying on his shoulder as she had never been able to do growing up. He shushed her hiccupping sobs, cradled the back of her head in his hand, and swayed them both from side to side soothingly. Gradually, Emma brought herself back under control and pulled away, wiping the tears from her face and still sniffling, but aware once more that they were in the middle of the street and she was falling apart. This letting people in allowed her to feel so much more than she used to, but at that moment it was coming back to bite her, and she wasn't sure what to do with the empty, brittle ache in her chest and the shocked disbelief at what had just happened.

Her dad wanted answers, and Emma could tell it was taking every bit of his restraint not to press her for details. Finally, she drew enough of a steadying breath to nod and try to fill him in. "He was here," she confirmed, then faltered, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood in order not to cry again. She had done enough of that already to last her another decade, "but it – it wasn't really him."

She shook her head, knowing that couldn't make much sense, but not sure how else to put what she had experienced into words. Something had happened to her pirate, and she wasn't sure if they could right the wrong. She only knew she had to think of something. Unless…unless he really had put up with enough, gotten tired of waiting on her, of taking it slow, reassuring her at every turn, and …he truly intended to walk away –just as she had always feared he would.

David couldn't actually know her thoughts, but it seemed he read his daughter's mood just then, grasping Emma's arm to brace her and interrupt her torturous train of thought. "Emma, honey, you aren't making sense. Just take me back through what happened. What do you mean, he was here, but it wasn't him?"

Managing at last to shake her head clear and focus, Emma told herself that it was something more than her pirate changing his mind. Killian would not simply forget the feelings he had professed for her and leave. That gave her enough momentum to snap back to business. Taking a moment to square her shoulders and meet David's eye, she reiterated, "It was him…but he didn't seem to know me at all. There was no feeling there…no hint that he recognized me or felt what we are to each other."

David reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but didn't immediately try to coddle or brightly reassure her – for which Emma was grateful. This was not okay, and no amount of well-meant but empty words would change that.

"He was just so cold," Emma continued, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper and almost carrying away on the frigid breeze. "It was like he had completely forgotten he loves me, and I was nobody special to him at all." She pursed her lips and looked away, partially scanning the near distance for anything amiss, and partly just to avoid her father's knowing gaze. She didn't want to make him feel any guiltier than he already did for how alone in the world she had been, how many times she had been hurt and betrayed, and just how easy it was for her to believe a loved one could turn his back and abandon her.

The Prince's steady voice pulled her back and helped brace her. "Okay, here's what we'll do. I'm going to call Regina. We'll see if she has any knowledge of a curse that makes one forget or alters personality. I know we've discussed this before, but I still can't help thinking this is all related to whoever or whatever is causing the drastic shift in weather. We know it isn't Elsa – she's really coming along on her control with Regina tutoring her – but that doesn't mean some other newcomer hasn't slipped in while we were distracted."

Emma gave him a curt nod of agreement before adding wryly, "Better you than me. Ever since the whole fiasco with Robin and Marian, Regina's barely civil to me, even when Henry's present. Otherwise, she pretty much pretends I don't exist."

Her dad gave her a grim half-smile, hand on her shoulder as he held her gaze. "It will work out, Emma. Somehow, it will work out."

She rolled her eyes, but managed to smirk back before retorting, "You and Mom are both ridiculously hopeful. You know that, right?"

"Comes with who we are."

She snorted inelegantly, but managed a nod.

"In all seriousness," Charming said, sobering again, and using the 'dad' voice that let her know how in earnest he was. "I once had to hear Snow tell me she didn't love me, that I meant nothing to her, and watch her turn her back on me. I almost gave up on us, until I was reminded how priceless what we share truly is and made the decision to keep fighting for True Love. I'll admit I had my doubts about Hook at first – he is a pirate – but I can tell you now, I haven't seen someone as in love with a woman as he is with you in a long time. Don't let yourself doubt that. There’s more going on here than we know."

His words did their job, though Emma found herself trying to blink back tears again. "Okay," she whispered, "I'll try to borrow a little of your faith."

She was heading back towards the cruiser awaiting what David would find out from his call to Regina before she went out on patrol and tried to figure where she might find Killian, when Ruby came bustling out of the diner and made a beeline for her.

"Didn't I see Hook out here with you a minute ago?" she asked breathlessly, an artfully sculpted brow arched in confusion. "He practically left a standing order for one of these anytime he comes by," she added by way of explanation and pressed a warm to-go cup into Emma's hand.

"He – he was here," Emma stated obviously, a bit dumbfounded by Ruby's usual quick exuberance. "I'm not sure where he went though. …What is this?"

"Hot Caramel Apple Cider," Ruby supplied with a fond grin tilting her red lips. "He was in here a week or so ago, getting coffee for you, David, and himself at the station. He overheard Henry and Grace ordering them, and he was curious, so he tried one. Then I think he ended up having two more. Said it was the best drink he'd encountered since his first taste of rum. Pretty adorable really."

Emma returned Ruby's playful grin, in spite of all the other thoughts whirling in her mind. "Yup," she added with a gleam of mischief fleeting through her otherwise tense expression. "The dread pirate Captain Hook has quite a sweet tooth." Emma's heart panged at the sense of familiarity she had come to feel with her pirate, and Ruby leaned forward; either the she-wolf's sixth sense had allowed her to pick up on something, or she had caught some trace of how Emma's face must have fallen at wondering if their True Love connection was gone.

David had just hung up the phone saying, "Okay, I'll tell her," and started back toward them, when the ache in Emma's chest suddenly intensified tenfold, doubling her over. Crying out at the abrupt, slicing pain, she clutched at her heart.

Ruby stepped closer to support her when she stumbled, and David rushed back to her side, crying out in alarm, but Emma could hardly tell what was going on around her. Her vision narrowed and her surroundings faded out, to the point that her only focus was the throbbing sensation in her chest. She almost went to her knees, gasping for breath, then the sensation ebbed a bit and she opened her eyes to see David and Ruby surrounding her worriedly.

She was about to take their offered hands and let them pull her to her feet when she was nearly crushed by the memory that invaded her thoughts. In Henry's book, she had read the story of Snow White taking the poisoned apple from Regina and eating it willingly to save Charming's life. More than that though, she remembered how miles away and unaware of what was happening, in the dungeon cell of Regina's prison, Charming had felt the life leave his True Love and fallen to the cold, hard floor, clutching his chest as if he himself had been the one cursed.

Panic replaced the hurt and indecision Emma had felt previously as she grabbed her father's forearms in a desperate grip and choked out her fears. If she and Killian were the same, if they were True Loves as well, something horrible had just happened. No matter what he felt or remembered; he had just been struck a fatal blow. She had to get to him, no matter what happened after.

~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0

Killian Jones came back to himself as if from some hypnotic daze. Glancing around, he realized that he had no idea where he was or how he had reached his current location. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he was in some sort of gigantic snow fort, so vast he couldn’t even see the far wall. He only knew that behind him rose a pristine, flawless partition of freezing white. He shivered on reflex, before realizing that he was almost beyond sensation. He knew he must be cold; he was only wearing his open-necked black shirt and leather vest and duster. Yet, though common sense would insist he should be freezing, he honestly felt nothing at all.

It was troubling enough that his natural curiosity was overridden by the immediate desire to get out and get back to town. His thoughts were fuzzy and sluggish at best, but he knew there were people there who would surely explain to him what was going on; in fact, yes, there was one in particular… A flash of golden tresses and crackling green eyes darted through his mind and escaped again before it could solidify or he could put a name to the vision, but he knew. His lass…his love…he needed to get back to her…

Striding forward, he was nearly thrown back when he smacked into a solid barrier of ice. It had been completely transparent and invisible until he touched it, and Killian reached out, disbelieving, until his fingers slid along the glassy face of the obstruction. "What bloody sorcery is this?!" he swore to himself, pushing against the wall only to find that it would not budge in the slightest. He took two steps back, then bodily threw himself against the blockade, but it did no good. Not even a crack appeared. Growing desperate, the pirate began to pace his crystal prison, seeking another way out and growing more angry and frantic by the moment. She was worried about him; he could tell. He needed to reach her, whoever she was, and he needed to get out of this white fortress. He did not know how he had ended up here in the first place, but it was unnatural and he wanted no more of it.

He swung his hook forward, hoping to stab the metal tip in deep enough to shatter the sheet of ice, or at least put a crack in the surface, but it merely gouged in and stuck. Killian was struggling to free his metal appendage when an eerie, trilling laugh blew past him on the wind. Looking left and right, he still saw no one, but a strange, disembodied female voice followed the laughter. "My my," the ghostly speech lilted, "aren't you a bit anxious to leave? You're such a handsome one…I think I might keep you a bit longer."

Killian's face twisted in anger and he growled, freeing his hook at last and brandishing it in front of him, though he had no way of knowing where the mysterious being was speaking from. "Show yourself, demon," he challenged. "I'm not a toy or plaything. Let me out of your magic cave."

The strangely light, frighteningly cheery laughter sounded again, tinkling in his ears like icicles against the surface of a frozen lake. "Oh no, I think not," the female tone assured him. "It's been much too long since I've had visitors. We're going to have bit more fun."

Steeling himself for whatever attack must be coming, Killian still saw no visible sign of his captor. He had just relaxed slightly, thinking perhaps she had left him alone again to brood on his fate, when a sudden chill ran down his spine, and ice shards and snow began to whirl in a miniature storm all around him, striking at every bit of his exposed skin. Looking down, he was aghast to see a large, deadly-looking splinter of solid ice impossibly stabbing right through leather, skin and bone into his heart. A paralyzing pain invaded his chest as the wicked spike disappeared within right before his eyes. Numbness set in after the pain, until a second, throbbing ache pulsed through his being, this one distant, almost out of body, but no less debilitating.

His vision began to darken; suddenly the haze that had surrounded him thawed. No longer numb, he was so bitterly cold that he knew he must be dying. He fell against the wall, going helplessly motionless as ice seemed to overtake his body inch by horrible inch, encasing him and freezing over his skin, stealing breath and warmth. One last thought burst through before he went mercifully unaware – one last shot of warmth. Emma! his mind screamed, reminding him who he had needed to get back to, who the second stroke of pain must have belonged to…his True Love. Her name is Emma.

But then there was nothing.

iii.

The pain in Emma's chest had subsided to a dull throb, but she found that her hand kept absently coming up to press against the area as they conferred together and put a plan into action. From David's conversation over the phone with Regina, they at least had a starting point, if nothing else. Apparently, the day before, the mayor and her young princess protégé had been out in the woods, where they had been conducting lessons to harness Elsa's magic, and Regina had thought that something seemed different in the landscape north of the forest's edge. There had always been some hills in the distance a few miles off in that direction, but she had never noticed them looking so large and foreboding before. In fact, one had almost resembled a mountain of ice and snow. She had intended to go back out and investigate, but did not think it wise then, with Elsa in tow, as unstable as the poor young woman's powers were.

It could have nothing to do with Killian's unfathomable behavior, where he had gone, or what had happened to him, but it was all they had to go on. In Emma's experience with Storybrooke and magic, when something odd was going on, it all generally ended up being connected. Her pirate wasn't anywhere else nearby, and she couldn't stand around waiting if the pain that had nearly toppled her had only been an echo of what he had felt. He needed her, and she was not going to fail him. There had been so many times when she was blind to all that Killian had done for her; he had given and sacrificed, patiently waiting for her to see the light and accept the love he had offered her. She often felt in the time since they'd become a couple that she could never repay him, could never express what she felt as he so freely did for her.

Oh, she loved him; she had known that for much longer than she was willing to admit. What was harder was actually telling him so. Confessing that she needed Killian Jones in her life forever, that she would crumble if he left her now, was daunting – and, for Emma – a sight more terrifying than fighting a dragon or facing Peter Pan himself head on. Killian deserved to know his love was fully returned and that he finally had her trust and her whole heart. Yet, though she could sometimes see the wistful need in his eyes, he had never pushed her for the words. She stumbled over them when she attempted it, and stuttered into silence when she tried to tell him how she truly felt. Eventually, Killian would save her from her own floundering, kissing her lips until her babble stopped, and he would assure her that whatever it was she was trying to say, he would wait until she was able to tell him. He wasn't going anywhere.

'You promised me,' she whispered to herself, scrunching her eyes closed and picturing that adoring, perfect face. She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest once more, putting pressure against the dull ache.

She was not waiting around for Regina to come check this out – even if the assistance of the queen's power and experience would make it a much safer and smarter venture. She needed to move – to find Killian now – and she knew Regina would be in no hurry to help her save her pirate and return their happy ending, not when Emma had unknowingly ruined Regina's own second chance. Instead, once all that info had been relayed, she headed for the cruiser, jerked the door open, and was about to head out to that edge of the woods without another moment's thought.

"Emma, wait!" David called. "I'm going with you. There's more…"

"You'd better not think you're leaving me!" Ruby added, coming up beside her dad.

"Guys, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm flying blind here. This has to be dark magic, and I'm sure I should be waiting for Regina's back-up. I don't want anyone else getting hurt for my impatience."

She had known it wouldn't help, but Emma still sighed when David slid into the passenger seat and Ruby scrambled in back.

"Too bad," her father said in a voice that brooked no argument, "you're getting our help anyway."

As they pulled out onto the street and started out of town, Emma listened anxiously to the rest of the information David had gathered from Regina. "She didn't know all the details," he was relating, "but she knew there were many other spells and methods for cursing hearts. She had always seen her mother remove hearts and keep or crush them, which was what Rumple then taught her as well. However, there were rumors in our old land, before she cast the curse that took us all away, of a new queen gaining power in the far north – one that could freeze hearts."

Emma chanced a quick, sidelong glance at her father upon hearing those words, a little gasp escaping her as she pictured again how cold and unfeeling Killian's expression had been in a face that was usually so warm and inviting. "Freeze them?" she questioned. "My common sense wants to ask how that wouldn't kill a person, but I know by now that doesn't really mean much around here."

Ruby let out a tense giggle in the backseat and agreed with her sardonically. "You've got that right for sure. If everyone in Storybrooke were subject to natural injury or aging, there wouldn't be many of us left."

Emma gave Ruby a smirk in the rearview mirror, then turned her attention back to her father. "Know anything else about this Ice Queen?"

David gave a terse nod and continued. "According to Regina, rumors had reached her of people in that area going missing and then reappearing, but treating their loved ones as strangers upon their return. They seemed devoid of feeling or previous connection, but otherwise themselves. It had caused enough of a stir that Regina commented she would have gone to check it out and let this being know who was truly in charge in the realm – if she had been planning to stay. However, she was days from enacting the Dark Curse, so she didn't waste much thought on it, or find out how the thing was being done."

"As per usual," Emma commented, frustrated and feeling no more equipped for what they might be about to face, "if it didn't help her personal agenda, it didn't matter."

By this time, they had reached where the road trailed away at the edge of the woods. Beyond that, the terrain got rougher, the trees thicker, and the road simply carried on no further. Parking and turning off the key in the ignition, Emma drew in a deep, steadying breath, trying to prepare herself and convince her own mind that she knew what she was about to plunge them into. She really had no idea, and for probably the hundredth time since she had begun actively trying to use her light magic, she felt woefully unprepared and inadequate. Trying not to show any of her reservations visibly, she squared her shoulders, stepped out of the cruiser, and looked at her two compatriots hopefully. "Ready?"

"You bet," Ruby nodded, her eyes fierce and stance determined.

"Right beside you," David affirmed seriously.

Emma started forward with a nod at their answers. Though she dreaded taking either of them into a trap with her, or getting either of them hurt if she failed, it was reassuring not to be alone. Pushing her way through the last of the undergrowth and out of the last stand of the tree line, Emma was pulled up short by the sight that met her eyes.

It was like a mountain had grown at their borders overnight. Craning her neck, Emma realized that the white fortress rising in front of her disappeared into the clouds before the top even became visible. David and Ruby tramped up on either side of her and let out similar breathless exclamations of shock as well.

Eerie as it was, Emma now had the distinct feeling that this was right where they needed to be. How or why, she wasn't sure, but this was where she should be to get Killian back; she felt it in the rising hairs along the nape of her neck and the twist in her gut, just as she had felt something wrong that morning when Killian had not answered his phone. This could be their freakin' Snow Queen's palace for all she cared, Emma was going in.

She rested her hand on her gun for reassurance and plunged forward, starting out across a snowy clearing, when she realized David and Ruby were no longer at her sides. Turning, she was stunned and struck with confused apprehension to see that her father and her friend were several feet behind her, pushing against some sort of invisible barrier, unable to come any further forward. Whatever the strange force was, it had not stopped Emma. She hadn't even noticed it, but as she retraced her steps to them, she found that she was now kept within its edges. Though completely transparent, it was as hard and solid as any physical wall, separating her from the other two.

Watching tensely, Emma could see that neither David nor Ruby were hurt or in any distress, other than her father seeming nearly beside himself at being kept from coming to her aid. He was speaking to her, but the sound was muffled by the strange barrier, and she could make out no distinct words, only a garbled murmur that vaguely matched the movement of his lips.

It was just as well; she could tell by his expression that David was telling her to wait, to use her magic to get back to them and regroup; at any rate, Emma knew her father didn't want her continuing on alone. A quick glance at Ruby though, showed Emma that the other woman already knew what she intended to do. There was a calm look of acceptance and understanding on her friend's face that centered Emma and helped steel her resolve. She couldn't wait any longer; she had to get to Killian. Ruby would be with David. He would do the same thing himself if it were Snow in danger. Once he calmed down, David would have to admit that.

Shaking her head and trying to give her father an apologetic look, Emma turned her back and resolutely started toward the gigantic white structure again. It didn't take long to cross the snowy stretch of clearing and reach the foot of the mound, which she could now see resembled a rough sort of citadel, like some giant child had begun a snow fort and then abandoned the task. Looking back, Emma could barely make out David and Ruby, or even the outline of her cruiser, any longer; it seemed instead that she was the only living being now encased in a silent, empty world of white. Tilting her head back, Emma could see how this pristine, glittering edifice towered over her and all the surrounding landscape. It was as if the temperature dropped another twenty degrees at the sheer immensity facing her, and Emma shivered, feeling dwarfed by her own uncertainty and reservations.

She studied the daunting view a moment longer, and it was then that she discovered a fissure a bit to the left of where she stood, appearing just wide enough that she could squeeze through and into the interior of the structure. Squaring her shoulders, and setting her resolve, Emma pictured Killian's smile, his dedication, and the feel of her hand held warm and safe in his larger one, then she plunged in, trying not to think about what might go wrong and focus on the possibility of finding him.

The moment she stepped through the passage and into the frigid cave-like interior, Emma sensed there was no going back; she could feel a sort of tension, a heavy waiting in the air. Darkness closed in as the outside light was blocked, and she squinted, trying to see a way forward. The chill almost stole her breath, and Emma clutched her arms around her torso, attempting to hold in any bit of heat she could, but she wasn't changing course. Her hair stood on end as she debated which way to go; something told her that Killian was there.

She hadn't been long, letting her eyes adjust and straining to see something, anything, that gave her a clue where to go next, when a strange, tinkling, like the glass pieces of a wind chime, reached her ears. Nothing became visible, but an oddly bright, disturbingly playful voice filled the interior of the arctic room and ran shivers down her spine.

"Hello," the spritely, feminine voice trilled, setting Emma's teeth on edge and sounding all too pleased with itself. "So you're the Savior I've heard so much about. We've been waiting for you."

There was a frigid little laugh, humored but brittle enough to shatter easily. Emma was not amused, and the steel in her voice showed it when she replied. "We? Who do you mean? If you're talking about Killian, you had better believe I'm not leaving here without him."

"We shall see…but at least now you will have to play fair. Sorry to block your little helpers, Savior, but I only wanted you."

Shaking her head in disgust, Emma stopped treating with the disembodied voice, as its owner continued to remain invisible and gave the distinct impression of toying with her. She only hoped that her pirate had not already paid a price he wouldn't recover from in the plot to draw her here.

As if her thoughts had been read, enough light to lead her eyes to the opposite wall filtered through the open, cavernous space. "Oh alright, see to your lovely captain. I don't think he will want to leave me, but you can find out for yourself…" Demented little giggles echoed through the air, rebounding sickeningly in Emma's head.

Then, she spotted Killian at last, standing motionless, and she ran to him with a strangled cry before giving another thought. She never even paused or drew a breath until she reached him, finally face to face with her sailor again. However, as soon as she got close, her throat constricted with panic and horror at the sight. Tears that she would not give the unseen witch the pleasure of seeing her shed prickled at the corners of her eyes on taking in Killian's shocking appearance.

While he had appeared fine (other than not knowing her) when she had approached him in town not long ago, Killian now seemed a lifeless statue before her. Emma could not stop the emotion that welled up in her chest as she reached out a hand to touch her love and found his skin chilled, glacially cold, with no rise and fall of air in his chest, not a flicker of life in that lively, beguiling face, no lean into her touch that she had come to adore. It frightened her how the cold seemed to radiate from within, his brow frozen in a defiant but worried tilt, and the blue tinge of Killian's skin. Frost tipped his black hair, making him appear fragile and gray, as old as he truly was.

Emma ignored the frosty bite to her fingers and laid her hand over Killian's cheek, trying to convey that she was there for him, to comfort him, to warm. Though there was no response, she prayed he was aware, that he felt her beside him somehow. He couldn't be…gone. He just couldn't. They had come too far to have their chance at happiness stolen from them now.

"What did you do to him?!" she yelled at the malevolent being who still refused to show her face. Anger flared within Emma, bringing a crackling warmth under her skin against the frigid air. For a moment, she didn't even care if the magic she conjured against this foe was light or dark, and sparks crackled at her fingertips in anticipation of a fight.

"Oh, you don't like him that way?" the enchantress pouted coyly, completely unconcerned with Emma's mounting turmoil. "Pity, because I don't think you will be able to do anything about it. Besides, I like him this way – my own lovely little trophy."

"Why?" Emma gritted out, trying to balance between the rage she felt simmering within her at this villainess and the bile rising in her throat at Hook's still form, which she protectively moved in front of, whether or not it was too late. "What did he ever do to you to deserve this?"

"Oh!" the voice exclaimed, then grew noticeably more malicious than it had yet been. "No, no, dear, you're mistaken. The Captain didn't do anything. He were merely handy, certainly easy on the eyes which makes this all the more delicious, but mostly he was my surest way to get to you. I am the Snow Queen. And now that I am here, the Land Without Magic will be mine – just as the far reaches of the realm your perfect parents and the Evil Queen left behind became mine. It was easy to discover that you are the one who could stand in my way, so I needed you debilitated. One can see clearly that whatever small bits of your shriveled, battered heart still work belong to him. Poor man. It was almost too easy. A well-placed story that your 'motor vehicle' had broken down at the town line, leaving you stranded in this unnaturally cold weather, and he walked right into my grasp." The chortling in that light, airy voice made Emma want to scream; she was sure she could have produced a Regina-worthy fireball to fling at this rival's face, if only she would show herself.

"Why didn't you just come after me?" Emma finally asked, dread filling her that maybe Killian was permanently lost to her and it was all her fault. He had charged right into a trap in his infinite concern for her, and she had been the reason he was targeted in the first place.

"Because…as untapped as it may be, your light magic is powerful…and fueled by love. Rather than take my chances fighting you, it seemed easier to weaken you at the source…your True Love."

Emma gasped in spite of herself. She had thought it many times, come to believe it deep within her soul, but never had the words been uttered aloud. Were she and Killian?…Could it be true? If so, then…

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," the voice tittered. "It won't be that simple. I froze his heart before I froze the rest of him. A kiss won't fix it, because his heart is no longer capable of feeling. The ice within prevents it."

"So what's your plan? Freeze me too and take over the world?" Emma shot back bitterly.

"After I watch you fruitlessly try to restore your love and bask for a moment in my triumph," the Snow Queen continued, voice going deadly calm and intent, "that is exactly what I mean to do. Without the pirate's steadfast faith to back you, you cannot do a thing to stop me."

Emma turned helplessly to face Killian once more, indeed feeling the strength seep out of her at the thought of him no longer caring, no longer existing at all. She studied his unseeing blue eyes and tried to will him to life again. Burying her face in his chest, now hard as literal rock, she let her silent tears flow unabated at last. She was too late; it was all for nothing. Sobs shook her frame as she clung to him, defeated but unwilling – unable – to let him go. He had fought so hard for her, to bring her back, and now… It would have terrified her at any other time to be falling apart this way, the sheer force with which her tears poured forth and how the warm drops soaked his shirt beneath the stiff, frozen leather of his outer coat.

"Killian," she pleaded quietly, not wanting the psychotic witch still laughing with glee behind him to hear. "Please, Killian. Can you hear me? Come back to me…" Emma pressed her face right up against the spot beneath which his heart resided. She tenderly placed a kiss against the chilled skin there, and suddenly realized that, though wet with the traces of her weeping, it was less frozen than the rest of him, and still warming under her touch, thawed by her tears.

Afraid to make a sound and give the Snow Queen a hint of what was happening, Emma kept her face buried against Killian, running her fingers up to stroke through his icy hair, feeling its strands soften again to their normal texture. She kept her eyes carefully hidden, knowing that the spark of hope kindling in them would give her away. The tears still flowed from her unchecked, doing their job, and she could feel his body returning to life under her fingers as she held him to her tightly. Endeavoring to hide his restoration for as long as possible under the pretext of saying her final goodbye, Emma instead moved in close to soothe Killian when he finally regained awareness – knowing he would be immediately confused and on the alert.

Sure enough, only moments later, Emma felt her pirate's muscles jerk and then clench, his lungs sucking in a desperate heave of fresh air, before his eyes quickly flew to meet hers. "Emma, love, what is it? Are you alright?" he asked with enough love and fear for her in his voice to assure Emma that his heart was once again properly his own.

Blinking back the last of her tears, at least for the moment, she only murmured, "I'm about to be," before surging up to mesh her lips with his desperately, passionately, and with everything she felt for him, even what she had never before managed to say.

He let out a surprised little grunt, and her momentum pushed him back into the wall of snow behind them, caught off guard and still trying to catch up to where he was and what was happening. Nevertheless, his arms immediately wrapped around her and his lips fused with hers gladly, drawing her closer and blessedly kissing her back.

A bracing wind whipped up, whirling around them, snatching Emma's hair and Killian's coat, flapping them wildly; bright light pulsed from where they were locked in an embrace and spread out to illuminate every recess of their enemy's fortress. The Snow Queen howled in rage and hatred. "How have you done this?!" she demanded, the voice no longer light but haggard and raw, scraping desperately in thwarted evil. "It should have been impossible!"

Despite her villainous railing, despite the howl of the wind and the crash of falling chunks of the icy ceiling. The rumbling and tremors of the ground beneath their feet shook them, but nothing could pull Emma and Killian apart now that they were reunited. He clung to her every bit as desperately as she did to him, until suddenly the rattling and reverberations became so violent that they threw Emma into him again, and they were both nearly knocked off their feet.

Pulling away from each other reluctantly at the anguished final wail of the Snow Queen, Emma realized that their foe appeared to be vanquished, gone, and that her lair was falling down around them. Killian pulled at her hand, urging Emma from her shocked stupor and into motion. "Come, Love, we have to get out of here."

At the Snow Queen's defeat, the ice and snow of the chamber walls were literally melting, shrinking as their materials streamed in rivers to the ground. Fleeing his collapsing prison, slipping and sliding, Killian deftly pushed Emma out in front of him the way she had entered, and squeezed through on her heels, just before the opening itself liquefied and dissolved. They could both hear the crushing slough of ice and frost-filled water pouring and cascading down behind them, gushing like a river freed of its dam.

Even running their fastest, Killian and Emma were picked up in the torrent and carried along on the stream across the empty space she had traversed alone not an hour before, until they were deposited, soaked and panting, their relief and flagging adrenaline so great they were laughing in near hysteria, at David and Ruby's shocked feet. Eyes wide, the prince and the werewolf helped both of them to their feet, beyond relieved after having seen Emma disappear into the snow fortress, heard the screeching of their enemy, then helplessly watched the whole mountain start to topple before the princess and pirate had reappeared.

"Are you alright?" her father asked more quietly after stopping his barrage of questions to breathe. He smoothed her sodden hair back from where it was matted to her forehead and tried to peer deep into her eyes, as if expecting her to deflect or put him off.

Emma met his gaze with a gentle smile, then reached for Killian's hand, knowing she would find it there, and twined his fingers with her own. "A warm bath wouldn't hurt either one of us, I'm sure," she joked wryly. Then, with the seriousness of a vow, she added, making sure Killian could see the truth in her eyes, and that it was only because he was returned to her, "But we're going to be fine now."

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

A few days later, Killian Jones stood outside the sheriff's station, waiting for Emma to finish her shift. With his arms crossed, leaning against the side of his love's little yellow Bug, he looked the picture of calm, but in truth the reformed rogue was deep in thought. He and Emma were due for their several-times-delayed first date meal within the hour. He was dressed in her world's modern garb for the occasion, a surprise he had managed to carry out for her with the help of Henry and Dave, and though he was not at all sure what he thought of the feel and practicality of the charcoal grey slacks, navy blue shirt and grey vest he was wearing instead of his accustomed black leather, he tried to focus on the amused and affectionate twinkle he hoped to see in Emma's eyes once she glimpsed his effort.

Emma. His heart squeezed at the thought of the danger she had put herself in to rescue her, and at the pain in her eyes when she had gazed at him once they were home again safe and sound, both bathed and warmed in sweats and cuddled under blankets on her parents' couch, with Snow fussing over them and bringing hot cocoa. ‘You didn't know me,’ she had whispered, burrowing into his side and avoiding his eyes as she continued brokenly. ‘I had never told you what you meant to me, and it was almost too late. I was nothing to you. You would have walked away from me like everyone else.’

She had not been blaming him. In fact, he got the distinct impression that she had been heaping judgment on herself. Though he knew as well as she did that the Snow Queen's freezing of his heart had taken his emotions out of his control, he still hated to have caused her pain. How could he have forgotten his love for her? Killian had sworn to himself long again that she would never see him turn his back on her, never betray or desert her as she had suffered so often in the past. Yet, he could see in her pleading eyes that she had believed him gone, that she had felt herself abandoned once more.

There was nothing for it but to start again from that moment. Willingly, he would never do anything but endeavor to bring her happiness. He had already spent too much of his unnaturally long life dwelling on past mistakes and what could not be changed; he still had a future here with his Savior, and they could both find happiness at long last.

It was not much longer before Emma emerged from the station door, sliding her arms into her red leather jacket and looking toward her car to find him waiting. A wide, happy grin broke across her face, more simple and uninhibited than he had seen her wear, crinkling her dimples and brightening her entire aspect. To Killian's eyes, she brightened the very world around her.

She moved to stand before him, smirking at him smugly and reaching out a hand to pull him to her by his vest front. "Told you those modern clothes would suit you, Pirate," she murmured, humming lightly as she leaned in and placed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, then each of his cheeks.

"Aye, you did Milady," he returned, voice rumbling low and smug smile matching hers. He allowed himself to be pulled easily into her clutches, letting Emma set the pace as she slipped her hands up his back to delve into his hair and pulled his face down to kiss him more thoroughly.

And later, when they entered Granny's together, in full view of the dinner crowd, when Emma lead him through the door by their joined hands, brought them up to her lips, and kissed the back of his palm with a secret, satisfied smile on her face, Killian felt more peace in himself than he had in ages. They were in this for the long haul now – both of them – and done letting anything stand in their way, be it outside threat or their own walls and scars. This was real and True...for all to see.

Tagging: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @cosette141 @anmylica @justanother-unluckysoul @shireness-says @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @wefoundloveunderthelight @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @drowned-dreamer @xsajx @stahlop @thislassishooked @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit @resident-of-storybrooke @lfh1226-linda​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @ineffablecolors​ @let-it-raines​ 

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Valentine’s Rerun (1 of 2): Cupid’s Grenade

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26@bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @in-spirational @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4  @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree  @jrob64  @anmylica     @cosette141​

Originally part of my Fluffy Fridays collection. When a mysterious stranger comes to town and sets off a magical grenade in Granny’s during the breakfast rush on the day before Valentine’s Day, the residents of the town suddenly feel extra amorous. What will Emma and Killian do if the spell doesn’t wear off?

CS Genre: Canon divergence from early 3b

He crossed the town line into Storybrooke late on the night of February 12th.  He walked for half a mile before he reached anything resembling civilization, wanting nothing more than a place to rest and regroup, a place to plan his next move.

It had been an extraordinarily bad year.  So much discord, so much division everywhere he turned.  It drained his energy, his very life source like nothing had since the last Ogre War.  He needed an infusion, and he needed one fast.  Thank the gods Valentine’s Day was little more than a day away.

He passed a shop, dark and closed, caught his reflection in the picture window and jumped back, startled, bringing one wrinkled, bony hand to his equally wrinkled, bony face.  He was even further gone than he’d previously believed.  He could only hope the rumors about this sleepy little town were true.

“Storybrooke, that’s where you want to go,” the seer had assured him.  “Not only is it the only source of magic in this land, but it’s brimming with True Love, both that which is acknowledged, and that which is denied.”

If he had any hope to survive the week, he needed that True Love.

If this world had any hope to survive, they needed him just as badly.

He walked slowly, laboriously, looking for the most opportune place.  Town hall?  No, it emitted angry energy, a place of discord.  A brick building with a sign over the door calling itself The Rabbit Hole was promising, but still not quite right.  Finally, he arrived at an establishment with tables and chairs on the terrace, a bright, neon sign proclaiming Granny’s.

Perfect.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

The next morning, Granny’s

Killian stepped from his room in the bed and breakfast and headed downstairs to the cafe where he was to meet Swan and her parents for a quick strategy meeting while they dined on Granny’s delectable fare.

He smiled to himself, an extra spring in his step as he walked.  The situation in which the residents of Storybrooke found themselves was, once again, less than ideal.  An unknown, unnamed villain had cursed them back to Storybrooke and wiped their memories of the past year, and no one had any idea why.  He should be concerned; he knew he should, but he couldn’t stop the joy that bubbled up within his heart.

Selfish though the thought was, he was grateful for the villain’s machinations, grateful for the curse.

For it was the curse that allowed him to cross worlds, the curse that allowed him to be reunited with his Swan, the curse that ended the hell that had been the last year without her.

Oh, he’d tried to convince himself that he’d merely needed to return to his pirate lifestyle, but every step he took away from her, away from the hero he’d tried to become for her, had felt wrong, made him feel her loss even more acutely.

Slowly, but surely he’d come to realize that it was more than just the loss of the love of his life that made his pirate activities lose their luster.  He’d changed.  Not just because of her, but because of himself.  He wanted to be a good man, a hero.

Killian stepped into the cafe.  Early though it was, the sun had barely come up, the establishment was already brimming with business.  He scanned the tables until he saw her sitting at a booth across from her parents.

His heart turned over.  She was so bloody beautiful, so bloody precious to him.

He knew she was hesitant to embrace life here in Storybrooke once again.  She loved her parents, held at least some amount of affection for him, but the weight of being The Savior hung heavy on her.  He couldn’t blame her for wishing to retain the seemingly peaceful existence she’d lived with her lad in New York.

Still, she’d come back with him, had agreed to help her family, the whole town, defeat the newest threat to their safety.  He could only hope to one day exhibit half her courage and selflessness.

“Hook, you finally made it,” Swan said, scooting over and patting the seat next to her.  “After all your talk about being a pirate and rising with the sun I thought I was going to have to go up and drag your butt out of bed.”

Killian gratefully took the seat next to Emma, using all his willpower to avoid imagining Emma coming to his bed.

“I rise with the sun, darling,” he said with a grin, “but it would seem you lot couldn’t wait for that auspicious occasion.”

Emma looked down, playing with the handle of her mug of cocoa.  “Yeah, well we wanted to make sure and meet early enough that we could talk before Henry wakes up.  Don’t want the kid to get freaked out with mentions of curses and villains and whatever other crap we need to discuss.  He doesn’t have his memories, after all.”

Snow White reached across the table and covered her daughter’s hand on her mug.  “Don’t worry, honey.  We’ll find a way to bring back Henry’s memories.  Somehow.  And until then everyone here has agreed to live like that sleepy, normal town we thought we were during the curse.”

Emma glanced aside, a look of guilt on her face, and not for the first time, Killian wondered if she even wanted her son to regain his memories.  He could feel the turmoil coming off of her in waves and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and sooth the tension away.

But he knew his Swan better than that.  She’d rebuilt the fortress around her heart over the last, long year of separation, and it would take him some time to help her disassemble it; some time before his advances were once again tolerated, let alone welcomed.

“Okay,” Emma said, after a deep breath, “so we know someone cursed you.  We know a year has gone by that you don’t remember.  We know crossing the town line turns people into, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, flying monkeys.  Anything else I’m missing?”

“I had a conversation with the dwarfs,” David answered, “and after their latest patrol at the town line, they found…”

Suddenly the door to the diner was slammed open, the bell above ringing angrily.  The entire diner went silent, still, as the oldest man Killian had ever seen walked slowly in until he was standing in the very center of the room.  Dressed all in red, quite the dapper tuxedo and top hat at that, the man walked, hunched over, leaning heavily on a cane.  Every eye was on him as he stopped, looked at the gaudy Valentine’s Day decorations Granny had hung, shaking his head at the Cupid with his bow and arrow, and then reached into his breast pocket.

Killian watched, fascinated as he pulled out a small red object in the shape of a heart, pulled a pin from its center, tossed it to the floor and then slowly began walking away.

“Grenade!”  Leroy shouted as the object began smoking.

Chaos ensued as the cafe’s patrons scrambled to reach the exits, but it was clear they’d never be free of the building in time.  Killian reacted on instinct, moving to cover Swan’s body with his own just as a large “boom!” filled the diner as the heart-shaped object exploded.

He waited for the shock, the pain as the explosive blasted him, but it never came.  He looked up to see nothing but a pink, shimmering cloud billowing from the heart, suffusing the diner, and then dissipating.

For a moment he felt an intense burst of love and longing for the woman beside him, and he instinctively looked down into her startled eyes, but then she blinked, and the spell was over.  Killian shook his head and sat up, resuming his own seat on the bench.

For a moment, a shocked silence fell over the room, and then an excited buzz began as Granny’s patrons realized they had indeed survived the...whatever the blazes that had been.

“What the hell was that?!” Emma ground out.

“I don’t know,” Dave said, “but I have a feeling we really need to find out.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Later that afternoon

“Cupid?  You’re telling me that old guy was Cupid?”

Emma ground her teeth in frustration, keeping her hands resolutely in her jeans pockets lest she do something stupid like grab her pirate (no!  Not her pirate) and kiss the daylights out of him.

What was wrong with her?

After the heart grenade had gone off in Granny’s this morning, she, her parents and Hook had found Belle in Gold’s shop to pick her brain, see if she had any idea who the mysterious old man was.

Of all the answers Belle could have given them,  “It appears Cupid has come to Storybrooke,” was the last one Emma had expected.

Of course Cupid was real too, because...of course he was.

Belle reached under the counter and retrieved an old book decorated with flowers and hearts.  Flipping through several pages, she turned the tome toward them, pointing to a photograph of a very old man.  

“That’s him,” Snow said, “that’s the man who...did whatever he did to us.”

“Like I said,” Belle said, turning the book back toward her.  “It seems we’ve been visited by Cupid.”

“Who and what is Cupid?” Killian asked from her side.  (Emma ground her teeth again, determinedly ignoring the way his velvety voice made the butterflies in her chest flutter and come to life.  Ignoring the intense affection she suddenly felt for him.  Ignoring the sudden desire to lace her fingers with his.)

“Best I can tell,” Belle said, “he’s a deity of some kind.  He, for lack of a better word, feeds on love.  It’s his source of sustenance.  The more the world around him is depleted of love, the older, frailer he becomes.”

“And what does that have to do with the grenade or whatever that he tossed at us?” Emma asked.

Belle flipped a couple of pages, and then pointed down at a passage of text.  “That’s the interesting part.  You see, February 14, Valentine’s Day is his big day of love harvest every year.  His grenades contain a powerful spell that...encourages love and affection in everyone on which the spell falls.  It reaches its peak in 24 hours, which makes today, February 13 the perfect day to launch it.”

Emma groaned.  “A love spell?  Are you telling me freaking Cupid cast a love spell on all of us?  One that won’t wear off until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid so,” Belle answered.

Well, that was just...just…

Actually that was kind of reassuring.

From the second that damn grenade had gone off, Emma had been feeling things she couldn’t explain, things she didn’t want to feel, things she’d been working hard at denying ever since Neverland, maybe even before.

As soon as the spell had cleared, she’d looked up into Killian’s intense blue eyes and felt wave after wave of want, of longing, of...of...love crash over her.  She wanted to hold him, kiss him, hold his hand, touch him. 

But that wasn’t the worst part.  Physical attraction she could handle.  Hook was hot, there was no denying that.  Feeling a physical pull to him, that was understandable.  If she didn’t think it would give him the wrong impression, she’d have no problem giving into her urges.  She’d had plenty of one-nighters in the past.

But it wasn’t just physical attraction she felt following the pink, sparkly cloud.  No, it was emotions as well.  She had the sudden need to talk to him alone, to tell him that she’d somehow missed him during the last year, even though she didn’t remember him.  That some part of her had been so intensely happy to see him there at her apartment door that she could hardly contain herself.  That his attempted True Love’s Kiss...she didn’t knee him because he’d assaulted her, she’d kneed him because it felt right, like she was coming home and that totally freaked her out.  She wanted to tell him she was glad he’d found her, glad he was by her side, glad he’d brought her home.

But that, all of that, was crazy.  She didn’t do emotions, didn’t let herself be that vulnerable with another person, someone who could destroy her if she let him.

So all things considered?  Finding out she was feeling all this due to a stupid love potion was a relief.

All she had to do was grin and bear it until the spell wore off tomorrow and then everything would be back to normal.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, February 15, 2 hours before dawn

Emma tossed and turned, her fitful sleep punctuated by dreams.  Disturbing, troubling dreams.

Dreams where she walked with Hook, hand in hand, down by the docks.  Where they talked and kissed.  He smiled at her and she smiled back.  They were both radiantly, blissfully happy.  He led her back to his ship (where was his ship, by the way?  She was pretty sure she hadn’t seen it since they’d come back to Storybrooke), down to his captain’s quarters.

She teased him about his tiny bed, he’d laughed along with her, wiggling his expressive eyebrows in that ridiculous way of his, joking that it wasn’t the size, it was what you did with it.  He’d swaggered to her, invaded her space, threaded his fingers through her hair as he leaned down and captured her lips….

Henry mumbled something in his sleep, and Emma woke with a start.

The dream had been so damn lifelike.  She could still feel Killian’s hand in her hair, feel his lips against hers.  Bringing a hand to her chest, Emma willed her heart rate to slow.  Why was this happening to her?

The last 36 hours had been torture.  Pure, beautiful, intense torture.

Her feelings for Killian had grown and strengthened as the 13th and then the 14th wore on, and though she knew they weren’t real, knew they were caused solely by Cupid’s stupid love spell, more than once she’d almost cracked, almost thrown caution to the wind and bared her heart to the man who was constantly in her thoughts.

Emma had been half sure Hook would use the curse to try to get close to her.  She was afraid he’d declare himself again, try to force her into an awkward conversation about the feelings they held for each other, but she needn’t have worried.  Killian seemed no more eager to explore the effects of the love spell than she was.  He’d left the library soon after Belle explained their predicament, and he’d kept his distance ever since.

He’s giving you space.  He doesn’t want to pressure you, to take advantage.  He’s always a gentleman.

Emma felt a rush of affection yet again, and that alone frustrated her beyond belief.  It was February 15, the day after Valentine’s Day.  Why hadn’t the spell worn off?

Emma groaned, getting up and tossing on a sweatshirt and slippers.  Clearly she wasn’t getting anymore sleep tonight.  Better she go down to the diner and get some cocoa rather than risk waking Henry with her frustration.

“Hey, Ruby,” she said on a yawn, settling on a stool at the counter. “Hope I didn’t startle you.  I know you’re not exactly open yet.”

“Emma!” she said, stepping around the counter and giving Emma a quick hug.  “I’m a wolf, remember?  Heard you tossing and turning half the night.  Something on your mind?”

Emma buried her head in her hands.  “Got any cocoa?”

“Uh oh,” Ruby said, turning to give Emma her full attention.  “Is this a regular cocoa with cinnamon conversation or a cocoa with rum conversation?”

“Rum,” Emma mumbled.  “Definitely rum.”

Ruby tossed her a sympathetic smile, and then turned toward the kitchen.  A few minutes later she returned with a fragrant, steaming mug of cocoa.  Sliding it Emma’s way, Ruby leaned on the counter.  “Okay, spill.  What’s going on?”

“So who was it with you?”  Emma asked.  “You were here the other morning when Cupid dropped his bomb.  Who’d it make you think you love?”

Ruby gave her a strange look.  “Who’d it make me….?  Emma, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the grenade thing,” Emma said.  “I figure it made you think you were in love with the closest person to you.  Something like that?  I was just wondering who it made you love.”

“Emma, you know magic can’t make you fall in love with someone, right?”

Emma shrugged, then took a sip of her cocoa.  “I know it can’t create real love, but I mean, it was a spell, right?  Maybe it makes people think they’re feeling things they aren’t.”

Ruby’s smile was far, far too knowing.  “Hook right?”

“What?”

“After the whole love cloud thing, it was Hook that you fell for.”

Emma groaned, making Ruby smile all the wider.  “Knew it!  Knew the hot pirate had your panties in a twist.”

“Ruby!”

“Sorry,” she said, looking anything but.  “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, and from what I see of the two of you around here everyday?  Yeah the sparks flying from the two of you could start a forest fire.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush and buried her face in her hands again.  “Ruby, it was just…”

“Don’t even think about saying it was just Cupid’s grenade,” Ruby said, “because, one, I’ve seen the two of you together since long behind that old man dropped his love bomb on everyone.  Two, like I told you, no magic can create love.  And three, you know who I suddenly fell in love with?”

Emma looked up, one eyebrow raised in question.

“No one,” Ruby said.  “Nothing changed for me at all. You know why that was?  It’s because if there is a person for me out there, they’re not here in Storybrooke.”

“But the cloud…”

Ruby shook her head.  “Emma, you and your family aren’t the only ones who talk to Belle and do research, you know.  After Cupid’s little stunt I paid her a visit too.  Wanted to know what was going on as much as you guys did.  I discovered that Cupid feeds on love.  Real love.  True love.  Fake, artificially created love would do nothing for him.  So his spell doesn’t make people feel things they don’t; it just helps people focus on the things they actually feel.”

Emma’s heart pounded.  “So you’re telling me, the hell I’ve been going through for the past day and a half…”

Ruby grinned again.  “Yep.  You, Emma Swan, have the hots for Killian Jones.  Cupid or no Cupid.  Besides, Cupid’s spell wore off several hours ago.  If it was fake, you’d have gone back to normal by now.”

Emma took one last swig of her cocoa and then carefully placed the mug back on its coaster.  “So what am I supposed to do with this now?  How am I supposed to proceed?”

Ruby shrugged, walking to the diner’s door, turning the lock and flipping the sign to open.  “That’s totally up to you, but my two cents?  Go talk to him.  Tell him what you’re thinking and feeling.  That unsettling feeling isn’t going to go away until you do.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Killian heard a soft tentative knock on his door and he groaned, swimming reluctantly from the depths of sleep.  He’d been having such a good dream, such a beautiful dream.  He’d walked with Swan by the docks, taken her aboard the Jolly (how he missed his old girl, though he’d barter her away a million times if it meant he could be with Swan).  She’d joked with him about the size of his bunk.   He’d kissed her….

Knock, knock, knock

Killian groaned, noting from the pitch black of his window that it was not even dawn yet.  He hoped whoever was out there had a bloody good reason for disturbing him.

Tossing on a white undershirt and flannel sleep pants, Killian padded to the door and threw it open.

His irritated “What?” died on his lips when he saw his visitor.  Bathed in the soft light of Granny’s hallway, her hair soft against her shoulders, Swan looked like an angel.  Killian resisted the urge to pinch himself, half convinced he was still dreaming.

He swallowed hard.

“So, um, can I come in?” she asked with a self-conscious little smile.

Killian snapped his mouth shut and quickly stepped back, gesturing with his hook for her to enter while he flicked the switch that bathed his room with light.

“Of course, love,”  he said quickly.  “Please, have a seat.”

She looked around and sat on the edge of the second double bed in his room, the one he had not used, and then looked down, picking at a loose thread on the counterpane.

She’s nervous.

Killian’s curiosity was piqued.  Why had she come to him at this time of the morning?  What could have her so rattled?

“So,” he said finally, when it was clear she wasn’t going to speak first, “what brings you to my room, love?”

“It’s just…”  She started, before abruptly standing and turning toward the door.  “Ugh, this was a mistake.  I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

He rose quickly, stepping between her and the door.  “Please, Swan.  Something’s obviously on your mind.  Share your burden with me?”

She took a deep breath, and then nodded.

“It’s the whole Cupid love spell thing,” she said finally.

Killian suddenly looked aside, hand absentmindedly coming up to scratch behind his ear.  “Love, you needn’t say anything.  I’ve no wish to pressure you, no wish to hear a declaration bourne  artificially out of a spell…”

“That’s just it,” she said, stepping into his space, placing her hands on his arms.  “I...I...it didn’t go away.  The spell wore off yesterday, right?  I’m still feeling everything I was feeling then.”

He looked at her quickly, eyes widened, hope blooming within him in spite of himself.  “What are you saying, love?”

“I’m saying...look, I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him until they were seated, facing each other on his bed.  “But there’s, there’s something there between us.  I’m really glad it was you that found Henry and me in New York.  I’m glad you came back to Storybrooke with me.  I, I feel better with you beside me.  I’m grateful that you’re there to listen when, you know, things get to be too much.  I can’t guarantee I won’t get scared again, and I can’t guarantee I won’t, I don’t know, build walls again, but I just wanted to let you know, at least once, that if we ever just have a peaceful moment in this town...maybe I’d be willing to see where things could go.”

His heart turned over, and he reached up to cup her cheek, couldn’t help himself.  Smiling gently, he leaned down and kissed her softly, almost reverently.  “Swan,” he breathed on a sigh.  “You’ve no need to thank me.  By your side is where I’ll always wish to be.”

“Good,”  she said softly before leaning in to return his kiss with interest.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

He stopped outside Granny’s Bed and Breakfast and looked up at the single illumined window.  Breathing deeply, he smiled to himself.  His harvest was complete, and what a harvest it had been!

Passing the same shop he’d passed on his way into town he took a look at his reflection.  He stood tall and strong, skin smooth and youthful, hair sandy and neatly combed.  He was young and handsome once more.

He started walking toward the edge of town but then stopped, thinking better of it.  It was true what they said about this town; it was overflowing with love.  Perhaps he’d stick around for a while.

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Trying Something New - a Captain Swan, Once Upon a Time fan fiction

Summary:

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.

Read on fanfiction.net or AO3 or below.

Note: so Emma is using a lot of advanced magic in this chapter. It's for plot purposes, but she will face issues with doing so much magic. Please ignore the logistics, this is fanfiction after all. 

Chapter 1: Stuck

It wasn’t working. Her magic was back, but the stupid wand wasn’t working. 

“Do you think he lied to us?” Killian asked from where he was leaning against a table. He was back in his regular attire of his long black leather coat, leather pants, and black vest and shirt. 

Marian was still knocked out, but she wouldn’t remain that way forever. 

“I don’t know.” Emma huffed, frustrated, twirling in her prison dress. The least Rumplestiltskin could’ve done was return her jeans and leather jacket. 

Waving the wand around, she attempted once again to open the portal. She was tempted to summon the Dark One back and strangle him. Without the portal, they couldn’t return to their own time, and Emma wasn’t going to stay trapped in Rumplestiltskin’s vault for the next thirty years. “I don’t think he would’ve lied about this. As long as I can wield magic, I should be able to open the portal. So, why isn’t this working?” Frustration overwhelmed her. 

“There could be a number of reasons, love.” Killian said, though he wasn’t sure what could be the cause. 

Irritated and angry, Emma wildly waved the wand around, failing to notice a faint glow pass over Marian’s features. She gripped the wand tight enough it was surprising the stick didn't snap into two pieces. 

“Perhaps we should change tactics.” Killian suggested, worried at Emma's emotional state. 

Emma’s hands dropped to her side. “What do you mean?” Her tone was snappish, but it wasn't directed at him. Killian was trying to help; Emma knew she was the one failing. 

“It’s possible that the vault and all of the magical objects here could be interfering.” Killian theorized. “If we can escape, maybe the portal will work elsewhere?”

Though she knew hers and Killian’s knowledge of magic was limited, it was a good theory. It was worth a shot. “Okay, you pick her up, and I’ll try to teleport us somewhere.” 

Killian did as she asked, and once Marian was secured over his shoulder, Emma took his hand and closed her eyes. She'd never teleported herself or people before, but she remembered Regina's tutelage. 

She needed to pick a place she'd been before. 

Emma brought forth a picture in her mind. At first it was the trees of the Enchanted Forest, but she needed a destination in mind. If she just picked a random spot in the forest, it’s likely that something would go wrong. Instead, her mind viewed Lake Nostos. It would be filled with water and a siren at this point in time, but it was the only place other than the Jolly Roger or her parents castle that Emma was familiar with enough to see it. 

Feeling the pull of her magic, Emma released it. Feeling airy, like she was drifting away, Emma held tighter to the picture of Lake Nostos, keeping it to the front of her mind. Finally she felt solid, whole, and there was hard ground underneath her feet. Opening her eyes, she found that they were in the forest by the lake. “Come on, let’s go. The siren’s still around.” 

Killian nodded, turning to go, but as he did, Emma glanced back. 

In the water, not too far away, was an image of Killian, which startled Emma enough to pause. Why was she seeing him in the lake? 

A hand grabbed her and pulled her away. “Don’t know what you’re seeing, Swan, but we need to go.” There was urgency to Killian's tone, his eyes glancing at the lake, as he rushed them away. 

As they ran through the forest, hoping not to hear the siren, Emma couldn’t help but wonder why she saw him. Didn’t sirens show you what you wanted most? Your heart’s desire? Her heart desired returning home to her parents and Henry. She didn’t want Killian. Or, well, she did, but that was too complicated to even consider. When they returned to their time, Emma figured they could talk, but she didn’t know what she wanted between them. Not now when they had to figure out how to get home. 

It wasn’t as though his feelings were a secret. Hell, Zelena used his lo—feelings, his feelings— for her against him in order to take her magic. Emma knew that he wanted a relationship, a future with her, but she wasn’t sure her heart was ready. Her romantic history sucked. There was Neal, her married boyfriend in her early twenties, Graham, Walsh, and well, skips didn’t really count. She wasn’t meant to find love or happiness. Even for a man who changed for her and would follow her to the ends of the earth. 

“Want to try again?” Killian asked after a while, when they slowed down after being far enough away. Perhaps now that they were out of the vault, she'd have more success with the portal. 

Emma waved the wand and still failed to produce a portal. “Fuck.” After ten more minutes of trying, she flung the wand against a tree. It thwacked against the trunk before bouncing off onto the ground, rolling uselessly on the dirt. “We’re stuck here.”

“Well, what, we have a few years before the curse?” Killian asked. He picked up the wand and pocketed it. It might not work for Emma at the moment, but it might certainly come in handy down the road. 

“Nearly three.” Emma huffed. “My parents took some time before they met up again, then I think maybe the war with George started, and then they fought Regina a bit until she backed off to create the curse. That took like two years. Then there was nine months until me and the curse came along.”

“If we can’t get back to the future, we might have to wait it out.” Killian said. “We’d go somewhere away from your parents’ kingdom, stay under the radar, and then when the curse comes, well, we might have to get frozen with Cora to avoid being in Storybrooke with your other self.” 

“Three years is a long time to be away from my family.” Emma didn’t like the idea of being stuck here for so long. She knew she couldn’t interfere with her parents’ past anymore. Hell, she almost erased herself and Henry from existence. It would be hard not seeing Henry for so long. If they ended up waiting it out until time caught up, then Henry wouldn’t even realize she was ever gone. However, three years was a long time. Living whatever life in the past might very well change her into a person Henry wouldn’t recognize.

“Four.” Killian corrected. “If we’re stuck here, will need to ride out the first curse and Pan’s curse. The one that brought everyone back here while you and Henry went to New York.”

He was right of course and Emma silently scolded herself for forgetting that there was an extra year they’d have to wait out. So they wouldn’t go back to Storybrooke until Snow’s curse. Even then, they’d have to hide out until their past selves time traveled so that there wouldn't be two of them running around. “God time travel is confusing.” She groaned leaning against a tree as she rubbed her temples. “Okay, so what next?”

“Well, first, what do we need to do with her?” Killian asked, motioning to the still unconscious Marian. 

“There’s nothing we can do with her.” Emma admitted. “I mean, she was supposed to die, so her being alive changes things. She’ll want to find her husband and son, which will alter Robin’s past and Regina’s future with him.” Emma winced. That was another thing she was screwing up. While she and Regina weren't best friends, Emma didn't want to ruin her chance at happiness if it meant Regina would stay on their side and be a better mother to Henry. 

“Unless, you send her away?” Killian suggested, trying to figure out how best to keep the timeline intact. “It’s only a few years until the Curse, and if you send her far enough away, then it might just take that long for her to return.” 

That was a good point, but could they chance it? “What if she’s resourceful enough to get here sooner?” Emma asked, playing Devil's Advocate. “A mother trying to get to her son is a forced to be reckoned with, you know?”

“Aye.” One such mother was standing before him and Killian’s heart went out to her. It must be killing her that her magic was failing her when she needed to get back to Henry. While it wouldn’t be a four year separation from Henry’s perspective, it would be from Emma’s and she already missed out on so much of Henry’s life. However, back to the matter at hand, there was too much at stake to just let Marian go off on her own. If they woke her up, could they convince her of the truth? Of their being from the future and her death in the original timeline? Of course, she might just label them as insane and run off on her own. 

A groan from the woman startled Emma and Killian. So much for waking her themselves. The universe wasn't being kind to them at the moment. Maybe that was a price for time traveling, no matter how unintentional it was on their part. 

“Shit.” Emma cursed, not ready to face Marian when they still had to figure out what to do with her. They needed to figure out a plan, quickly. 

Marian rubbed her head, eyes opening, taking in her surroundings. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Brown eyes stared up at them with wariness. “Who are you?” She looked between them, confusion spreading across her features. “Better question, who am I?”

Emma and Killian shared surprised looks. “I didn’t hit her that hard.” Killian muttered so only Emma heard him. 

“Um, you don’t remember?” Emma asked, watching Marian carefully. How could she not remember? There was no way Killian knocking her out messed with her mind. 

“Remember what?” Marian asked. Her brows furrowed. 

“We met on the road.” Killian supplied. “You were headed to Marawick Harbor, in the Kingdom of Stahlsburg." The lie came easily enough. After all, they needed to come up with a story for the locals; they'd just include Marian now. "We ran into each other and camped out, but our horses have been stolen it seems. You offered to take first watch, so we assumed you were attacked from behind while we slept.”

Emma almost believed the story, he was that convincing. That was a good skill to have since they'd need to come up with more lies to live in this time. 

Marian tried to stand, and both Killian and Emma stepped forward to help her up. 

“Take it easy.” Emma said. “We don’t know how hard you were hit.” She glanced at Killian again, and he was clearly at a loss. 

“Oh, well, that certainly explains why my head is pounding.” Marian smiled tightly, though her eyes still held doubt about them. “So if we’re headed to the same place, how far do we have left to travel?”

“It’s a good few weeks by horse.” Killian said. He met Emma’s eyes and she knew what he was going to suggest. 

In fact, Emma preferred getting out of Regina’s territory as soon as possible. Besides, if Marian freaked out or decided not to keep Emma’s magic a secret, Emma could try and call upon her magic and erase Marian's memory. It seemed there wasn't anything left for her to remember anyway, but what caused Marian's memory loss?

“Can you keep a secret?” Killian asked, his tone protective. 

Marian narrowed her eyes. “What kind of secret?” She stepped away from them. Understandable. She woke up with two strangers and no memory. The fact that she gave them a chance to explain was more grace than most would give. 

“I have light magic.” Emma said. “I can teleport us to town, but I’d rather not broadcast that to everyone. I hope we can trust you with this secret.”

Sensing that Emma was earnest, Marian nodded. “I suppose I can trust you. Who are you again?” Really though, Marian wasn't sure if she could trust them, but her instincts told her that the couple was safe. They didn't seem nefarious and without her memories, they were all she had to rely on to find out who she was, even if they just met her. 

Emma didn’t think giving their real names was a good idea. Thinking quickly, she made something up. “Emily Jones.” Emily was close enough to Emma for her to respond to it. Surely Jones was common enough in this land as it was in hers. Maybe…hopefully. “My husband is…Colin.” It was the first name she could think of which sounded close enough to Killian. Or well, it had the hard C sound. 

Killian looked proud of her quick response. “Aye. You told us your name was Maria, but not sure if you have a surname or not.” 

Marian swayed a bit on her feet. Her head swam unsteadying her. 

“Perhaps you should rest and have some water.” Killian suggested, reaching out to steady Marian. “I know Emily needs some time to prepare her magic.”

“That’s a good idea.” Marian agreed, as her head continued to pound. Just how hard was she hit? Who did it? Why couldn't she remember anything? Even her name, Maria, didn't sound quite right. If that was the name she gave them, then why wouldn't she give her real name?

Emma grabbed Killian’s waterskin and handed it to Marian. “Here you go.” 

As Marian settled against a tree, Emma pulled Killian away. “Okay, there’s no way she’d just forget everything from hitting her head.”

“Perhaps when we were in the Dark One’s vault something affected her.” Killian suggested, his brows drawn together. “We were surrounded by a number of dark objects, and we don't know what any of them were capable of doing." 

“Maybe.” Emma said. She shook her head; Marian's memory loss would be something that they'd tackle later on. Though it was an unexpected blessing since they now didn't have to convince her not to go off in search of Robin and Roland. Emma felt guilty for lying, but they couldn't risk more changes to the timeline. Her focus shifted back to Killian. “Tell me about Marawick Harbor.”

“It’s in Prince Eric’s kingdom.” Killian said. “It’s a port town which fell into Cora’s protection bubble when the curse hit. I docked my ship there a few times over the centuries. It’s large enough to blend in and find work.” In fact, it was a perfect hide out. Populated enough to blend in and far from Regina's clutches, and still close enough to be affected by the Curse. 

“I can’t teleport to a place I’ve never been.” Emma explained. “Regina said that teleporting sort of requires knowing your destination. That’s why I brought us to Lake Nostos, because I’ve been here and seen it before.” Even if it changed a bit in the coming decades. “How can I teleport us now?”

Killian’s brow furrowed adorably as he tried to come up with a solution.

Stop it. Emma berated herself. He’s not adorable. If they were going to be reliant on each other, she needed to squash her feelings down so they could focus on surviving. 

“What if I describe the place to you?” He said after awhile. “Would that help paint a picture you can use?” 

It wasn’t exactly something she tried before. Hell, she barely learned any magic before, but her magic might very well be a key to living in this realm and in this time. “It can’t hurt to try. Go ahead and describe it to me.” She closed her eyes to concentrate. 

He began describing the town as best as he could remember, particularly the docks. As the sun was setting, Killian described the docks more at night, telling Emma about darkened corners, likely because they’d need to appear somewhere hidden as not to raise suspicion. He described the sea and how it sparkled under moonlight; the sound of the water lapping against docks ships; the noise of nearby taverns and the main street.

As Emma listened to his words, she could see it in her mind. Killian’s words painted a detailed, tangible picture. He certainly was quite the storyteller. Before long, Emma pictured a dark spot behind crates on a dock. “I think I’m ready.” She kept her eyes closed, feeling around for his arm. Emma didn't dare open her eyes for fear of losing the picture. 

Killian waved Marian over. “She’s ready.”

When she heard Marian step next to them, Emma spoke. “Hold onto me as tight as you can.” When she felt them grasp her arms, Emma reached deep inside her for her magic. Feeling it coming alive under her skin, Emma held onto Killian tighter. I want to go to Marawick Harbor. She repeated that over and over, releasing her magic. She felt her body dissipate, tightening her hold on her passengers as she felt herself come apart, floating in air as though she were nothingness, before feeling her body came back to herself. Would she ever get used to the sensations that came with teleporting? 

Opening her eyes, she found herself, Killian, and Marian in a darkened corner of docks, behind crates. She could hear the ocean to her left. A breeze brought about the briny, salty scent of the waters. 

Killian peeked out from the crates, looking around to see where they were, before quickly ducking back down. He turned to her with a huge, proud, amazed smiled. “You did it, love. You brought us to Marawick. Bloody brilliant.”

At Marian’s confused look, Emma added. “I’ve never been here before. Usually I have to teleport to a place I’ve seen.” Still, warmth bloomed in her chest at Killian’s praise. I’ve yet to see you fail. His words from Neverland still haunted her. Hell, they’d never leave her. Without fail, Killian always, always, believed in her, even when, especially when, no one else would. Shaking away her affection, Emma returned her attention to Marian.

“Well, then, congratulations on a job well done.” Marian smiled warmly. She wondered if Emma's magic could help with her memories. Could she restore them? 

“Come on, we’ll need to find an inn.” Killian stood, helping both women up. 

“Do I have money?” Marian asked. Then she realized the clothes she and Emma were wearing. “Are these normal clothes?” Surely they couldn't be? 

Emma grimaced. No, they weren’t and it was very possible someone would recognize that they were wearing prison gowns and Killian was dressed as a pirate. “No, these were old sleeping gowns I had, but you’re right, we’ll draw some strange looks.” 

“Could you use your magic to clean us up?” Marian asked. 

Emma considered it, uncertain. Her body felt fatigued from teleporting, but Marian trusted them now and if they stole clothes, that could only make the woman leery of them. They needed to keep Marian close in order to keep an eye on her. Looks like it was time to test the limits of her magic. “Maybe.” She glanced at Killian. “I’ve done small things before, maybe I should test it out on Colin first?”

“Go ahead, love.” Killian spread his arms, ever the willing subject. Looking her over, Killian was concerned. Emma practiced her magic in the future, but nothing near this level. While he believed in her, he didn't want Emma to push herself too much. 

Closing her eyes, Emma figured the easiest thing to do was change one item at a time. She pictured black leather pants as brown and waved her hand. Keeping her eyes closed, she saw his black shirt change to white and his black leather vest changed to deep blue cotton. Finally, his black leather coat, which she was loathed to change but was the most obvious indication of his pirate ways, changed to a brown leather riding coat. 

Her eyes opened to find Killian in the entirely new outfit. Even in his new vest and shirt, the top buttons were still undone, showing off the top of his thick chest hair. She probably could’ve buttoned him up when she changed his clothes, but that didn’t seem right. Plus, she’d never admit it to him, but she actually liked seeing his chest hair and longed to touch it. Stop it, Emma. Keep it in your pants. 

His eyes shown proudly at her accomplishment. “You certainly keep getting better at using magic, love.” 

Emma smiled, and boosted with confidence now that she successfully changed Killian's clothes, she turned to Marian and repeated the process.Marian’s outfit turned from prison chic to one of brown skirts, a green top, and a brown corset. 

When Marian was done, Emma used her magic on herself and her prison dress changed to blue skirts, white top, brown corset, and blue cape. 

Killian tried not to think about how she made them match, or the implications of that. Don't be daft, Jones. There isn't a deeper meaning to that.

“I think we’re ready.” Emma said, subtly steadying herself against a crate as a wave of exhaustion hit her. Maybe she pushed herself too far. 

“Almost.” Killian said. “I’ll need to check and see if we have any coin left. It’s a bit dark, love, might need a light.” Killian gently gripped Emma around her waist, noticing her fatigue. He stepped them away from Marian, walking far enough for Marian to not really hear them, but not so far she’d get suspicious. 

Emma s a reassuring smile Marian’s way. At Killian’s side, Emma held out her hand and a flickering flame appeared in her palm and when she saw it was too small, she willed it to the size of a golf ball. 

"Are you okay, love?" He asked. "You've used a lot of magic in a short time span."

Emma nodded. "I'll be fine. The sooner we count your coins, the sooner we can find an inn."

Killian didn't hesitate, knowing that Emma needed to rest, so he rooted around in his pockets, filled with coins. They counted enough to last them a while and divided the loot between them; Killian insisted on Emma having some money on her in case something happened and they ended up separated. Once they both pocketed the money, he spoke. “I have an idea.” He whispered.

“Oh?” Emma asked, her expression curious. 

“Well, Marian already believes us to be married and hasn’t noticed the lack of rings.” Killian said. “I assure you others will. People are old fashioned around here.” He grimaced at his next words. “If we show up without wedding rings, even if we say we’re married…”

“People will get ideas.” Emma finished, understanding. “I’ll get a reputation.”

“It’s even likely that some establishments won’t accept us as customers.” Killian added, uncomfortably. “Without proof and all that.” 

Emma knew he was telling her this in order to familiarize her with this new world she was stuck in. She had no idea what it was like here and all he wanted to do was protect her, even her honor. It was sweet and he showed more care of her wellbeing than anyone else had before. But could she pretend to be his wife? Sure, he told Marian that to cover for them, but now they’d have to actually live with that lie. They were stuck pretending to be together. She never thought she’d be the marrying type after Neal completely destroyed her. Even with Walsh, before he revealed what he was, she was going to say no. Fairytales and True Love were never in the cards for her. 

When she looked at Killian, a part of her believed in that again, but it scared the shit out of her. It was partly why she wanted to run back to New York. New York was easier; no magic, no complicated family dynamics, no villains, and no Killian to give her hope for a better future. Now, she was stuck in an unfamiliar world, completely reliant on his lead, and even now, he wanted her to have all of the facts before her. He didn’t want her to go into any situation blind. Gratitude nearly overwhelmed her. 

He stared at her with patience and a bit of concern, likely worried about how she’d react. His shoulders were tense, almost bracing himself for a bad reaction from her. 

Taking a breath, Emma pushed away her terror at the idea of a relationship with him. Especially when they both wanted it so much. If anything, her past proved that she would only ruin whatever this precious connection between her and Killian was; it was inevitable that it would happen. No, she had to think about it logically. 

Logically, reasonably, this was an old fashioned port town. They’d likely have to stay here in order to be close to Marian, and figure out her amnesia, godsend though it was for the time being. They had to start off on the right foot with these people they’d be living around for the next couple of years. “Okay, so do you have a ring on you?” Emma asked.

Killian moved some things around in another pocket of his until he finally found a feminine ring that might just fit. It was a gold band with an oval cut ruby surrounded by a circle of small diamonds. He held it for her inspection, careful to hide what they were doing from Marian’s view, though she seemed more distracted by activity further down the docks. 

It truly was a beautiful ring, and Emma could almost imagine another time and another life with a true proposal on his lips. “That’ll work.” She said, careful to keep her tone neutral. She held her left hand out to him. 

Realizing that she wanted him to put the ring on her, Killian swallowed before maneuvering the ring in his hand. 

As he slipped the ring on her finger, Emma felt her breath leave her. It was a perfect fit. Hell, it looked like it belonged on her finger. She wondered if he thought the same as he ran a gentle thumb over the ring as he held her hand. Looking at his hand with its many rings, Emma spoke. “You need a wedding band too.” 

“Don’t have one on me.” Killian shrugged. He’d probably have to steal one tomorrow when a jeweler was open. There wasn’t enough in his pockets to cover a ring and he’d rather save what he had for emergencies. 

Emma looked at the silver and ruby ring currently occupying a place on his ring finger. It was too big and gaudy to be a wedding ring. In fact, all of his jewelry screamed pirate as much as his wardrobe. They were going to have to discuss that. Emma tapped at the on his finger. “Are you attached to this one?” 

“Not particularly.” It wasn’t a lie but it was a half-truth. 

Emma decided to ignore that for now and concentrated on the ring. It needed to be smaller, gold to match hers, the ruby could stay. She began to picture what she wanted in her mind’s eye until it was clear. With a wave of her hand, the ring changed from silver to gold with the ruby shrunk into a smaller oval inlaid in the band. On either side of the ruby rested a small diamond. It looked like a wedding band now. 

Emma removed his other rings from his fingers. “Too pirate-y.” She smirked.

Killian didn’t protest. He shook himself, swallowing, trying not to read too much into how she made their new wedding bands match just as she had matched their clothing. It definitely wasn't a big deal and it meant nothing. “There’s another problem.” He couldn’t guarantee that his crew never docked here in the coming years. He couldn’t remember. It was too dangerous for his own face to become a familiar sight around these parts. It was probably too dangerous for Emma to have her face as well. If Rumplestiltskin found them missing from his vault, he could come looking for them, knowing what they looked like. Emma’s magic seemed more than capable after all. 

“What?” Emma’s eyes held a little bit of panic at his tone. 

“If we stay here, there’s a chance that one day my past self will appear.” Killian explained. “If people get to know us, then they’ll be wondering if I have an identical twin. There’s also Rumplestiltskin to consider. He knows what we look like and we did escape his vault.” 

“You think he might not take the potion to forget the future?” Emma asked. 

“He might, but we have to be cautious.” Killian said. “If you can glamour us and we use aliases, then all the better. Who knows we might end up running into your parents again or someone else.”

Good point. If she glamoured them, then it was much easier to fly under the radar. But she didn’t want them to look at each other and see strangers. Not when all they had was each other to rely on. There had to be a way to glamour them so that others wouldn’t see them, but they’d see each other. That’s what Rumplestiltskin had done for them for the ball. Surely she could do it for them as well. Of course, now Marian saw their faces, so she'd have to adjust it where strangers saw other people but they and Marian still saw the real faces. That also Emma couldn’t drastically change their looks as Marian would see one set of faces and everyone else another set. 

“Okay.” Emma said, though the exhaustion was getting to her. How did Regina use magic so much and not get tired? Was it that the more magic a person used the more they could tolerate the drain? Maybe she could find a teacher here in the past. She'd need to learn more about magic anyway if they were already relying on it for so much little things. “I’ll try to change our appearances to others, but we’ll still look the same to each other and Marian. If she sees something different, she’ll be suspicious and we’ll lose any trust we have from her.”

Hearing the nervous, hesitance in her voice, Killian leaned towards her, gripping her left hand in his right. “You can do this, Emma. Look at all you’ve accomplished today. This is just one more success awaiting you.”

Her eyelashes fluttered at his words, her heart skipping a beat. Was her face warm as well? “Yeah.” She nodded. She closed her eyes again, picturing a new face for Killian. People would still see blue eyes, but slightly lighter hair. A thicker beard instead of trimmed scruff. He’d also have a bit of an offset nose from being broken a time or two. Couldn’t have him look too handsome after all. Ignoring that particular voice in her head, which told her exactly why she didn’t want him so handsome, Emma waved her hand and opened her eyes to see Killian just as he was before. “Did it work?” Her head began to feel light. She wasn't sure how much more she could do. 

Her eyes glanced back towards Marian. 

“We might need a mirror to see.” Killian suggested. 

Taking a deep breath, hoping her magic would still be reliable, Emma conjured a hand mirror and handed it over. She watched Marian as Killian observed his new appearance, knowing they were taking entirely too long to just count some coins. 

Killian took in his new reflection. He was pretty average looking and certainly not as devilishly handsome as he was in reality. At least he wasn’t overly plain, but his new appearance wouldn’t even get a glance from a bar-wench. Still, he wondered if Emma toned down his handsome facade on purpose. Was it because she wanted to avoid garnering attention or did she make him average looking so that women wouldn’t flirt with him? Fool. She probably did it so you won’t get attention. We need to lay low after all. “Looks good.” He returned the mirror to her and watched her work on her own appearance. She glowed briefly but was still his Emma. 

Emma looked at her own reflection. Her eyes were still green, but her face was rounder, more of a heart shape that gave her new facade a sweet innocence about her. Her bright blonde hair was now darker blonde, much closer to her father’s hair. Her nose was more of a button one as well. She looked adorable but far from sexy, which was good, because that would keep attention off of her. A wave of exhaustion hit her again. They really needed to find somewhere to sleep.

Killian quickly replaced his hook with his wooden hand before they returned to Marian. "We'll have plenty of money for an inn for a few days at least. Since you lost your money, Marian, I insist on paying for a room for you." Killian told Marian, keeping his arm around Emma's waist. They bushed her too far as she looked ready to drop at any moment. 

"Wonderful." Marian said. "Are you sure about paying for me? I'm sure I can manage on my own."

"No, no, we are happy to help." Emma insisted. "I feel like what happened to you is our fault. We were asleep when you were attacked. We owe it to you to look after you."

Marian wasn't certain about that, but she wasn't going to turn down their help. Vowing to pay them back later, somehow, Marian started making her way down the docks towards town. 

Killian leaned in close to Emma. “Well Mrs. Jones, ready for our next adventure?” 

Drained due to her magic, Emma leaned on him for support, ignoring how hearing her new title made her heart beat wildly. “Lead the way, Mr. Jones.” 

[kmomof4]

Absolutely LOVELY story!!!! LOVED the combining and then the twist on canon!!!!

Where The Heart Is, Chapter 5

This is the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this story!

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd

[flslp87]

Updated 12/30/2022 for New Year’s 2023

It’s been three years since I put together this little ficlit together. But every year, I pull it out and add to it. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll have a complete story.

Life has changed a lot for many of us since OUAT ended. While I’ve not been writing (or really even reading) fanfics, I haven’t said goodbye to writing, though. I’ve been writing small town mystery romance. My books are available in all Estores. You can check them out here.  Swan Harbor Books 

Some of my friends that I met through our love for CS @imagnifika  @duathadun @lfh1226-linda and Maggie for hanging with me through it all. 

My hope is for 2023 to bring peace and happiness to all. Remember - without hope, there would be no happy endings. 

This ficlet follows canon from my Season 7 Canon divergent -- A Happy Ending Begins with Hope. It can be found on AO3, FF, and tumblr with gifs. 

Summary: Hope has a date.  How will her family react?

Hope’s New Year’s Date

Words ~ 1500

During Hope Jones’ young life, Storybrooke had gone through many changes, and none more so than around the holidays. They had town Easter Egg hunts, fireworks and picnics in July, bonfires for Halloween, family feasts at Thanksgiving, and caroling at Christmas. 

Hope had memories of each one of them. However, there was one event that she had been looking forward to for years, and that was the Snowflake Ball. 

Held every New Year’s Eve, the Snowflake Ball was only for those who were sixteen and above. Everyone brought out their formal clothes and danced until midnight. And, if she was lucky, the man she was crushing on would ask her to go with him. 

Gideon Gold was ahead of her in school and so dreamy, he made her head spin. Plus, when he looked at her with his chocolate brown eyes, her heart raced, and her breath stuck in her throat. 

She’d been crushing on him for years, but it had only been in the last six months that he’d given her the time of day. Did that mean that he was seeing her as more than a girl? If so, was it possible she’d finally get to spend the evening with him — as his date? 

Two weeks before the New Year’s Eve Ball, Hope was at Granny’s with her best friends, Melanie and Robyn, bemoaning the fact that Gideon still hadn’t done as she wished. Her only saving grace was that he’d not asked anyone else either — of that, she was sure. So far, she’d tried everything she could think of to let him know she was available. At the speed he was moving, though …. 

“Earth to Hope.” Melanie snapped her fingers several times. “Earth to Hope.” 

“I’m sitting right here, Melanie,” Hope grumbled. “What’s the problem?” 

“You were staring off into space again,” Robyn replied. “Were you dreaming about Gideon?” 

“Shush,” Hope hissed. “He’s sitting right over there!” 

“He can’t hear us,” Melanie assured her. 

Hope glanced over her shoulder toward where Gideon was sitting with her uncle, Neal, and had to agree with Melanie. There was no way they could be heard from that far away. 

“You should have told your uncle to tell Gideon to ask you out,” Robyn suggested. “It would have saved a lot of circling around each other.” 

“Don’t you know circling around each other is part of the fun?” Hope grinned. “Or at least that’s what my mother says.” 

“You don’t believe her, though. Do you?” Melanie followed up. 

Hope glanced up from where she’d been pleating and unpleating her napkin. “Why would you say that?” 

Melanie nodded down at the table. “Because you’re nervous. If you were having fun, you wouldn’t be nervous.” 

Did she agree with her friends? She wasn’t so sure. Yes, she enjoyed flirting with Gideon. But it would be so much easier to enjoy flirting with him, if she knew what he thought of her. 

“You could ask him, you know?” Robyn offered pragmatically. “This is the twenty-first century, after all.” 

“I know,” Hope sighed. “But …” Again, her gaze was drawn over her shoulder to the table where Gideon and Neal were still involved in a deep conversation. Robyn was right. She could ask him. 

“Go on,” Melanie encouraged. “But what?” 

Hope shrugged. “My father is a little old-fashioned and well …” 

Robyn frowned. “But didn’t I see in the book that your mother asked your father out first?” 

“That was different,” Hope murmured. “My father didn’t think he was good enough for my mother.” 

“And you don’t think that’s an issue with Gideon?” Melanie asked. “After all, his father and your father have a history.” 

“Which I’m fully aware of,” Hope snapped. “But I want him to ask me. Do you think I’m expecting too much?” 

“I would say ‘have hope,’” Melanie grinned. “But something tells me you don’t need it.” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” Robyn tipped her chin slightly in Gideon’s direction, “ he’s headed this way.” 

“He’s what?” Hope squeaked. 

“On his way over,” Melanie whispered. 

Hope glanced over her shoulder, and when her gaze briefly met Gideon’s, her heart dropped into her stomach. 

Oh my! Oh my! Oh my! She leaned on the table. “How do I look?” 

Melanie rolled her eyes. “You look fine. Stop worrying.” 

“Hope,” Gideon’s aftershave titillated her senses, “can I speak with you for a moment?”  

Hope’s gaze slowly lifted until her blue eyes clashed with his dark ones. “Sure.” She wanted to roll her eyes at just how breathy she sounded. “Can I help you with something?” 

Gideon’s gaze touched on Melanie and Robyn, then back to Hope. “Can we speak alone? Would that be alright?” 

“Oh, Okay. That would be fine.” Then she wanted to roll her eyes at how ridiculous she sounded. 

“Can we talk now?” Gideon asked again. 

“Go on,” Melanie mouthed. 

Hope took a nervous breath and slid out of the booth. The butterflies in her stomach took off at once. It forced her to focus on putting one foot in front of the other as she followed Gideon across the floor. 

He led her around the building to a secluded corner and crowded her, pushing her to back up against the wall. Being close to him was everything she’d ever wanted, but now that it was happening, her heart was racing, and the urge to giggle was strong.   

“Is this okay?” Gideon asked hesitantly. “I noticed that—“

“—Everyone was staring at us?” Hope muttered. 

“Yes.” Gideon smiled. “Are you okay with that?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Well,” he went on. “Our fathers …” 

“Will never be best friends,” Hope replied. “Why?” She hesitated for a beat. “Are you scared of my dad?” Then she wanted to smack herself in the head that those words had fallen from her mouth. “Scared?” Gideon laid his hand on his chest. “Me?” 

“There’s no one else out here.” 

“I’m not scared.” Gideon propped one hand on the building next to her head and leaned in a little closer. “Should I be?” 

“It depends.” 

“On?” 

“Why you brought me out here?” 

Gideon’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then right back up. It caused her lips to tingle and made her wonder what it would feel like if she just went for it. 

“Hope.” He brushed her hair behind her shoulder and took a half step closer. His dark eyes mesmerized her, and his heat reached out. “I was wondering if you would go to the Snowflake Ball with me?” 

Her breath caught, and the words Be cool! Be cool! were on repeat inside her head. But having Gideon ask her to go to the dance had been her dream for longer than she could remember. “Yes!” She fought to keep from squealing. “Yes, I’ll go to the dance with you.” 

A slow smile crawled across Gideon’s mouth. “You will?” 

“I will.” 

His eyes twinkled, and before he even opened his mouth, somehow, she knew what he was going to say. “And you’ll protect me from your father? If it’s necessary, that is.” 

Hope giggled. “I’ll protect you.” 

“Good,” he replied in a husky voice. “I’ll pick you up at 8:00 p.m.”  

“I’ll be waiting.”  

Gideon brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “We’ll have fun.” 

Her breath hitched, and she fought to push the lump in her throat down. “We will.” 

“Shall we?” He inclined his head toward the diner door. 

In a daze, Hope followed him back inside and slid into her booth seat. “Well,” Melanie and Robyn cried simultaneously. “What happened?” 

“What happened?” Hope asked absently. 

“Did he ask you to the dance?” Melanie pushed. 

“Did you say yes?” Robyn followed up. 

“What are you going to tell you parents?” Melanie questioned. 

Hope glanced from one friend to the other. “What do you mean?” 

“You know the history between your fathers,” Robyn stated. “Will there be bloodshed?” 

“Bloodshed?” Hope giggled. “Aren’t you the one who said this is the twenty-first century?” 

“True,” Robyn sighed. “But that had nothing to do with the possibility of a duel.” 

Hope rolled her eyes. “There’s not going to be a duel. Everything will be fine.” 

“Good luck with that.” Melanie smiled sympathetically. “I’m glad I’m not you.”  

“Gee, thanks.” Hope glanced over her shoulder in Gideon’s direction again, and their gazes clashed. “I told him I’d protect him if I needed to.” 

Robyn waggled her eyebrows. “But who’s going to protect you from Gideon?” 

“Do you think I need to be protected from Gideon?” Hope murmured. “I’m not so sure.” 

“I guess it depends on what you want,” Melanie replied. “What do you want?” 

Once again, Hope’s gaze clashed with Gideon’s. What did she want from him? The memory of how he’d made her lips tingle when he’d looked at them had her turning back to her friends. “What do I want?” 

“Yes, Hope,” Robyn nodded. “What do you want?” 

“A kiss,” Hope sighed. “I just want a kiss.” 

***

Fin ... at least for now. 

Will she get it? Should the story be finished? 

Happy 2023! May all your dreams come true.  

Tagged a few people who were on the initial one.

@sailormew4 @annaamell @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven​ @charmingturkeysandwich​ @jennjenn615​ @kimmy46​ @snowbellewells​ @iamanneenigma​ @daxx04​ @nickillian​ @in-spirational​ @gillie​  @britishguyslover​ @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst​ @kmomof4​  @linda8084​ @golfgirld​ @captain-swan-coffee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @hollyethecurious​ @laughswaytoomuch​  @allyourdarlingswans​  @winterbaby89​ @facesiousbutton82​ @therooksshiningknight​, @lfh1226-linda​ @tiganasummertree​  @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic    @everything-person @girl-in-a-tiny-box @resident-of-storybrooke @qualitycoffeethings @sherifffjones  @countrybroadwayprincess    @tiganasummertree   @hufflepuffinstorybrooke   @kristi555    @nikkiemms @gingerchangeling @marcella2727    @idontdothatveryoften @lady-bell

[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo Entry: "Coming Back on the Wind"

Summary: When a sudden storm blows up while Killian, Emma, and their family are out in Storybrooke's wood camping, they find shelter and Killian tells an almost-forgotten tale to pass the time...

Author's Notes: Thanks to @hollyethecurious for the lovely bingo board to play with! This is the first entry I have managed to create (hopefully there will be more to come before Autumn gets away from me entirely!) for the prompt "stormy seas"

Takes place in a post-s6 future where Killian and Emma have Hope and twin boys as well, Henry stayed with Violet and didn't go on adventures in other realms, and Emma's little brother is named Leo instead of Neal!

** Also available on AO3 if that's your preference**

"Coming Back on the Wind"

by: @snowbellewells

Outside the hunter’s cabin in the forest bordering Storybrooke, the rain splashed wetly against the windowpane. The torrents of water pouring down from the sky showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Though he would have preferred they have made it all the way back home from their weekend camping excursion, Killian looked out the window without any true sense of alarm as the branches swayed wildly and the wind moaned, but they remained safe and dry in the log structure which was proving admirably sound - if rather small for their extended crew. The ground might grow soggy and some branches might fall, but it was merely an October storm, not the sort of maelstrom that had once made him cower in the corner of his bunk on Silver’s ship as the waves rolled and he feared the vessel would sink before the dawn.

Turning from his vantage point before the sink in the small kitchen area, Killian’s eyes surveyed the rest of the cabin to find his family and their guests gathered in the open living area around the crackling fireplace, which he had watched Emma light with a mere flex of her fingers. It mattered not that they had been married nearly seven years now, nor how often he had seen his wife avert tragedy and summon marvels into existence; he was still in awe of her, and he often found himself watching her with his breath stolen away, struck speechless by his Swan and all that she was.

His gaze was drawn to her once again as he ascertained that all were well and accounted for. Emma was bustling about to bring Hope her stuffed crocodile (a gift from Belle and young Gideon which entertained everyone else simply for how much Killian grumbled about it), bringing a throw blanket for Henry’s lovely girlfriend to drape over her legs where she was curled up against Henry on the sofa, and then she settled too, pulling their twins onto her lap as she did. Her younger brother Leo, now a bright and cheerful preteen with his father’s blonde hair and chiseled chin but his mother and sister’s brightly shining green eyes, along with Gideon Gold, almost eight now, were also seated within the fireside huddle, having been happy to go on an outdoor adventure with the Jones crew and give their respective parents a night off. When she asked who wanted hot chocolate with cinnamon, there was a lively, unanimous chorus of approval that drowned all sound of the wind and rain outdoors, and had Killian chuckling and shaking his head even from across the room.

“I would think you might have already known the answer to that question, Love,” he playfully chided.

Shooting him a scoff and a mischievous wink, Emma swirled her hand in the air once more and a perfect mug of cocoa, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon appeared in the hands of all but him, eliciting squeals of surprise and delight from the younger children. Gideon in particular wriggled with excitement at the prospect of such a sweet treat. Killian knew that Belle favored tea and healthy snacks and seriously doubted that liquid chocolate was on the boy’s usual menu. 

Thankfully, they hadn’t been far from the old, abandoned cabin when the storm had blown up unexpectedly, and they had managed to get themselves and their things inside the shelter before being truly drenched. Still, Killian reckoned it was wise of Emma to make sure their charges were warmed by the fire and set with the hot drinks as well - though he couldn’t resist needling her a bit for it.

Still, his own insides warmed at the cozy feeling of belonging he had in a cabin in the stormy Maine woods. He had never truly known such peace until these last few of his uncounted years of life, only since meeting Emma and their starting their own small family. The contentment spread throughout his being so completely that it seemed to pour from his fingers and toes; Killian could only draw nearer to his loved ones to drink in the moment. Henry glanced up from where he had been adoringly studying Violet’s profile and gave his stepdad a knowing look as he lowered himself to sit by his Savior’s side. And he could only sheepishly acknowledge the lad’s playful glance. Henry knew the man his mother had married could never stay far from her, always drawn like the strongest of magnets - True Love at its finest.

Soon all of the children, and Emma as well, were happily sipping their decadent drinks and savoring the warmth as it traveled down their throats and soothed their stomachs pleasantly. Hope lowered her mug slightly, only to reveal a dollop of whipped cream on the tip of her pert little nose.

“You’ve missed a taste, lovey,” Killian murmured, the affection glowing in his eyes as he reached out to swipe the creamy topping form her face and pop it into his own mouth. 

“Papa! That was mine!” Hope squealed, giggling even as she did so, but hopping to her feet, little fists planted on her hips and the intriguing near-turquoise of her eyes - a perfect blend of his blue and Emma’s green - flashing with playful pique.

“Ah, but I’m a pirate, little sparrow,” he replied good naturedly, using one of his favorite pet names for her. “You’d best carefully guard your prizes when a pirate’s about.”

“But I’m your pirate princess, remember?” Hope wheedled, flopping dramatically against her father’s chest where Killian willingly wrapped her in his arms. “You shouldn’t steal from me!”

Emma burst out with a guffaw at that comeback from their precocious five-year-old. Nudging him with an elbow in the side, she added, “Kid’s got you there, Babe.”

Killian winked back at his wife before turning playfully repentant eyes on his daughter. “A thousand apologies, your Highness,” he offered humbly, with an exaggerated bob of the head for a sort of seated bow. “To what punishment do you sentence me?”

Hope’s brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought, tilting her head while she studied first her father, then turned to consider both her friend Gideon and her younger twin brothers with a mischievous smirk that rivalled Killian’s own. All three boys nodded eagerly, seeming to know exactly what their pixie ringleader was thinking without exchanging a single word.

Henry snorted in amusement at the proceedings, loving that his baby sister could wrap both Storybrooke’s Savior and the fearsome pirate Captain Hook around her little finger with such ease.

“You have to tell a pirate story!” Hope declared with impish glee, clapping her hands in delight while the twins bounced on their mother’s knees and cheered excitedly. “And if we don’t think it’s good enough, then you walk the plank!” she crowed.

“Yes, please, a story!” Gideon chorused from his spot between Hope and her youthful uncle, his intelligent eyes alight and enthralled at the mere suggestion, loving a good tale every bit as much as his mother did. Belle never could resist listening to a well-spun yarn, and seeing that her only child took after his dear, goodhearted friend in this way especially - her most leading trait - never failed to touch Killian’s heart. Though Belle and Gold might still share a home, and though they remained married, her trust had been broken one too many times for even her generous faith to be fully restored. They were meant to be True Loves, and the emotion remained, but it was bruised and trampled like the rose of their famous tale, far too long past its wilting to salvage. She would never deprive the old Crocodile of another son, not after how long he had sought Neal, how bitterly he had regretted failing him, and then lost him to death anyway, but they kept a brittle distance in their home. Belle found her happiness in her son, her friends, and her books, and Gideon blossomed mostly under her care - for which Killian knew the lad was all the better.

Hanging his head, Killian feigned reluctance at having to provide entertainment, though in truth, he had known that tales of his pirating days would be the decree as soon as he had seen that particular gleam in his daughter’s eye. As Emma often lamented wryly, ‘Our daughter is entirely too entranced by the idea of pillaging and plundering.’ Reaching out to gently tap her chin with the curve of his hook, he pulled Hope into his lap again, tickling her stomach once he had her in his clutches until she cried for mercy.

Once she was sprawled across his legs heaving for breath, Killian nodded his agreement. “You wish is my command, Princess Hope,” he replied. “A story you shall have.”

A whole chorus of cheers rang out from all their younger charges, and in truth, even Henry and Violet’s faces shone with interest. To his delight, even Emma moved slightly closer and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, as if she were settling in for the show. He felt a sort of pride that he could grant such pleasure with his storytelling.

Pausing dramatically, he watched as Leo leaned easily back against the couch, cradling his mug in his hands, ready to savor the last of his cocoa and listen contentedly. Gideon scooted right up before Killian until his knobby eight-year-old knees touched the pirate’s own, eyes wide and breath practically held so as not to miss a word. Hope, for her part, settled on his lap as if it were her throne, somehow managing to look both supremely self-satisified and guilelessly eager, gazing up into her papa’s face as her little fingers clutched at the charms of his necklace the way they often did when she truly settled in to rest. Little Liam David and Westley Graham, just barely walking now, were equally cuddled up against Emma, and a pang went through him, taking in the whole scene as he drew a deep breath to begin. It did his heart good to see their children so comfortable, at ease and certain of their safety and in the knowledge that they were loved. That was as it should be. But he had been only a year or two older than Gideon was now when all he had known of his safe and familiar home had been lost to him. He hadn’t found such security again for so long it had nearly vanished, forgotten, in the recesses of his mind. Something long cracked and aching was mended in seeing that his own children would never face such doubt and fear.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Killian gathered his thoughts. The room went still as his listeners ceased talking and moving about, focused on him intently. He could again hear the wind whistling outside the little cabin, the rain slapping in sheets against the window glass and the almost soothing patter of it upon the roof over their heads. If he tried, he could just conjure up the sensation of rocking back and forth, carried on turbulent waves - could take himself back to the time when he was a boy at sea. Then he began to speak.

“Once upon a time, long before I was the famed pirate captain you see before you,” Killian intoned, letting his voice drop a bit lower and employing a lyrical rhythm. “I was a young lad who could barely be called a cabin boy, on the ship of another pirate - the dastardly Long John Silver.”

The little boys reacted with shivers and gasps, just as he had expected. Emma, who had of course heard this story with much less dramatic flair, in the tone of an agonized confession when they hid themselves away after his return from the Underworld. They had bared the last of their secrets and all of their souls once and for all and bound themselves back together again. Killian felt her hand flutter lightly to rest upon his own, and he squeezed it briefly in reassurance, letting her known that he was alright. This was a much less raw and bleeding version of events, peeled back to reveal the little good that there had been, even in those awful times.

“Aye, you’re right to be alarmed, me mateys,” Killian warned, waggling his dark brows at them with playful aplomb. “Silver was indeed a ruthless villain - and he ran his ship with little care for youngsters aboard who might be hungry, injured… or frightened of storms.”

He swept his hand out before him, illustrating the expanse of rolling waves under a dark night sky lit at alarmingly frequent intervals by bright, wicked forks of lightning. His audience was every bit as rapt as he had intended, allowing Killian only a moment for a sidelong glance at Emma with a twinkle in his eye.

“That stormy night, all but the night’s watch were in their bunks, and the lad knew he would find no sympathy from any quarter at any rate. His older brother was on the ship with him, but that young man was the only one who showed the boy any consideration, and he was fast asleep, having already put in what would be a hard day’s work for a full grown man, much less a stripling of fourteen. And so, the boy huddled in the corner of his small bunk, crowding against the wall and trying to block out the booming claps of thunder with hands pressed over his ears, willing his stomach not to turn as they were rolled up, down, and sideways by the vicious swells.”

Hope snuggled deeper into his embrace, seeking comfort for herself, empathetic little siren that she was, and unknowingly grounding him in the present, soothing the long scabbed-over wounds this story pricked. As though somehow sensing the boy from the story was closer than its teller let on, Killian also felt the feather-light brush of young Gideon’s fingers come to rest on his knee, offering silent support in his own timid way. He was hardly privy to what his dear friend Belle told her son about his past history or the harsh beginnings he’d weathered early in life, but he sensed in that moment that Hope’s unlikely playmate knew the frightened youth of long ago was now the man seated before him. And he wanted to bolster him in a difficult moment.

It was enough to have Killian swallowing back a lump in his throat. Meeting the child’s searching gaze, Killian offered a smile and nod of the head in unspoken gratitude, to which Gideon beamed and patted his knee with more confidence.

“Though the boy tried to remain still,” Killian continued solemnly, “the storm did not let up. Instead it raged harder until he was sure he would be thrown from his berth to the floor and that the ship itself would be turned on its side and sink into the deep. His thin shoulders shook as he wept, and though he fought to hold back his tears, occasionally a hiccup or gasp for air escaped.”

“It was at that moment,” and here the pirate’s voice, though still rough with deeply felt emotion, grew more musical and light, “when all hope seemed lost, that he felt a soft, familiar touch on his shoulder sliding down to gently rub his back until his strangled sobs eased. It was his older brother, roused from slumber, either by the boy’s distress or the ferocity of the storm, and quick to come to his younger sibling’s aid. The elder scooted into the bunk and gingerly wrapped an arm around the trembling smaller form, shushing and soothing as best he could.”

“Even as the wind continued to wail and howl all around, and as the waves slapped against the hold where they huddled together, the boy already felt much stronger - less afraid - just knowing that he was not alone. And then the elder brother began to hum. It was a familiar tune, a soothing lullaby coaxed from the far reaches of the younger’s memory along with an echo of his mother’s warm voice singing that same melody. Soon his brother was offering lilting words as well, in barely more than a whisper. Both knew the ire which would rain down on their heads if they roused any others, and yet his sibling dared those consequences to end his little brother’s torment. As the near-forgotten song continued, the effects of the wild storm seemed to die away. By the time the end of the song neared, that frightened cabin boy had finally found sleep.”

“What was the song?” Hope piped up curiously. “Can you sing it for us?”

Killian shook his head with a humored huff, having expected no less. Not letting himself hesitate long enough to change his mind, he wet his lips, drew in a steadying breath, and launched into the old tune he remembered hearing in Liam’s murmured, youthful tones. His brother had always told him it was their mother’s favorite - one she had used often to soothe fevers or lull her boys back to peaceful dreams after nightmares. Killian had barely remembered her - or anything about the cozy, cliffside cottage that had been their home - even then, but Liam had held it dear in his own heart and had brought the same feeling to life for Killian.

As Killian continued to sing, voice gathering strength while rising and falling with the notes, the rain outside their small shelter in the woods seemed to wrap around and join the chorus. His audience in the cabin listened closely, drawn into the song that had once been his mother’s, which had comforted him for years as something of his older brother’s, passing on once again to the new family they had made.

And as the fireplace crackled invitingly, his wife’s golden head rested on his shoulder, and he sang the last lines, the sudden storm they’d hunkered down to escape seemed to have enclosed them in a haven instead. The wind blowing the branches against the windows still showed its power, but with those he loved around him, the storm which had accompanied his long held memories finally ceased.

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

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @justanother-unluckysoul @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda

@xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @goforlaunchcee @stahlop @caught-in-the-filter

@donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @undercaffinatednightmare @drowned-dreamer

@gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @scientificapricot @motherkatereloyshipper @myfearless-love

@belovedcreation @exhaustedpirate @grimmswan @zaharadessert

[kmomof4]

Very much ready for more…

This is gonna be gooooooood… not that I expected anything less, not with Stephanie’s ringing endorsement…

imperfect boys. perfect ploys. (this is a song about tragedy) [1/6]

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said.  But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him.  Like it was just a fact. But Emma’s life was a story, too.  A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up.  She wasn’t that kid anymore.  Confidence could be learned.  And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either. Not if she picked up the pieces.  Not if she told herself a new story.  About who she was.  About what she wanted.  Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales. "You owe it to yourself," Mary Margaret said. "Happy endings always start with hope."

--

S3 post-neverland canon divergence. 20k of no-curse renaissance.

read it on AO3

to @wistfulcynic and @thisonesatellite who sat with me while we daydreamed on a hilltop in cornwall on the summer-iest summer day england has ever seen. it took me eight months but i got there in the end.

thank you to @shireness-says for time and feedback and kindness to the IAS @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @idoltina @initiala @thejollyroger-writer for always giving me a cheer when i needed it (including--in B's case--occasionally getting random, context-free paragraphs dumped into her DMs)

--

one. 'when you leave, you just miss it'

The sun was shining.

Almost a week since they’d seen real daylight—maybe more, maybe less.  No one was sure.  Time, like light, did not work properly in Neverland.  That’s what Hook had said, and Neal had agreed, an uneasy peace between them; Regina grumbled and Gold snickered but it had been a week or a lifetime and the sun was shining and she had slept last night, for the first time in a week.

Or a lifetime.

She heard the wind rustling around her through the open portholes.  Tasted the salt on the air, sweet and slightly cool.  Emma sat up and the chill danced around her skin as the sheet fell.  She felt good; rested, refreshed.  Free.

Her clothes were were on the floor where she’d left them.  She slipped from the bunk and picked them up, one by one and hanging from her fingertips. Because time might not have been real in Neverland but everything definitely smelled like she’d been wearing it for a week.  When they got back to Storybrooke she wasn’t just going to wash the clothes.  She was going to burn them.  Just thinking about it made the power well up inside her.  It wasn’t anger or darkness or the unrelenting terror of the Dark Hollow.  It was something else—warm, gentle flames that tickled.

Or maybe she just really needed a shower.

God, a shower.

She dressed quickly and found her way above deck, stumbling over a dozen dozing Lost Boys and one wide-awake former fairy.  Neal and Wendy leaned up against the bulkhead, their legs sprawled out in front of them.  Wendy had curled herself against Neal like she wouldn’t let him go.  

Emma wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up.  The sail billowed, but the Shadow cast no shadow here.  Tink turned and spotted her.  The way her eyes lit up made Emma’s breath catch.  They were going home.

“We’re nearly there,” Tink said.  “I almost can’t believe it.  Where’s Hook?”

Emma shrugged.  “I thought he needed to be here.  Steering.”  Behind them, the giant wheel turned on its own.

“Magic,” Tink said.  “The ship, it has magic.  Not my kind—I’ve no idea how it works.”

“And I’ll never tell.”  His hair was mussed by the wind but his coat hung heavy over him.  Weighing him down.  The words were heavy, too, weighted with meaning—something in his eyes before he cleared his throat.  Then Captain Hook inclined his head and it was gone, replaced with twinkles like tiny blue gems in his eyes.  “Tinker Bell.”

“Hook.”  A speculative syllable as the fairy stared intently and he blushed.  Emma looked from one of them to the other until Hook’s eyes caught hers and held.  He raised his eyebrow, just the one.

Emma raised hers.  Both of them.

“Swan,” he said.

“Hook,” she said.

“Mom!”  Henry ran across the deck, leaving Regina behind in the companionway with a genuine smile on her face.  Neal’s eyes opened immediately at the sound of his son’s voice and he scrambled to his feet, catching Henry in his arms but barely slowing him before he angled back toward Emma.  She nearly fell over as she absorbed the fullness of his hug.  Her son’s arms around her, finally.

Six days.  Not even a week.  But her life had changed in less time before:  The time it took to steal a car, to open a locker.  Sixteen hours to give birth.  Ten hours on a beanstalk.

The kiss it took to break a curse.

A week was plenty of time for her world to turn itself upside down.  Again.

“The sun is fully up,” Hook said.  “We’ll be arriving shortly in Storybrooke.”  A fairy-tale land full of fairy-tale people encased in a magic shield that they were going to pierce with a magic boat piloted by a pirate and guided by a demon’s Shadow.  Hook spoke and the ship turned on a dime, the wheel spinning, the Shadow-filled sail briefly flashing white, and there it was.

The harbor.  The clock tower.  The neon sign of the B&B.

“Home,” Mary Margaret whispered, coming to stand next to Emma.

David rested his hand on her arm and Emma tensed.  His smile gentled and he moved, stepping back to pull Mary Margaret closer.  “Together.  Heroes, villains—pirates.”  Pride glowed briefly in his eyes.  “Just like you said.”

Heroes, villains, pirates.  Parents.

Storybrooke.

Home.

The rest of the fairy-tale folk rushed to the rails, hanging over the sides for a closer look at their heroes’ welcome.  A faint sound carried on the breeze—laughter.  Cheers.

They were in the water.  They were in the harbor.  The gangplank lowered.  Henry was practically trembling with excitement as he hurled himself onto the dock, zooming between his father and his grandparents and Granny and—and—and—

But it was Neal Emma was watching.  Hugging his father.  Hugging Belle.  Escorting Wendy.  No longer a Lost Boy but a found one.

“Home.  The place that when you leave, you just miss it.”  He’d told her that the night they’d met.  Her lifetime had been a series of moves from place to place to place and every time, she’d only known one thing for certain:  She wasn’t home.  Not yet.  She’d been seventeen and Neal Cassidy had kneeled in the dirt and picked the lock and when he turned the amusement park lights on and smiled at her, knowing and full of confidence, her entire world had shifted on its axis.

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said.  But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him.  Like it was just a fact.  Or maybe it was a secret he was sharing.  With her.

Home.  Neal wrapped Wendy and her brothers in a group hug with an expression Emma had never seen before.  But Emma’s life was a story, too.  A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up.  She wasn’t that kid anymore.  Confidence could be learned.  And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either.  

Not if she picked up the pieces.  Not if she told herself a new story.  About who she was.  About what she wanted.  Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales.  The flame warmed inside her again, as if the idea of wanting—of knowing what she wanted—was its own kind of magic.  Maybe it was.

Possibilities.  Hope.

In her.  In the magic.  In this town.  It wasn’t a home—yet—but for the first time Emma felt like it could be.  If she let it.  If she wanted it.  If she chose it.

Henry turned back to her, waiting.  An impatient gesture.  She took one last long look around the decks of the ship.  Hook stood at the helm, tracing the scratch marks in the wood.

Home.

With a deep breath, Emma stepped onto the dock.

two. 'i quite fancy you'

The realization hit at approximately the same time Emma Swan hit the water, the waves enveloping her and dragging her down, though he didn’t think about it.  Not then.  Not in the midst of the magically-intensified storm and the maelstrom wrought by his own frustrations:  Baelfire’s death, his son missing, the Dark One on his ship and Prince-bloody-Charming up in arms and in Killian’s face, so certain it was he who was the captain here—an uncomfortable thought all on its own, and similarly ignored.

But then she’d hit the water and it was all hands on deck.

Nothing else mattered as they retrieved her from the deep and lowered her to the deck and waited.  Waited for her to breathe, to move, to cough out the water, her body wracked by the effort but alive.  The storm vanished as quickly as it appeared but the weight lingered.

Killian did not like to think about the last time he had seen a woman laid out before him on his ship.  About how it had ended.  So he ignored it.  Ignored it with the patience and practice of a man accustomed to counting time in centuries rather than minutes and it was easy enough.  In Neverland the only thing real was the here and the now; their horrific, indeterminate trek across the island was more than enough to occupy his mind.

Until it wasn’t.

He set himself up a good bit away from the others as they made their camp.  He refused to watch the undisturbed slumber of the Charmings.  Even Regina slept, but not Killian.  Never Killian, never on Neverland.  Whether it was better or worse to be alone and surrounded by the haunted cries of the Lost, Killian did not know.  He’d thought and hoped never to hear them again no matter how unnaturally prolonged his life might be.  But he knew this—it was too easy for Pan to grab on to a person in the netherworld of Neverland at night and it was darker now than Killian remembered it being, unless it was just the effect of the rum. 

He almost wished it was.

Either way, there wasn’t enough of the bloody stuff to soothe the ragged edges of his soul.

He’d said it as a joke.  Or a feint.  An instinctive push in their ongoing tug-of-war.  “I quite fancy you sometimes,” he’d said.  But here in the dark surrounded by the cries he had no choice but to admit to himself that he’d meant it.

Horrific thought.

Idly, he wondered if Tinker Bell was still here.  Their tactics for sleep--and mutual exhaustion--had always proved more then satisfactory in the past.  Pleasurable, even; some of the only good memories Killian had of this place.  Only that felt somehow…disloyal.  A betrayal to an idea that his heart was apparently already committed to.  Killian took another pull from the flask and reminded himself that villains didn’t get happy endings and if Captain Hook had been anything in his life, it was that.  

After all, if he had been a better man, perhaps Baelfire wouldn’t have left.

It was with that happy thought that the cacophony of cries reached its crescendo—midnight, then, or near enough on this cursed island where the night felt endless.  Perhaps it was endless, now.  The days seemed shorter—nonexistent—the darkness constant.  The island was changing.  Dying.  Killian knew only too well there was nothing Pan would not do to prevent that happening.  Every instinct told him that Henry was the answer Pan sought.

Killian had not been lying when he told Emma that on this island, he was not the villain.  Perhaps that was why he waited.  Waited to hear the whisper of movement and the moment she finally gave up.  When she finally got up.  He had never wondered if she might hear the cries.  It had been very nearly his first thought upon meeting her.  She’d had the Look and few knew it better than he.  Maybe Baelfire—Neal—had recognized it, too.

He could hear the muttered imprecations under her breath and was only gratified that she had sense enough to take the cutlass with her as she began to roam the surroundings of their camp.  And then he heard something else.

Not words.  A voice.  A voice that taunted him still, lurking on the edges of his nightmares.  Even worse, he knew what it meant.  To be approached by Pan was to have a quest assigned, a task given.  When Emma stumbled out of the woods clutching a scrap of parchment, he stood to meet her, already on alert.

Pan always did like his games.

three. 'you owe it to yourself'

The shower felt incredible.  One after Granny’s; one before bed; one when she woke up.  Part of her felt like she might never not be covered in dirt and sweat again.  Part of her just wanted the warmth and the solitude.  Even in a loft built for one and sleeping four, the shower was a one-person-at-a-time activity.

She hoped.

Exhausted but too restless to sleep, Emma had lain in her bed and stared at the exposed beams, counting the wood scratches and feeling it every time someone in the apartment breathed.  Henry’s little snores made her smile with every exhalation and though here Mary Margaret and David were only—breathing—it was hard not to think about the other things they could be doing in the bed they shared at the bottom of the ladder.

Ew.

Emma really needed to get her own place.

Henry would want to go back to spending nights at Regina’s again, anyway.  As he should.  She was his mother.

Emma couldn’t help but think of Regina at the Tree.  Regina with ‘no regrets’.  She wasn’t sure if she believed any of it, but she couldn’t argue with the result—all of them, still standing, at the end of something horrible.  Even if Emma thought Regina should have a few regrets—surely some of the murders had been unwarranted—maybe it was time to follow Regina’s example.  Leave the past behind and focus on what she had.

What would it be like, to live with no regrets?

A new beginning.

A steam cloud followed her as she opened the frosted glass sliding door and followed the sweet smell of coffee to the kitchen island—a little pot, in an honest-to-goodness tea cozy, left in the blessedly quiet loft.  Mary Margaret hadn’t done that in—she hadn’t done that since—

Before.

The texts had accumulated on her phone while she showered.  She recognized most, but not all, of the phone numbers—David, Mary Margaret, Henry, Ruby—and remembered suddenly that she didn’t know which one might be Neal’s.  Being presumed dead made that easy enough to excuse.

She was glad he wasn’t dead.

Emma sighed.  Maybe it would have been easier if she’d set a time, or maybe it just would have been funnier:  An hour to process Felix into the cells.  Another at the pawnshop to watch Pan sealed beneath the floor—a tiny box to hold so many nightmares, but both of her parents standing next to her in spite of the dreamshade.  Henry flanked by his mothers, his father, three of his grandparents.

Of course Neal had approached her—exactly down to the minute on the timer she had not set—cornering her at Granny’s.  The beer was flowing, the food was hot, the noise was crushing her skull.  Tick, tock.

“Emma, can we make some time to talk?”

She hadn’t even gotten her coat off, and it was weird to suddenly need it again after six days and a lifetime sweating in an otherworldly jungle.  She saw Hook at the bar with Tink, a glass mug of amber liquid in each of their hands as they toasted.  Mary Margaret and David pushed in behind and around her to head for a table.  Regina and Henry were tucked in together at a booth.  

Tick, tock.

She forced her attention back to Neal.  “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” she said.  “Unless—are you trying to ask me on a date?”

Yes.

Yes, he was and yes, she would make time—because they needed to know what would happen.  Emma had a few ideas and as Mary Margaret always said happy endings start with hope.  It was the look on Mary Margaret’s face as Neal settled himself back into his booth that had her worried.  The big eyes, the bright smile.  It was a look she wasn’t totally used to seeing on her friend’s face because it was such a Snow White look.

“You owe it to yourself,” Mary Margaret had said.

Tick, tock. 

A motherly look.  She wasn’t used to that yet, either.  Six days or a lifetime hadn’t quite given her enough time to digest the shift from best friend to parent and almost every minute since the curse had broken had been one unrelenting nightmare after another.   Ogres, giants, beanstalks.  Cora.  Hook.  Neal.  It didn’t help that even while Mary Margaret was urging her to take the chance—“You owe it to yourself”—Emma kept thinking about the chances Mary Margaret and David wanted to take.

Tick, tock.

They were home now, the three of them—four—five—six—or maybe eight—one big modern fairytale family—and that mattered, even if Mary Margaret had looked her in the eyes and promised that she wouldn’t be an orphan anymore and then decided that she would stay in Neverland forever if she had to.  The thin leather strap of the waterskin crossed over David’s shoulder didn’t feel like much against that, but it was everything.

The water.  From Hook.  And every time she’d turned Emma had seen Hook watching, his eyes tightening slightly every time David moved.  Like he was waiting for something.  Tick, tock.

Shaking herself, Emma finished her cup of coffee and hauled herself back up the ladder.  The curling iron felt comfortable in her hand; it was a relief to look in the mirror and see someone she recognized, from Before.  Her blue leather jacket because it was warmer, her favorite tank top layered underneath, and she was going to go to Granny’s and have a goddamn normal day.  Whatever that meant now—now that it wasn’t Before, but After.  After the curse.  After the Enchanted Forest.  After Neverland.  

After—everything.  

She wasn’t a tiny princess under a mobile of glass unicorns; none of them knew what to do with a goddamn adult with a past.  A history, a trauma, that was not part of their storybook fantasy, and more than a missed opportunity that they could recreate.  

She refused to just be that.  She was a mother, too.  A sheriff.  A Savior.  

An orphan.

If what they had was unique, to use Mary Margaret’s words from the Echo Cave, then they had to be able to make their own definitions.  Their own rules and wants and needs and hopes.  Their own story.  And what Emma wanted, more than anything, was to carve out her own space in this world—parents, children, magic, exes, and evil queens—and know that it was hers.  That she belonged.  Emma wanted to know that when Henry came for her he wasn’t just looking for her to break a curse.  He was bringing her home.

How did Snow White, of all people, not understand that?

She glanced at her phone, at the time and at the last text message.  Pulled on her shitkicker black boots and closed the door behind her.

She had a date to get to.

[exhaustedpirate]

WIP GAME

RULES: Post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous (please, don't judge me). Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs! (I am not doing that 'cause I don't want to die, thanks!)

I was tagged by @piraterefrigerator because they want to kill me!

(Also I have too many so I'm going to just add the most IP of WIPs)

CAPTAINSWAN FICS (main folder):

3B Canon Divergent

Friends + OUAT (eye roll title)

parent for hire

around the world and back

b99 cs ff (very original)

no death to do us part

MOVIE NIGHT folder (not very fun titles):

Aristocats + OUAT (again eye roll)

meet the joneses

street-wise hercules

TANGLED in you

four weddings and a funeral

three men and a baby

JUKEBOX? JUKEBOX folder:

at the copa (copacabana)

see you l8er, boy

teenage dirtbag

TIKTOK, CROCODILE folder:

a quest of your own

meow

lie detector

I tag @scripted-downfall, @iverna and @profdanglaisstuff because I am curious about your WIPs! No pressure, though!

[kmomof4]

Oh my GOODNESS!!!! This was FANTASTIC!!!

It's Called Trust | OUAT fanfic | CSSS 2022 Gift

MERRY CHRISTMAS, @willexxmercer !! I was your Santa this year!!

I ran with your prompts of enemies to lovers and only one bed for this one!! I hope you like it!!

Summary: (season 2 "Tallahassee" canon divergence) Emma forgets that handcuffs cannot hold a pirate. 

AO3

For a moment, the two of them inches away, Hook felt himself smile, the steel walls he hid behind for so long beginning to loosen for the first time in centuries.

But it was shattered, when he felt Emma click something around his wrist.

She shot back, stumbling away from him, eyes wide like he was a terrifying, bloody giant.

The grin of his faltered, his eyes finding what was around his wrist.

A manacle, chaining him to the wall.

Shock drove every warm feeling out of his chest, making it once again the frigid wasteland he was used to.

But somehow, this betrayal hurt far worse than anything he could ever remember.

"What are you doing?" he felt himself whisper, standing to follow her, but she only took another step back, and the chain prevented him from taking another step forward. "What are you doing?" he repeated, voice gaining an edge of anger, but it wasn't anger.

It was hurt.

"I'm sorry," escaped her lips, her eyes wide and scared, her body like that of a frightened animal.

"So you're just going to leave me here?" he demanded. "To let that monster tear me apart? Crush my bones?"

"He's not a monster," she said too quickly, too fast for it to just be about the giant, and for a fleeting second, he wondered what it'd be like for someone—for her—to defend him like that. "And you're not going to die," she said, firmly, surely, and for half a second he wondered why she cared to ensure it.

"Why do this to me now?" he tried, mind racing, yanking at the chain, that didn't give at all. "Have I told you a lie?"

That made her pause.

He knew she hadn't sensed any lie from him.

Because he hadn't told her one.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, like she meant it, something almost choked in her voice, a pain in her eyes as she whispered, "I just—I can't take the chance that I'm wrong about you."

She backed away.

She was going to leave him here.

She was going to bloody leave him here.

She bloody used him to get the compass, and now that she had no more use for him, she was going to leave.

"You're sorry?" he echoed, hurt anger building into a rage he's so often killed with. "You're sorry?!"

She didn't respond, but her eyes did.

Then, she turned and ran.

"Swan!" he growled, yanking hard at the chain. "SWAN!"

There was no bloody way she was getting away with that compass, with double-crossing him.

No one double-crosses him.

Trembling with rage, it took longer than he would have liked to pick the lock with his hook, but he got it—pirate—and soon he was running after her.

Emma's entire body trembled with fear as she carefully switched handholds and footholds on her way down the beanstalk. Don't look down, don't look down… thoughts of returning to Henry kept her focused, kept her fear from overflowing.

However, she couldn't help seeing Hook's face flashing into her mind.

The moment he realized she'd chained him, that their alliance was abruptly severed.

It wasn't anger in that look.

It was shocked hurt.

Never in her life, for Emma had met many villains as both Emma the Savior and Emma the Bail-bondswoman, never in the moment her target learned they were cornered, did she see hurt.

She would see anger, rage, fury.

Never hurt.

But she shook it from her thoughts, focusing back on Henry, doing this for Henry, for what business did she have feeling guilty about leaving Hook behind?

But she was a little more than halfway down the beanstalk, where the trees below finally looked more like trees and less like dots, when something struck her wrist, pinning her to the stalk.

She let out a little yelp in surprise, glad that she hadn't been in between hand and footholds, and her eyes snapped to her wrist to see—

Oh, no.

A silver hook.

"I believe," snarled his voice as he revealed himself from the other side of the stalk, and Emma desperately tried to yank her hand free, "that you have something of mine, love."

The love was spoken with a sharpness that was nothing like the epithet's namesake.

Emma's heart jumped into her throat. "H-How did—?"

"Pirate," he reminded her, though the smirk wasn't in his features like it had been on their way up this beanstalk. "Give me the compass," he said firmly, and Emma tried again to get her hand free where he was pinning her to the stalk, but she was effectively trapped. A little panicked sound escaped her throat, at the same time that Hook's eyes snapped to her jacket pocket, where the chain of the compass gleamed in the sun.

"Ah," said Hook, that smirk back, but none of it holding any amusement. "I'll just take it myself."

He removed his hook from her wrist, and swiftly instead hooked the steel through the chain.

"Stop!" growled Emma, removing her hand to grab at the chain before he could take it, leaving them both in a sort of tug-of-war with it.

However it only lasted a few moments, because suddenly the entire stalk shook violently, as if—

Emma's eyes shot wide. "Crap," she breathed. "Mulan."

"What the bloody—" began Hook, but another strike to the beanstalk sent it swaying sharply. And both she and Hook, who only had a one-handed grip on the beanstalk, suddenly lost their holds.

A scream rose in Emma's throat as she fell, the sharp weightlessness feeling like the most terrifying thing. They were still hundreds of feet up in the air; the fall would kill them.

A flash of black leather as Hook fell next to her, and Emma suddenly felt an arm wrap around her waist, pulling her flush to a leather-clad body, and Emma suddenly didn't know if the falling or this was more terrifying.

But just as fast as they fell, something stopped them abruptly, along with a groan from Hook. They jarred to an almost-stop, and Emma's eyes snapped open, seeing that Hook had used his namesake to grab a branch of a tree that must have stood at least a hundred feet tall.

Though it interrupted their fall, the branch snapped on impact, and they fell, Hook attempting to grab another branch, each one breaking as he did, but also breaking their fall.

And suddenly they were crashing to the ground, Hook's arm releasing her as they did, both of them groaning as they hit the ground. However, the way the branches had slowed their descent, it didn't feel like they'd just fallen hundreds of feet through the air. It felt more like they'd only fallen a dozen feet.

Emma groaned as she pushed herself off the ground, feeling bruised, but surprisingly alive and not even having suffered more than scratches.

Beside her, Hook was painfully getting himself off the ground, wincing as he moved his shoulder, and Emma was stunned he hadn't dislocated it.

But even Emma was safe from the fall, she wasn't safe at all.

She stumbled to her feet even as Hook was trying to get his bearings, massaging his shoulder, and Emma snapped her head around, but the beanstalk wasn't even in sight.

"Where the hell is it?" she breathed, panic in her chest.

"Seems," came a pained voice as Hook rose to his own feet, "we've landed a ways away from the Beanstalk."

But Emma suddenly remembered something else.

What they'd been fighting over.

The Compass.

Her hand shot to her pocket, but it wasn't there; she didn't have it.

And from the way Hook seemed to remember at the same time, his hand going to his own pockets, his eyes scanning the ground around them for a gleam of metal in the grass, Emma knew they were screwed.

From Emma's own scan of the area around them, the compass was nowhere near.

They'd dropped it, and it could be anywhere.

Emma's eyes suddenly landed on Hook's, both of them realizing exactly what happened.

And within the same seconds, as if in a race, they both took off, running in opposite directions, eyes glued to the ground, looking for anything that sparkled in the sun.

Emma would kill for a metal detector right about now.

She needed to find that damn compass.

If she didn't find the compass, she couldn't get back to Henry…

Emma huffed a frustrated breath.

Right now she had no idea where to find the compass, and no idea where to find Snow, Aurora and Mulan, and she was pretty much completely lost in a world she knew nothing about.

And as much as she had tried to tell Snow she was fine and that she could take care of herself, that was on Earth, in a world that didn't have magic and irritating pirates and ogres and chimera as a traditional food—

Emma felt herself shiver beneath the leather jacket, and she pulled it closer around her.

The air was getting chillier as the daylight was fading, and she was suddenly growing far more scared than cold.

Don't be scared, don't be scared, she thought, just as she had so many times in a new foster home or one of the many times she found herself homeless, sleeping under bridges or in vacant cars.

But this wasn't even a world she could do that, and it made her realize how screwed up she was that the fact that sleeping under a bridge was even in her comfort zone more than where she was now—

She briefly shut her eyes, walking a little faster, wanting so badly to call out Mary Margaret's name, but learning the hard way that ogres are blind and they follow sound.

Emma took another unsteady breath, walking quicker through the forest, trying to be quiet and fast, but her boot suddenly snapped a twig under her feet, and at the same time, she felt a tension in the air.

Then, the ground shook.

With a heavy footstep.

The roar of an ogre that did not sound far suddenly rose a scream in her throat, but she swallowed it down, whipping her head around to try to figure out what direction it was coming from, her heart beating a million miles a second.

But it turned out it was coming from behind, and Emma whirled around, seeing the huge, hulking, ugly beast running at her. Without a second thought she turned and ran, nearly tripping over herself, choosing speed over silence, but it seemed this ogre was fast, too.

"Crap," breathed Emma, voice cracking with fear, skidding around a tree and ducking, curling herself as tiny as she could and holding her breath.

The pounding footsteps of the ogre came closer and closer, and suddenly it was in front of her, but it froze, tilting its head in the silence.

Emma pressed her hand over her mouth, her lungs burning, but she dared not make a sound.

But the ogre took another step closer to her, like it could sense she was there, and an involuntary gasp escaped her, and the ogre heard.

It roared so loud it shook the forest, and fisted its hand, moving to land a blow that would certainly kill her. She shut her eyes, burying her face in her arms—

Only for the ogre to roar in agony.

Emma's eyes snapped open, watching in shock as the injured ogre ran away, limping badly, to reveal—

Emma couldn't hide this gasp, either.

Hook stood where the ogre had been, his blade dark with what looked like blood.

He was thoroughly out of breath, like he'd been running for some time, and even in the faded light, she could see the fear in his eyes.

But when he looked at her, the fear was pushed away and traded for a smirk, but it was a lie Emma could have seen miles away.

"Hook?" breathed Emma, suddenly feeling very vulnerable in the curled up position she was in. She stumbled to her feet with difficulty, but her legs felt numb from the close call.

But with him in front of her, sword still out, she wondered if he or the ogre was more dangerous to her.

Emma expected either a smirk or a glare for leaving him behind, or perhaps to be the second victim to his sword.

What she didn't expect was for him to look at her with only more fear in his eyes. "It isn't safe out here. Come with me." He sheathed his sword, starting to walk away, but when she didn't follow, he turned back with impatience. And as if reading her mind, he said, "If I had wanted to bring any harm to you, Swan, I'd have let the ogre do so. Let's go."

He started walking again, and Emma felt indecision tearing her apart.

However…

The idea of being out here alone…

When the distant rumble of another ogre's footstep rocked the ground, Emma's feet made her decision for her.

She followed Hook, keeping herself a few feet away from him.

"Hook—" she began.

"Don't speak," he said sharply, eyeing the forest carefully, and Emma suddenly remembered the 'be quiet' rule with ogres.

Neither of them spoke for at least what felt like an hour, walking out of the forest and into dried up land by the side of a mountain, and after a while of walking through it, she saw Hook take a breath of relief.

"This way," he said, making her jump, as they'd been in silence for so long. "We can find shelter." Just as he said the words, Emma felt a few drops of rain hit her shoulder.

By the time they found a cave, and a tiny one at that that made the bridges Emma had slept under look like the Four Seasons, it had begun to pour. Luckily, they'd missed the heaviest of it, and Emma turned to watch it thunder down.

"The ogres don't often travel here," explained Hook, unsheathing his sword, and making Emma flinch a little, but he only held it to the rain to clean the blood from the blade. He eyed the sky. "Even if they do, the storm will drown out any noise we make."

Somehow, those words made her uncomfortable.

Emma swallowed.

A slight silence as he cleaned his blade, and Emma couldn't stop herself.

"Why did you do that?"

He looked at her, pulling his sword back under the shelter. "Do what?"

"Why did you stop that ogre from killing me?"

Why did you save me?

He looked at her, and in his hesitation, she saw a sort of uncertainty, like he didn't quite know the answer.

But instead, she saw a flicker of that hurt she saw when she'd handcuffed him, and Emma was suddenly far too aware he was still holding a sword.

"Why did you betray me?" he countered, lifting a brow that looked so much more dangerous than it had been up until now.

Emma felt a chill sweep down her spine.

Suddenly she was wondering if she should have taken the chance with the ogres.

He took a step toward her, and Emma kicked herself for moving an inch back instinctively. But instead of smirking at her fear, it seemed to… bother him.

He sheathed the sword.

Emma swallowed hard, standing up a little straighter, trying to gain some sort of confidence she didn't feel in the slightest. "Did you find the compass?" she asked, trying to keep her voice direct, unemotional.

She saw his…disappointment?...that she didn't answer his question, and his irritation at the new one.

But he pondered her question, a hesitation that was just enough for Emma to catch the consideration of telling a lie.

Her heart picked up.

But he seemed to think better of it, yet it also seemed to irritate him further and look like premature regret as sharp as the lightning that flashed outside, and he answered with movement, pulling out from his pocket—

"You found it!" breathed Emma, moving instinctively toward the compass to take it—the hope, the only way of getting home to Henry, the only way to not abandon him the way she was abandoned—but Hook's fingers closed around it, and he pulled it back a little.

"Yes," he said, the word careful. Measured. Watching her like he didn't know how to predict her. "I found it," he said slowly.

Emma again reached for it, but he pulled it further out of her grasp, lifting a brow as sharply as he'd raise his sword.

"I need that," said Emma, her desperation almost making her voice crack, her heart hammering.

"As do I," said Hook slowly. And before Emma could try reaching for it again, he pocketed it once more, making Emma flinch. "We should wait until morning," said Hook, when the silence spread too long. "The ogres are nocturnal." He kicked around some of the rocks and twigs that had gathered in the very small alcove, as if making room to sit.

"And what happens in the morning?" asked Emma, voice on edge, body tense, eyes still fixed on his pocket.

They both wanted, needed that compass.

He turned then, and watched her for a long moment. She could just see the war of emotions behind his own steel walls. Fear. Irritation. Hurt. Confusion.

But for the first time, she also saw exhaustion, and it was more than just in need of physical rest.

"I wasn't lying to you today," he said, voice suddenly serious, and Emma was surprised to hear how much he seemed to want her to believe him. "You are much safer company than Cora. At least, that was what I had thought before you left me to the giant's disposal."

"He—" began Emma, ready to defend Anton, but Hook didn't let her.

"I would be open to taking this compass and going to your land with you, so long as I can trust you." said Hook, looking her right in the eye, as if looking for a lie in her own.

And it somehow felt offensive that he deemed her untrustworthy.

"Or," countered Emma, "as long as I can trust you."

His brows shot up. "Me?" he said with surprise. "Love," he said, "I am not the one who left you handcuffed at the top of that bloody beanstalk." He took a step toward her, radiating an anger he seemed to have been keeping at bay, and Emma felt her back hit the wall of the shallow cave. "I," he said firmly, "have done nothing to warrant your betrayal or your distrust. I have saved your life three times now. And all you have done for me is leave me behind." He was inches from her now, brows narrowed into a glare that was so angry it could only have been caused by pain, and Emma couldn't look away from it.

He seemed to realize in that moment how intimidating he was being, and like he was shocked with cold water, he stepped back, that anger softening a little, doused like a cooling fire.

Their eyes, however, never left each other.

"I have no plans to betray you," he said firmly, keeping his eyes on hers, and Emma read every damn truth in them.

But she's done that before.

And Emma felt herself quietly say, "Betrayal isn't really something you plan."

It was as vulnerable as being without clothes to say the words, and she could tell by the shift in his face that he heard the vulnerability.

And in that shift, was almost an understanding, like he not only understood, but knew exactly what that felt like.

And maybe that he was beginning to realize that her leaving him at the beanstalk had far less to do with him.

"Well, then," he said, voice only just louder than the thundering rain. "It comes down to trust, then." He lifted a brow. "I'll ask you again. Care to try something new, darling?"

Emma watched him for a long moment.

And for the first time, actually… considered an alliance with him.

He had saved her life a few times now when he didn't have to.

And…

He had the compass.

He had already found the compass when that ogre nearly killed her.

He could have let her die, and gone off with Cora.

But he didn't.

And even after he saved her life, he let her accompany him to a safer place.

And he told her that he had the compass.

Perhaps he'd simply known she'd be able to tell a lie if he'd denied it, but he still did tell her the truth.

If he really wanted to, he could kill her right now.

She winced inwardly a little, realizing that he was right.

She was the one who was untrustworthy.

But for some reason, after everything, he still wanted to give her another chance.

Everything inside her screamed that it was an angle he was playing, that he and Cora were up to no good, that he was going to backstab her in the end. Possibly literally.

But the look in his eyes now…

It didn't look like he was going to hurt her.

However, neither did Neal.

"While you think that through, love," came Hook's voice, shattering her from the daze, he sat down, leaning against the wall of the tiny space, "you may want to get some rest. If we're to travel back to the beanstalk where your friends and mother are waiting for your return, we've quite a trek ahead of us."

He shut his eyes, seemingly to sleep.

Emma didn't move.

Her eyes fell to his pocket, where she could even see the slight gleam of the compass chain peeking out.

She looked back outside, through the dense falling rain, hearing a distant roar of an ogre.

Her heart skipped.

She looked back at Hook, who hadn't moved, but Emma knew was perfectly awake.

Try something new, darling.

It's called trust.

Emma sighed.

And out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Hook's lips twitch upward.

She sat down herself, trying to put distance between herself and Hook, but the alcove was stupid small. Her legs out straight brushed his, and a feeling that Emma decided to call fear rushed down her spine.

Hook, however, didn't seem to notice.

She pulled her knees to her chest, glad she had at least a few inches of space between her shoulders and his, but any further and she'd be in the rain.

She was still close enough that his scent enveloped them both, something like the ocean and leather.

Emma just hugged her knees tighter.

Silence fell.

She looked at Hook, who again seemed to be sleeping, but Emma knew he wasn't.

What if she fell asleep and he took the compass and left her here?

What if that was his plan all along?

Though then why would he save her from the ogre?

It took Emma what felt like another hour of pondering, but as she did, exhaustion weighed down.

She let her head tilt toward her shoulder, hugging herself tighter as a chill from the storm swept through. Her eyes shut, and she let them, planning to open them in a few minutes.

She was asleep long before then.

The soft light of day nudged Hook awake.

But it didn't come with what it usually did.

Usually, morning came with facing yet another day without his revenge sated, as each day without it was a failure. As each day without her was an empty and angry one, destined to only be worse than the last.

But for some reason, this morning… didn't bring that emptiness, that fury.

For some reason, it felt almost good.

His eyes opened slowly, rest having taken the edge of what had turned into a long day yesterday. Outside, the storm was over, though rain had left puddles and wet dirt. The scent of post-rainfall wafted through the area, and it was like the aroma of a fresh start.

Something he knew he could never have.

He was planning for a bitter end, and he'd made his peace with that.

But the strange… light feeling in his chest begged to differ.

Still half-caught in sleep, he moved to sit up straighter where he'd slept against the hard wall, but realized something probably far too delayed.

There was a… heaviness on his shoulder.

He looked down, and felt his heart stop.

The Swan girl.

Emma.

The last he'd seen of her last night was when she'd been curled up as far away from him as she could get without getting drenched in the rain, her eyes darting between his pocket where he knew the compass was, and the outside. She was quite the open book, and he knew she was pondering every possible plan to take the compass from him and leave with it.

But though distrustful, she was very smart.

Perhaps those qualities went hand in hand.

She knew as well as he did that she had no idea how to get back to the beanstalk, and she would have been dead within an hour if she had left last night.

But it wasn't just the fact that she was still here and the compass was still in his pocket.

It was that she was sleeping on his shoulder.

He couldn't tear his eyes away, frozen there, just staring at her.

Somehow in the night, she'd listed to the side, his side, resting her head on his shoulder, under his chin, almost like she fit there.

In a way that Milah never even had.

Her one hand was curled in toward her chest, as if protecting her heart, her other resting on his sleeve by his hook. Her eyes were shut, and she slept on, an occasional wince in her face, a twitch in her muscles, like sleep was never as restful for her as it should be.

Hook had had plenty of… female company over the years after Milah, but… they were enjoying the company for the same reason he was. For the passion.

But this… closeness?

It was something he hadn't experienced since…

He should move, he should wake her, he should run, he should leave her here like she left him.

He should have let the ogre kill her like it would have if he hadn't stopped it.

A question slipped through his mind, for about the thousandth time since last night. The same question she asked him.

"Why did you stop that ogre from killing me?"

He didn't know why.

He had every right to.

She'd betrayed him.

She was after the one thing he needed to get his revenge.

She'd have deserved it.

But something inside him had made him run the moment he knew the ogre found a target, and the moment he knew it was her.

Maybe it was something in the way she apologized for betraying him.

Hook had been betrayed many times over the years.

Never had the betrayer been sorry.

She'd hesitated after she'd done so; there was an agony in her decision.

It wasn't meant to be cold hearted.

He didn't know why she did it. But it was more than just because he was a pirate.

"I do not plan to betray you."

"Betrayal isn't really something you plan."

She was like that of a frightened animal. And seeing her there, terrified as the ogre nearly killed her…

She wasn't on this mission for anything more than to return to her child.

She knew as well as he did what abandonment does to a soul.

Sometime after she'd nearly left him to the ogres' mercy and before she'd left him to the giant's, there were cracks in those steel walls of hers. There were shaky smiles and there was…

He shook himself.

She was safer company than Cora, and he… he's… he's just… trying to help one more boy avoid becoming a Lost One.

That's all this alliance is.

But Emma suddenly shifted, lifting her head from his shoulder, opening her eyes.

"Morning, love."

Emma suddenly went rigid at his voice, and proximity, and her eyes snapped to him, realizing how close she was.

She flinched back instinctively, that fear that was as much a part of her eyes as the hazel in them deepening. And he tried to not feel the sting of her reaction.

They both got up, Emma very quickly, but Hook had a feeling it wasn't because of how uncomfortable he made her.

It was something of the opposite.

But there was something else in her shock, almost as if she was stunned he was still there.

She looked at him, like she was shoving every bit of that discomfort away. "You're really going to help us and not Cora?" she asked, changing the subject fluidly.

There's that distrust again.

"Aye." he said honestly.

Why did he suddenly want this woman's trust?

"If you want me to trust you," said Emma slowly, "let me hold onto the compass."

She held out her hand, waiting.

Hook lifted his brow. "Love, the last time I did that you handcuffed me on top of the bloody beanstalk." He lifted the brow higher. "I believe it is you who is in need of earning my trust."

Something shimmered in her eyes. And less than a whisper, she said, "I need to get back to my son."

Hook felt something deep inside his chest shift at the agony in her words, the pain of being away from her son.

So, he simply nodded, and said, "Then let's get you back to him."

Emma's eyes lingered on his pocket, on the compass, for a moment longer. But she shut them, and then opened them, giving him the tiniest of smiles.

It was a start.

They were walking for what felt like an hour or two, almost completely in silence other than some of Hook's directions and warnings.

The two of them walked with a few feet of space between them, like neither of them wanted to get too close.

Emma, at least, knew exactly why she wanted to keep her distance.

How could she have fallen asleep on his shoulder?

She never was one for cuddling, not even with Neal.

Why on earth would her body betray her like that?

All she knew was that she had hated it.

She utterly hated the feeling of being so close to him, just as much as when she had prevented him from breaking the trip wire in the giant's treasure room, and he had grabbed her.

She hated it, hated it, hated it.

Because a little part of her thought it felt good.

Not good in an he's attractive way, either.

That, she had chalked up to his ego and vanity and stupid charm.

But it was more that he felt almost…

Safe?

Emma wanted to scoff at the idea of thinking of Captain Hook as safe, but… clearly her body thought so, as she woke up sleeping on his shoulder.

As much as she wanted to think that was flat out wrong, with every footstep, Emma was starting to maybe… do it. Actually, for the first time since Neal…

Trust someone.

And just as she had the thought, they saw it in the distance:

The beanstalk.

Emma's little gasp of relief made him look at her.

"Aye," he said. "We're nearly there."

Emma smiled a little, walking a little faster, thinking about how terrified Mary Margaret must be right now.

"Here."

Emma stopped at Hook's voice, turning to see—

"What?" she breathed.

For he held out the compass, gesturing for her to take it.

"Take it," he said. At her unspoken question, he sighed and said, "Trust works both ways." A little uncertainty, he said, "You won't run off with it, will you?"

This time, Emma didn't even find herself thinking about it. "No."

He smiled a little, like he could read the truth in her eyes.

She took the compass, smiling.

Soon, Henry. I'll be home soon.

Hook started walking again, but Emma didn't, staring at the compass, the trust he placed in her hands.

Trust she really didn't deserve.

So, before she could change her mind, she said softly, "I only trusted one person in my life."

He stopped.

"And…" Emma felt her throat close a little. "He betrayed me."

Hook turned, watching her, listening with a little furrow in his brow.

Not like he didn't understand.

Like he didn't understand why she was telling him.

"He… he never told me a lie," said Emma, voice shaking a little, like her body was trying to reject the words that came out anyway. "And he… he betrayed me anyway." She took a shuddering breath. As hard as the words had been to say, words she had never said aloud before, it felt like relief. "That's why," she said, explained. "That's why I left you." She swallowed hard. "I…"

"I can't take the chance that I'm wrong about you."

Something shift in his expression, like he was replaying that moment too, with new context. And after a moment, a little sad surprise, like he was replaying another thing she'd said.

"I thought you'd said you'd never been in love."

"Maybe I was once."

Something about Hook's demeanor… softened.

Like he knew how much she'd just given him.

And how vulnerable it made her.

He was quiet for a moment, but then said, "I'd like to tell you why I saved you." he said, and Emma remembered her question to him.

"Why did you stop that ogre from killing me?"

Hook took a step closer to her. "However… I truly don't know why." Emma could read the truth, the confusion in his eyes as he looked at her, and she didn't even know if he realized he was still walking toward her, even closer. "I had every reason not to."

He was an inch away now, looking into her eyes, like the answer was there.

But instead of stumbling back, getting away from him like her body was screaming for her to do, she instead gave him a rare smile. "Truce?"

He seemed to shake from a daze, realziing how close they were. But he cleared his throat a little, smiling too. "Aye."

"Well isn't this cozy," came a cold voice from behind them

Cora.

Emma went rigid.

"I see you've found my compass," said Cora with a cold smile directed at Emma. "Good work, Hook."

Emma felt her entire body run cold.

She stumbled back a step.

Away from them both.

Her eyes snapped to Hook. "You told me I could trust you!" she breathed, feeling every nerve in her body go numb.

It suddenly felt like flashing back to the day she was arrested.

Hook, however, was still caught in shock, and had something so agonized in his eyes at her words, which was nothing like the smirk Emma had been expecting.

"And you've brought company," drawled Cora, taking a step toward Emma. Her smile faded. "However, I was on the fence on bringing you along with me. I certainly cannot trust the daughter of Snow White." And with a chilling smile, she said, "Kill her."

Emma felt fear slide through her like lightning.

She stumbled back another step, her heart pounding.

"We…"

Hook's voice stuttered, and to Emma's shock, he looked afraid.

"We…" he began again, like he was clawing for words. "We don't have to kill her. We… we can take her with us. Use her."

Emma froze.

He was trying to save her?

And his last words were a lie.

He was stalling.

"Hook," said Cora, in a terrifyingly quiet and frigid voice. "I allied with you under the condition that I had your full loyalty." She took a step toward him, and Emma nearly saw him flinch. "Kill her," she demanded. "Or I will kill you."

Hook was frozen.

But then, his eyes shifted to Emma.

Something horribly sad in them.

And then quickly— "Swan, run—!" he breathed.

Cora's features twisted, and she reached for his chest.

His heart.

His eyes shut.

And Emma's feet moved instinctively, throwing herself in front of him.

"EMMA!"

Emma felt Cora's hand sink into her chest, making her gasp like she'd swallowed ice. She felt the cold grip of fingers like claws curl around her heart and pull—

—but her heart didn't move.

Emma's eyes opened, seeing the witch's hand still in her chest, yanking at her heart that wouldn't move.

"What—?" she gasped, furious as she kept trying.

But then, a brilliant light exploded from Emma, the power of it so strong it struck Cora, throwing her back dozens of yards, crashing her into the ground, unmoving.

The light faded, and Emma stumbled, gasping, putting her hand to her chest.

"Emma!"

Suddenly he was touching her, his hook at her side to steady her, his hand finding her face, looking into her eyes with such a strong worry it made her lose her breath.

"Are you all right?!" he breathed.

"I… think so," said Emma breathlessly.

"Why did you do that?" he gasped.

Emma blinked, realizing what she'd just done.

She nearly died for him.

"I don't know," she whispered, looking at him.

Though she was no longer unsteady, he didn't let her go.

And it felt like she needed support now more than even before.

"You saved my life," he breathed, shock and awe coloring his blue eyes even bluer.

"You saved mine," countered Emma softly.

A moment held them in tense silence.

He was still looking at her, eyes inches from hers, and she couldn't tear hers away.

And his brows twitched, as if with curiosity, as if with wonder, and before she knew it he was leaning in and she was meeting him halfway.

The kiss felt like nothing she'd ever experienced.

It felt like speaking everything that had been in the tension between them the past two days.

He pulled back, their eyes opening, both of them caught in the shock of it.

But he broke the moment with a look toward Cora's unmoving form, and he said, "We need to get to your friends and then to you land. Quickly."

Still too stunned to speak, Emma only nodded.

And they began to run.

By the time they made it to the base of the beanstalk, Emma was out of breath.

But relief struck her at once.

They were still there.

Mary Margaret was pacing, Aurora was watching her with sad eyes, and Mulan—

….was tied up on the ground, cursing and fighting it.

"Mary Margaret!" called Emma as loudly as she dared as to avoid ogres hearing.

The moment Mary Margaret heard her, she gasped, spinning around.

She wasted no time; she ran, crashing into Emma, and grabbing her in a crushing hug.

"Emma!" she exclaimed, every ounce of worry poured into her name. "You're okay! Oh, my god, you're okay." She pulled back, eyes wide. "Where have you been?!" She suddenly glared at Hook, eyes threatening. "If you hurt my daughter—"

"No, he didn't," said Emma quickly. "He… um, actually… saved my life. A couple of times," she admitted.

Mary Margaret's brow raised. High.

"We found the compass," said Emma, lifting it. "But… Cora found us."

Mary Margaret and Aurora gasped, and Mulan stopped struggling.

"What?" breathed Mary Margaret.

"It's a long story," said Emma, "but she's unconscious and we should really get home."

Mary Margaert looked like she very much wanted to know that story, but let it go.

Emma suddenly asked, "Why is Mulan tied up?!"

"She tried to chop down the beanstalk," said Mary Margaret, using a very parental tone, and Emma winced. "We're going to talk about that when we get home." she said, with a pointed look at Emma.

"She really is your mother," commented Hook under his breath.

Mary Margaret's eyes shifted to him. Warily. "You expect Hook to come with us?" she asked Emma, suspicion and distrust in her eyes.

"Yes," said Emma, the word firm and certain.

"How do we know we can trust him?" asked Mulan as she stood, Aurora untying her.

"Because," said Emma, looking at him. "I do."

Mary Margaret's brow lifted, for she knew just how hard it was for Emma to trust.

Slowly, Mary Margaret nodded.

The other three women started leading the way, and Emma looked at Hook.

He was already looking at her.

And they both smiled.

-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper @cssecretsanta2020

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Sky's Canvas"

This little future Swan-Jones-Mills family fic envisioning them during their happy beginning post-s6 would probably have been well suited to Father's Day last week, but I didn't think of it until too late. I hope it will still be enjoyable this week too. It's a part of my one shot collection on AO3 or ff.net (if you'd prefer to read it either of those places instead) I hope you have fun picturing this alternate idea of what might have happened - and I'd love to hear what you think!

Notes: I toyed with the idea for this one for quite some time. The prompt elements that I have used are: a museum, the phrase “it was just a joke”, and also some small art facts – mostly about the particular museum itself (which is real). I have also put in a CS daughter (my personal head canon imagined one, Morgan Ruth Jones, whom I have written about before), and a college aged Henry. So, this is set somewhere in an alternative post-season 6 reality, where Henry stays in the Land Without Magic to seek his story, and also to be close enough to visit his family often, and for them to return the favor…)

by: @snowbellewells

The bubbly, nonstop chatter of her four-year-old little girl, which has cheerfully been filling Emma Swan’s ears for the past hour and a half, suddenly stills, immediately grabbing her attention and setting off an interior maternal alarm. She turns to seek out Morgan Ruth Jones – her little pirate princess – wondering if her daughter has yet again managed to sneak away from them and find herself in some sort of trouble.

Luckily, Emma doesn’t have to look far before she hears a chortling trill of baby laughter and locates her toddler with the disheveled head of dark, ringlet curls and twinkling, mischievous eyes – an aquamarine mix of her own green gaze and her father’s ocean blue – standing before a huge oil painting of a Spanish galleon rocking precariously on the stormy main and looking up at her father with fixed adoration. “Really, Papa?” Emma hears Morgan chirp, practically bouncing on the balls of her little feet as she tugs anxiously at his hook in eagerness to hear his answer. “Was it a storm that big you sailed ‘Roger’ through when you went to save Henwy in Neverland?!”

Emma is just chuckling wryly at the changes which have transpired in her life to give her a little girl more interested in daring adventures, ancient naval ships, and sword fighting than frilly dresses or dolls and makeup, even as her husband raises his eyes just enough to smirk at her knowingly over Morgan’s head, when another voice, youthful, warm, and settling into its masculine, adult timbre, answers Morgan’s question from over her shoulder, announcing Henry’s arrival to join them. “It was bigger, Pipsqueak,” he confirms jovially, pausing briefly to wrap a wiry arm around his mom in a quick side-hug before continuing to the side of his younger half-sister, kneeling to her level and adding with a gleam in his eye, “A mermaid summoned it to drown them all.”

“Hen-wy!!” Morgan squeals with glee; the painting, and even her papa’s beloved ship, forgotten as she flings herself into her brother’s arms with enough force to nearly bowl him over, causing Henry to chuckle as he catches her close to his chest.

“Hey Munchkin,” he greets affectionately, standing to his full height again – now even with his stepdad’s – still holding Morgan, her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly that Emma has to wonder if she’s ever going to let go. Turning to include his mom and his surrogate father in his next statement, Henry adds. “It’s great to see you all. Things must be quiet in Storybrooke, if you’re still going to stay all weekend.”

Here he arcs an eyebrow in curious bemusement, a trait Emma realizes all too well that he has picked up from her dashing scoundrel of a husband and probably uses to equally charming effect on all the girls he meets in his freshman courses at Bowdoin College. It is clear he has settled easily into the small arts school in Brunswick, Maine, just under a two hours’ drive from them, and that the campus atmosphere and freeing anonymity and normalcy he has there must be agreeing with him. Emma wants to snort in disbelieving laughter at his jest, though well aware that he knows better than to ever think his hometown would go completely, boringly normal. Instead, she shakes her head resignedly, merely giving her grown son a playfully long-suffering sigh. “You know how it is,” she shrugs, “never a dull moment. But – if you don’t count the dwarves coming to blows at Granny’s the other morning because Tom Clark accidentally sat in Leroy’s spot at the counter and got his flu germs on Leroy’s plate of bacon and eggs…”

“Which I do count,” Killian interrupts smoothly, winking at his adopted son. “I am the one who risked infection from the virus in forestalling their skirmish.”

Emma rolls her eyes at her deputy husband’s interruption and mutters “drama queen” under her breath, which Henry and Morgan both clearly hear and snicker at before she continues, “Otherwise it’s been as quiet as it ever gets. No deathly dangerous villains or curses meant to tear us apart and wipe our memories blank.”

“Yet…” Killian adds on needlessly, an ominous tone in his voice acknowledging the fact that they all know it’s only a matter of time before some new threat is wreaking havoc again. Their sleepy little town might seem like a place lost in time and space, but it is still a veritable magnet for trouble, and none of them can deny it.

Killian, however, waggles his brows playfully after his foreboding aside, making Henry shake his own head at his stepfather. It had seemed a rather grim pronouncement for the reformed pirate – more like his mom, really.

Morgan grins widely back at her father, nodding in gleeful agreement, her gap-toothed smile showing where she has lost a fair few of her baby teeth recently. “Yeah…yet!” she exclaims, not fully understanding the concern behind the sentiment, but always ready – as is her entire extended family – for action and excitement.

Emma shakes her head in humored exasperation at her two “children” – wondering, as she often does, how someone who has seen and experienced as much as Killian, who has witnessed some of the worst humanity had to offer and suffered at their hands, who has lived so long and weathered such crushing heartbreak and hate, can still easily find such simple, child-like joy in the littlest things. “Really, guys?” she questions, looking to her college student son for more mature support. “Can’t we just enjoy things being normal for once?”

“Aye, of course, my Love,” Killian replies deftly. “ ‘Twas merely a joke,” he adds, leaning over to brush a quick kiss to her brow that makes Morgan giggle, hide her face in Henry’s shoulder, and cry out, “Eww, they’re kissing again!” in a frank, tickling whisper against her older sibling’s skin.

“Just a joke is right,” Henry declares, motioning them forward to venture on into the rest of the Bowdoin College Museum and toward the particular exhibit he wants them to see. The collection was an 1811 bequest from a wealthy benefactor to the school and was one of the earliest college art collections in the country, as Henry had enthusiastically told her over the phone some weeks ago when his project had commenced. His Maritime History class had done a cross-curriculum partnership with the arts department to put together a student exhibit of research and mixed media in the college’s museum, and Henry has been quite secretive about his entry, even if insistent that they needed to see it in person. “Like anyone could be around you lot for long and think you were normal!” he scoffs.

“Ha ha,” his mother laughs drolly, bumping into his side with her shoulder in playful retribution as they move ahead side-by-side, with Killian, who is now holding a wriggling Morgan once again, following closely behind. However, once the jostling ceases, Emma grasps her nearly-grown son’s hand in hers for a moment, stunned anew at how much he has changed from the little boy who had found her in Boston all those years ago, and led her into the very life she has now. Squeezing tightly with emotion welling up in her throat, she wishes he could truly understand how much she loves him.

“Missed you too, Mom,” Henry murmurs softly, pressing her fingers back with his own wrapped around them. It is more than enough and makes her heart flutter in gladness.

Once Henry leads them through a few different rooms and several intriguing displays, he slows when they reach a large, somewhat circular room with a high, arched ceiling, and then turns to them with a mysterious smile on his face and clear anticipation in his big, brown eyes, just as they have always held, even at ten years old.

At first glance, this particular exhibit, this room in itself, seems empty. Looking around with faces equally full of curiosity and confusion, Killian, Emma, and Morgan end up staring back at Henry expectantly until Killian finally speaks up, “Begging your pardon, Lad, but I’m afraid I am not quite certain what you wish for us to see.”

Henry gives a nod of acknowledgement, rather knowingly pleased, and making Emma smirk to herself with a mother’s satisfaction at seeing her son so confidently happy and in his element. ‘He’s definitely got something up his sleeve,’ she thinks affectionately, admittedly finding herself anxious to see what his surprise might be. She knows that Henry has been loving this course all term – not to mention how thrilled her husband had been at the news – and that the long term practicum research projects are being showcased here throughout the entire month of April. Emma can only conclude that her son’s hard work has paid off in a way he’s proud of, and he must believe wholeheartedly that they will be too.

All Henry says is, “I take it you’re ready then?” and at Killian’s nod and Morgan’s “Yes, yes, YES, Henwy!!” exclamation, while she hops up and down exuberantly, he switches off the lights and presses a previously unnoticed button next to the light switch.

Immediately, the light and airy sound of some sort of flute or piccolo trickles through the quiet air of the room, a gently evocative melody with a lingering, haunted quality to its tone, enhanced by the sound echoing beneath of waves washing gently against the hull of some easily floating ship or back and forth over the shore of some deserted bay. Even as the sounds which are familiar and comforting to his tiny family audience wrap around them, small pinpricks of light appear just like stars in the night sky out on the ocean, sparking to life on the walls around them and the high ceiling overhead. It is a constellation spread out just for them in breathtaking majesty. Then, the Author begins to narrate his newest story…

Listening to Henry’s words, Emma feels her breath catch just a bit in both awe and emotion, glancing quickly over at her husband and daughter, before either of them realizes they are being observed. Morgan’s green eyes are wide and sparkling with interest and excitement, her mouth an open “o” as she looks above her, dazzled at what would appear for all the world to be the stars and constellations in the night sky brought indoors and spread out for their entertainment. Killian is silent and still, so much so that Emma knows – as few others would – just how valiantly he is battling some strong emotion…how very touched he is. Emma was never as great a student of the star charts and navigational astronomy as her sailor would have loved to make her, but Henry ate it right up, and she would bet her battered and beloved old VW that Henry has recreated some particular display that holds an extra meaning for he and his stepdad alone.

Shaking herself slightly to bring her focus back to earth and her attention back to the words of Henry’s presentation once more, she hears her son’s voice – soothing, engaging, and reeling her into the adventurous stories behind the scattered specks of light arrayed above them and their meaning and guidance to generations of sailors making their ways on a wide and pathless sea.

“The Cygnus,” Killian mouths silently beside her, appearing genuinely awestruck as he takes his gaze just momentarily from Henry’s representative “sky” to look in the eyes of the young man he has for years now cared for and loved like a son; a sincere gaze of fond understanding passing between them that brings a film of unshed tears to Emma’s vision that she has to rapidly blink away. In fact, soundless though it may be, she catches Killian’s comment only because she is so focused on her husband and his emotional reaction to this gift Henry has given all of them – but her pirate in particular. Emma senses that Killian knows it in this moment and holds tightly to his fingers twined with hers while practically beaming at her son, wondering again how she ever got lucky enough that the two most important people in her world would love each other as much as they each love her.

Morgan reaches over from Killian’s arms to pat her mother’s cheeks as Henry concludes his tale and turns the lights back up. “Don’t cry, Mama,” Morgan coos sweetly. “Henwy’s story was happy in the end. The Swan leads the sailor to his home.”

Emma smiles shakily at her daughter, and then the rest of her family with their looks of understanding. “I know, Baby,” Emma murmurs softly, still brushing away the evidence, but with her smile growing broader all the while. “Don’t worry. These are happy tears.”

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