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capnjay21 · 5 years ago

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Brink, 4/?

But this woman was neither mermaid nor Brave, radiant but fierce — and the cool touch of steel to his skin reminded him of the sword she had pointed at his throat.

“My name is Emma Swan,” she said, in answer to the question he had yet to give voice to, “and I’m here for my son.”

Season 2 Canon Divergence; Hook never escaped Neverland, and once the curse breaks Pan comes to collect the loneliest lost boy of them all - the one in possession of the Heart of the Truest Believer.

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one | two | three | ao3

A/N: it’s been a while, and I doubt any of my old readers are still following, but here is #4 as part of my mission to complete all my old projects! some references to Peter Pan source material in this one, details of which you can find in my note at the end. Enjoy! Rating: T

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With the morning came a swirl of fog, having spent the night rolling down from Dead Man’s Peak itself, and the moment Emma roused from her restless slumber she found she couldn’t see anything beyond the bruised and leaden smog that had amassed outside the porthole. Her first thoughts were of blind panic; where she had woken up, how the ground appeared to rock beneath her, and questioning why the image of Henry becoming little more than a vestige of sleep distressed her so. It took a few beats of staring into the gloom of Hook’s cabin, but soon enough she remembered.

I have to give you your best chance.

Well, that wasn’t enough for her.

In the privacy of the cabin, she allowed herself a few moments to gather herself together. Although she had initially rebuffed Hook’s invitation to take his quarters for herself, she didn’t want to owe him any favours, she had to admit the seclusion had been a welcome change of pace from the exposed region of jungle behind them. Hook had taken extra care to demonstrate the locking mechanism on the door, and with the barely noticeable furtive look he cast up at the deck as he did so, part of her had wondered how much of his offer for the night had been about politeness and how much had been about keeping her away from his crew — or keeping his crew away from her. The moment had passed, and he had mastered his expression before she could ask.

On waking, an uncomfortable crick in her neck had throbbed painfully and she attempted to massage it out, but she had slept awkwardly atop the satchel she had brought with her from Storybrooke and the knot remained persistent. The closer they got to the Jolly Roger the night before, the more aware she had been of Hook’s hard gaze straying to it on more than one occasion. Its importance had struck her then like a bolt of lightning in the dark — the satchel was where Hook had to believe the hat was, the hat she had assured him would transport them back to her world, the hat she had refused to show him.

(The hat she didn’t have.)

(Hook definitely didn’t need to know that.)

It was imperative, she had realised then, that she never let Hook or any of his cronies catch a glimpse of the true contents, which amounted merely to Henry’s storybook and a couple of protein bars Mary Margaret had insisted she take for the journey — and that was all. Given how little she trusted the Captain, she had far from ruled out the possibility of him sneaking back into his quarters through the night to steal it, and as a result she had wanted it close to her at all times.

Somewhere in between the paranoia of being disturbed, her weary sadness at Henry’s rejection of her rescue and the growing fury at the anonymous figure that had brought them all to the chessboard, Peter fucking Pan, Emma had fallen asleep.

Now, in the ashen light of what she assumed was morning, she could get a better look at the cabin itself. She felt it would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation — here was an auspicious opportunity to try and get a better sense of the man she had tentatively chosen to ally herself with, and as eager as she was to get back out there and start doing something, she took a moment to explore her surroundings first as she munched on one of the protein bars Mary Margaret had sent with her.

The cabin was mostly bare, functional. Aside from the bunk she had rested in, the only other pieces of furniture were the table and chairs at its centre, and a few shelves to the rear of the room laden with books, charts and other trinkets. A large chest lay in the corner, and though Emma ran her fingers over it the lid would not budge — the lock seemed intricate, and she doubted a man like Hook would be so foolish as to leave a key lying around. She tugged open drawers, peeked inside cupboards, but it seemed as if the only clues would be amongst the meagre belongings atop the shelves.

There were a few books, most pertaining to nautical techniques or otherwise mariner related – to her amusement, one battered copy of Treasure Island stood amongst the tomes. Perhaps he had been looking for tips. Some sort of tool lay beside them, bright gold and meticulously polished, with the effigy of a winged horse welded into its side amongst what Emma assumed to be maps of constellations. She didn’t care much for any sailing trinkets and set it down, but her eye was caught by a piece of parchment folded in between two books near the back.

Carefully, not wanting to tear it, she tugged it out. A charcoal sketch of a woman stared back at her, beautiful, gentle. Undoubtedly important to Hook if he had tucked it away so tenderly, and she had to wonder who she might be. A family member — a lost love? Any explanation seemed entirely incognizant with his character. He was harsh and sharp edges, like her. Certainly nothing like a fairy-tale.

She considered that maybe that was the reason she was finding him so much easier to deal with than the rest of Storybrooke, even her parents — once the curse had lifted, between the panic of Henry’s kidnapping, it had been all talk of ‘good will out’, of happy endings. Henry would have loved it. As it was, Emma hadn’t grown up in an Enchanted Forest, and the idea of achieving anything just because she was good, and it was right, was a concept that she could not yet grasp. That she refused to grasp.

She didn’t want to lose her grip on reality just because, apparently, she was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming; the product of True Love.

And yet, now she found herself in Neverland, in league with Captain Hook and trying to prevent her son from becoming a Lost Boy.

Emma folded the parchment back along its crease and returned it to its place upon the shelf. No answers had immediately presented to her, nothing about the cabin made any suggestion that he was being anything but straightforward with her about his intentions. But then, her world had taught her that evil didn’t always appear like it did in books. And she didn’t want to waste any more time.

Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, Emma clambered the steps back up to the door and unlatched it, letting the dull light of the morning stream inside. As she stepped out onto the deck, she was met with a flurry of activity. Men marched back and forth hauling tools, bundles of rope, and from a stance by one man which suggested extreme weight, possibly a cannon ball or two. They were certainly hurriedly preparing for something, but as she stepped past not even one of the crew could avoid turning their gaze to follow her, and she felt each beady stare like a prickle crawling up her spine. She felt like snapping and telling them all where they could shove it, but her attention was demanded by a small group clustered in the centre of what appeared to be the main deck.

The sky out at sea was a blanket of white, bright enough that she at first shielded her eyes from the sudden contrast, and the tip of the mast was hidden from view by the clinging mist that threatened to curl downward with every groan of the ship’s great weight. Ahead of her a few crates has been shoved together to form a crude attempt at a work surface, and Hook stood at the centre of a handful of his men, gesturing over parchment with hand and hook.

At her arrival, he lifted his eyes from the work in front of him.

“Ah, Swan,” he gestured for her to step up beside them. “Good of you to join us. Are you well rested?”

Dismissing the question, she took a spot directly opposite Hook between two of his men. They each took half a step in either direction away from her and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was it with this crew? Did they think she was going to curse them? Pointing at the chart spread across the crate, its curling edges spilling over the side, she carried on. “What’s all this?”

“Preparations, of a sort,” Hook replied. “Apologies for its crude nature, but I was remiss in forgetting most of our charts are kept inside my cabin.”

He didn’t disturb her, then. Or he just wanted her to think he didn’t.

The chart, she quickly realised, was a map — clearly one of the island. It was her first real look at the scope of Neverland, so she leaned in closer with interest. It was impeccably detailed, the jagged ridges of the island’s perimeter clear and sharp. There were three distinct bends inland, two at the south of the island and one towards the east, the latter illustrated with a tiny figure of what Emma recognised to be a mermaid. The smaller one towards the south, at the bottom right of the map, tapered off into a curving river leading north west, constantly meandering back on itself until it opened out into a large lake at the centre of the island. The second also trailed north among an estuary, before slowing to a trickle at the foot of a large mountain near the northernmost edge. ‘Dead Man’s Peak’, it was labelled, in cursive script beside it.

Subtle.

The others were given equally conspicuous names — the smallest coastal edge that led to the lake ‘Pirate’s Cove’, the mouth of the river that flowed from the mountain ‘Misery Bay’, and the final towards the east as ‘Mermaid’s Lagoon’, all written in a looping, aged curl of ink. She mused on whether these were the names that came with the island itself, or if they were titles bestowed upon them by the crew as they encountered them. The native camp they had been taken to yesterday was marked by the icon of a totem pole near the western edge of the isle. Emma could almost trace the route they had walked when they came upon Pan’s camp.

Preparations, Killian had said. “Preparations for what?”

“War, Ma’am,” one of the crew spoke up — a tall man, with a scarlet cravat tied neatly about his neck, sporting a deep brown beard trimmed with precision, his hair parted at the side and combed down to his ears. Emma thought she might have recognised him from her first confrontation with Hook the day before. He was much, well, tidier than the rest of them, and he had just called her Ma’am. Emma arched an eyebrow. “With Pan.”

“I didn’t ask for a war.”

“Nor will it come to that, if we have our way.” Hook shot the man who spoke with a hard glare, and he visibly shrank away. “Our plan is to link up with the widest part of the river,” here he rested his hook upon the mouth of Pirate’s Cove, “take Pan by surprise. We rarely sail inland, and if we can make it to the Great Lake then we can continue to use the Jolly Roger as a base while we search the island.”

Emma was watching men she didn’t know nodding and murmuring along to a plan she hadn’t been part of, on a mission that was turning the rescue of her son into some kind of war. And she didn’t like it one bit.

“Woah, hold on a second,” she cut across them, “we can’t just grab Henry and run, you know that. We’ve got to try something else.” Hook had been there, had witnessed Henry refuse to be rescued. It wasn’t as simple as just finding him and leaving anymore. Hook’s lips parted, but didn’t seem to immediately have a response. “Probably the reason you shouldn’t start making plans about my son without consulting me.”

Hook’s eyes rolled skyward, and for a moment she thought he was going to drip out the kind of caustic remark as she’d come to expect from him, but instead he seemed to master that instinct and fixed her with a rigid stare. Emma tried to ignore the crew watching the exchange with an uncomfortable curiosity.

“It seems to me we have two options,” Hook began impatiently, “we either make your lad believe he should not stay, that his place is with you, or we make him believe he cannot — by virtue of Pan being a villain.” He raised hand and hook to gesture the man around him. “For which we can all serve as testimony.”

“No offence, but according to every story he’s ever been told, including probably Pan’s, you are the bad guy.”

“Believe me, on this island, I am not the bad guy.”

Emma wasn’t convinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Between Hook’s imploring look and the map rolled out atop the crate, and she noticed for the first time the thin, burgundy line drawn in ink which followed the river up from Pirate’s Cove to the lake, with a few crosses scratched in at locations on either side of it, she could admit he had clearly put some work into this. And some thought. Though she was loathe to admit it, Hook was right — her best shot was just getting a chance to talk to Henry a second time. If he really felt staying in Neverland was what was best for their family then she might not be able to change his mind on that account, but if he found out what Pan was really like (and she ignored the little voice inside her that pointed out she had only Hook’s and Gold’s word on what Pan was really like) then maybe he could be convinced to return with her.

God, she just wanted him back. That was all.

“Fine,” she said finally, reaching forward so she could spin the map to face her. “This looks good. And just so we’re clear — just because I agree this probably the best way to go about this, does not mean I will be okay with every damn idea that pops into your head.” This, she directed at Hook. “I call the shots here. Got it?”

Her son. Her mission.

Hook raised hook and hand in a mock surrender, before giving her a saccharine sweet smile she didn’t buy for a second, and touching two fingers to his temple in salute.

“Aye, Captain.”

In a moment he was gone, bounding the steps up to the quarterdeck and barking out orders. Like mice, the crew scurried to carry them out, and for the first time she could get a real glimpse at the power he held over his men. As he leapt onto the gunwale on the left-hand side, his hand secured in the rigging to anchor him, he surveyed the work below him before turning his gaze to face the island. Only once the ship groaned and began to turn, the main sail pulled taut against the wind, did he drop down and take his place at the wheel.

Emma returned to the map. Only the man who had spoken earlier remained, and he appeared to be waiting for her to finish before gathering it up.

“So this is Neverland,” she mused.

“Aye, ma’am. Chartered out as best we could manage.” At Emma’s arched eyebrow he hastened to continue. “It isn’t always easy with poisoned arrows being shot at you from every direction.”

Poisoned arrows? Great.

Before straightening, Emma shot the man a wry look. “And ‘Misery Bay’?”

The man had the good grace to look a little sheepish, before starting to roll the map under his fingers.

“I suppose it’s a little on the nose.”

***

At the mouth of the river, as the fog began to roll up the bank, curling and swelling and concealing the edge of the jungle from view, they disembarked. Unused to the drastic contrast in temperature from the day prior, Emma shivered as she descended the gangplank thrown over the side, conscious that the only piece of clothing sheltering her from the elements was the khaki tank top she was wearing - she had thought of it for blending into jungle, and had been foolish enough to believe Gold when he had told her Neverland was an exclusively tropical climate. Or maybe he hadn't been lying; he just didn't know the island as intimately as he had thought. She had considered asking Hook for something else to wear, but her stubbornness had persisted until the gangplank had been raised again and his ship was disappearing into the mist, to her immediate regret as they began to mount the shore.

For the landing party Hook had chosen just two of his crew to join them — Starkey (the name, she had learnt, of the tall, polite gentleman from earlier) and a far smaller pirate, Noodler. Noodler, for a reason Emma could not immediately discern, made her profoundly uncomfortable. Although his stature was smaller, and with his shoulders hunched she found his height falling a little below Emma's own, his features were pressed in upon themselves like a raisin, one of his eyes appearing slightly higher on his face than the other - but even that wasn't enough to unnerve her. It wasn't until she noticed, with a jolt that made her stomach turn, what it was about him that made him so odd and jarring to her.

His hands were backwards.

When resting at his sides his thumbs pointed outwards, palms facing forward, and it cut his shadow into an unsettling shape. It made Emma instantly want to recoil — but, morbidly, she couldn’t stop cataloguing the details. At his wrists sharp, scarlet scars zig-zagged across the surface of his skin, as if the hands had been first removed, and then sewn on again the wrong way. Before she could even begin to consider what had caused such a grisly deformation, the pirate caught her attention and answered for her.

“Pan,” he said, in a dark, gravelly tone, as if the very words scratched the back of his throat.

On this island, I am not the bad guy.

She was starting to consider Hook's words may be truer than she had realised. And if that was something he did to his enemies, what could he be doing to Henry?

“I'm sorry,” she said, for lack of anything else to offer. She had meant what she said before; she was not interested in a war with Pan. Just Henry. Revenge wasn't on the table.

Noodler nodded his gruff acknowledgement, before turning back to watch Starkey hoisting a bag of provisions over his shoulder. Meanwhile Emma pushed ahead, falling into step beside Hook. Only slightly envious of his thick leather coat, and with Noodler’s gruesome injury still fresh in her mind, she decided there was something they needed to discuss.

“Alright, let’s Sun Tzu this bastard,” she began bluntly, to ensure he wouldn’t fill the silence with something inane before they could get to it, “tell me about Pan.”

Hook’s eyebrows furrowed. “Forgive me, ‘Soon —'?”

“Know your enemy,” she clarified, “The Art of War?” At his continuing perplexed look, Emma realised she had no idea why she bothered – nothing she had learnt about Hook over the short day and a half or so she had known him suggested he would have any idea what she was talking about. Maybe she should be keeping any kind of allusions to her world to a minimum. “Well, I can’t blame you — that would’ve been a niche reference even for a twenty-first century man.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, love.”

“I want to know more about Pan — what makes him so powerful? He has magic, right?”

Once she mentioned Pan’s name, Hook slowed down noticeably, making a show of stepping nearer to the river’s edge and assessing their path ahead; Emma might have considered the sudden concern for its face value, if she hadn’t also observed the tic that had moved in his jaw, the flash of unease that had appeared before he could suppress it. Typical, she spent so much time trying to shut him up, and when he finally had something useful to offer he dried up like a desert.

“Oh, now you clam up.”

Hook met her ire with a sharp stare of his own, immediately coming to his own defence. “I just don’t see the purpose. We’re here for the boy only.”

“The purpose is not walking in there with my eyes shut,” she insisted. “You heard Tiger Lily – my ‘impending duel’ with Pan. I need to know as much as possible.”

Whether or not she was truly intending on starting aforementioned duel, she very much liked the idea of being prepared for any eventuality – whatever it would take to get Henry back.

Hook appeared to consider her for a long moment, before apparently reaching whichever decision he had been wresting with and rolling his eyes skyward to the canopy. Emma decided there was something distinctly off about him in the light of morning, a marked difference in his countenance. It seemed whatever easy humour he had pestered her with throughout their journey to the native village and back had evaporated into the mist, and she was left with the stern, formidable figure she had seen on the deck of his ship. It made no difference to her in the long run, as long as he continued to help her, but it was definitely something of note. She considered of the folded parchment tucked between the tomes on the bookshelf; a reminder that there was a lot about Captain Hook she didn’t know.

“The entire island is what makes him powerful,” Hook finally replied, carefully. “They are… linked, somehow. I can’t speak for the particulars.”

In the entirety of Emma’s brief experiences with real, rabbits-out-of-hats and poisoned apple magic, hardly anybody seemed to be able to speak for any particulars. It was just an accepted fact of life for the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest that while some warred with fists, others liked to throw fireballs. With startlingly good aim.

“The energy, the heart of the island flows into him, and he flows right back into it.” Hook led them away from the water’s edge then, following the tree line as if choosing a place to enter. “He’s in every inch of this jungle, every creature that traverses its land. Nothing happens on the island without His knowing about it.”

Emma let out a thoughtful noise. A cake walk then, clearly. “Is that right?”

“It’s been my experience, yes.”

“So he probably knows we’re here right now.”

“Most likely,” Hook mused, his dark eyes flickering to hers as he raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say this quest would be easy.”

Emma bristled. “I wasn’t expecting it to be.”

If it were easy, Henry would have agreed to come home with her yesterday, like he was supposed to want to. If it were easy, Regina would have been there to start blasting apart the jungle with her patented Sensible Pantsuit-ed fury, and they’d all have a way back to Storybrooke.

Emma recognised she was in a make-it-up-as-she-went-along kind of headspace, but it wasn’t exactly working out poorly for her so far, aforementioned setbacks notwithstanding. The situation could be a hell of a lot worse; she knew that for certain. She still had Hook’s help – even if he seemed to have lost the lightness he had exhibited the day prior as he pestered her about her past.

A sudden thought occurred to her, and she decided to take advantage of this streak of honesty. “Noodler’s hands,” she said, “he said that was Pan.”

Hook looked grim as he replied. “Just a taste of his… particular humour.”

So it was supposed to be funny, was it?

Finally he sighed, stopping in his tracks as they reached an entrance into the dense jungle that he was satisfied with. It was narrower than where they had travelled yesterday, and required they all move single file. Before he stepped inside, Hook paused to meet her eyes and Emma tried to scrutinize him for any clues. There were none.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

In lieu of a response she pushed past him into the undergrowth.

***

Have a drink, Captain. You know it always helps you think.

The day had been long.

Emma Swan was proving herself to be the most tenacious of companions, and Hook gladly allowed her to take the lead as they began combing the jungle along the banks of the river. They had a lot of island to cover, and he was learning quickly that as long as Swan felt she was in control, she was a lot less difficult to deal with. A notion he was happy to entertain if it meant she would keep her longsword and acerbic wit directed at the undergrowth, and not at his neck. He had enough on his mind to consider without the thought of her plunging that blade into his back.

Pan’s offer drifted often through his thoughts – his mood soured further with each occurrence.

As the hours got longer, the fog had receded and the usual blistering heat of the jungle returned, reminding Hook with an oppressive surety why he tried to avoid spending time inland as much as possible — there had been a time, the princess Tiger Lily had once told him, that Neverland had been a place of peace, of wonder, that children had come to visit in their dreams, only to disappear back into the stars by morning. Only after Pan himself had found a way to stay permanently, had connected his fate with that of the soul of the island somehow, did the Lost Ones find their home on its shores. And only with them, so the tribe’s legend told, did the dangers of Neverland begin to manifest themselves.

Of course, whispers of the realm as it was before held no bearing on Hook; for as long as he had known it, it had been creatures that could crush a man’s spine with a single bite, mermaids who lured sailor’s overboard with the strength of their ardour, trees whose branches could choke the breath from you before you could scream, sand and swamp that could drag a soul to an early end beneath the earth. Unbearable, torrid heat. Dark jungle and darker magic. Little boys who would sooner stab you in the heart than care to listen to a bedtime story.

Vines of deadly poison, claiming pure hearts with an indiscriminate precision.

No, only the sea could he truly trust; but what he needed now could not be found in its waters.

It was easy to bait Emma, perhaps easier than she realised — with every suggestion that they take a break, pause for rest or perhaps even return to where the Jolly Roger planned to berth for the night, she would insist they carry on. Such was the extent of her desire to contradict him, all Hook had to do was propose they head in a north-easterly direction along the river in order for their heading to instead be decided as dead west, following the arc of the sun above the canopy. It made her – well. Pleasingly predictable. The further they trudged the more nervous he could see Starkey and Noodler becoming, but their uneasy and imploring looks went unacknowledged as, for all the day’s walking had suggested, he was not the one they needed to persuade to turn back.

Emma Swan wished to be the leader? Fine by him. It suited him greatly to be absolved of any blame in what they might stumble across.

As they emerged into a clearing, Emma immediately marched over to the opposite edge, beginning to hack away at the tree-line in order to carve a path through the undergrowth for them to follow. Hook watched as Starkey and Noodler took the brief pause as an opportunity to rest, perching on a large rock and passing their waterskin back and forth. He, on the other hand, merely took out his spyglass and began assessing the journey of the sun. It was just beginning to caress the tops of the wide trunks now, casting broad strokes of dark orange across the sky and dappling out into light pinks and blues, the herald of dusk on its way.

“That’ll do, Swan,” he called over to her, “this clearing is easily protected. I suggest we make camp for the night.”

Emma’s response was vexed, and she didn’t move an inch from her position at the edge of the clearing. “What?”

He should have known this, too, would be a point of contention to her. Hook tried to suppress his irritation. “We’re going to need our strength. Starkey, Noodler; set some snares. We would do well to catch some game by morning.” The two pirates nodded their assent, taking their knives and heading off into the undergrowth.

“We can’t just sleep while Henry is out there, that’s insane!”

“That, love,” Hook bit back, “is exactly what we are going to do.” Her mouth opened, presumably to voice a further protest, so he hastened to cut her off as he shrugged his duster from his shoulders and laid it in the earth. “I have let you carry on for quite far enough out of sympathy for your situation, but if you insist on disregarding my every counsel then you’ll soon be finding yourself another pirate to guide you.”

Lips tightening in a grim line, Emma folded her arms. She gave nothing away, but that in itself was the only tell he needed. He softened in tone a little as he continued.

“My men are tired. The jungle boasts many dangers at night. Better we start a fire, eat something and live to continue our search tomorrow.”

When she didn’t immediately reply, Hook began gathering kindling for a fire. Although for all accounts making a show of concentrating on that action, he kept his focus on Emma — it was important that he show just the right amount of sympathy to merit receiving the same from her. It was the only way she would start to trust him.

And he hadn’t forgotten what she had told them when they met; he had no intention of telling her a lie, not if she could catch him in it.

After a few minutes of silence between them, only the babble and chirps of the jungle rising into the air, the gentle crunch of boots on dust denoted Emma finally joining him back where he was building the fire. When she began to mimic his movements, collecting a few larger, discarded logs to form the foundation, he took it as a minor victory.

“I thought you wanted to be back on the Jolly Roger by nightfall,” she said finally; that had been their original plan. Search by day, return to the ship by night. In the early hours of the afternoon, by the punishing pace she had set, he had quickly realised that would not be the case.

“We’ve travelled too far to make it back now.” A flash of guilt crossed her features, and it caught him by surprise; she showed so little care for what anyone but herself had wanted so far, but perhaps his chastisement had gotten through to her. “Not to worry, lass,” he continued with a wink, “Knowing even as little of you as I do, I did plan for this eventuality.”

That, at the very least, drew the ghost of a smile from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, after adding what she had collected to his pile. Hook confirmed it — the lass had the good grace to look a little sheepish after all. “I know I’ve probably been pushing everyone a bit hard. I’m just — worried.”

Understandably so. She had chosen herself a great adversary.

Convince Emma Swan to leave Neverland and I’ll give you what you want most.

And how, prey, was he supposed to manage that?

“Pan does not harm those he recruits,” he replied, not untruthfully, as he began striking his hook with the flint. “Your boy is in no immediate danger.” Emma merely grunted in response, and he decided to dip a toe in a darker current and watched her reaction carefully. “If anything,” he began, “you might say yesterday the lad appeared quite… comfortable.”

Her gaze immediately shot up to his, a fierce glare behind her stormy jade eyes. The fire suddenly burst to life underneath him and he hissed, snatching away his hand as a burn began to redden the flesh on the heel. Bloody sirens, he must have been using more force than he realised.

Emma had since looked away, glaring stonily at the spitting embers and he sighed.

“I apologise,” he added, to assuage her ire, “that was in poor taste.”

Hook rose, intending to check upon the work of his men out in the undergrowth, but turned at the sound of Emma’s voice.

“Thanks,” she said bluntly, like the words had been wrenched from her reluctant form. “I haven’t really said it yet, properly, but… thanks.”

The implication was there — he didn’t have to help her, to offer his services, for all the reasons he had tried to make clear to her when they had left the native encampment and he had intended to part company entirely.

To his surprise, he found himself smiling. A small, sincere thing. “Fear not, lass —”

And just where is this magic hat Emma keeps telling you about?

His gaze dropped meaningfully to her satchel, as Pan’s words rose like an icy wave within him. The smile quickly disappeared.

“—I’ll get mine.”

They set about preparing their camp with the supplies Hook had ordered Starkey to bring, meagre as they were — some sacks within which to sleep, and a single canvas sheet in order to shelter them from the elements. Once they had returned from setting traps in the undergrowth, Starkey and Noodler had managed to tie the opposite ends to some low-hanging branches to allow for the maximum amount of cover. Even still, Emma had baulked at the idea of resting in such close quarters to them, and while offering her thanks at the offer of the sack, had insisted she set it up a little ways away.

“It’s only natural,” Hook had declared slyly, “after this long in my company. We wouldn’t wish to give into a little temptation, now, would we?”

Emma’s eyes had rolled skyward. “Please.”

As they did not expect to catch any game until morning, the evening meal had been a simple affair of bread and a few small chunks of cheese, along with some berries Emma had collected from the brush (not the blue ones, he had insisted), before they had settled in to sleep. Starkey had volunteered to take the first watch and Hook had allowed it, wanting to catch at least an hour’s rest before night truly threw its sway over the island, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

As it happened, not more than thirty minutes had passed when he suddenly jerked himself awake, heart hammering and grasping for his cutlass. His left forearm spasmed and he winced; he hated sleeping with the brace on, but he daren’t remove the hook while ashore lest he awake and need to swing it immediately. It had happened before.

The dark remained permeated by stillness, the occasional chirrup or whistle from the trees the only sound aside from the heavy breathing indicative of sleep, and he knew it was coming. Starkey, watching him rise, merely nodded back at him before settling as quietly as he could into his sack for sleep — it was far from the first night they had spent side by side on the island, and most of his crew were aware of his habits inland.

He settled himself at the base of a tree several metres away from his resting companions, and cast his eyes to look up at the sky. To his great relief, tonight the stars were visible — often shielded as they were by magic, Pan liked to erase any and all distractions that could soothe a troubled mind on the island, but tonight they shimmered in and out of view like gentle ornaments adorning the inky blackness. Hook rarely thought of the island as beautiful, not with the litany of dangers it boasted, but sometimes he felt he could.

If he slowed his breathing, shut his eyes tight to the cool air and thought of Milah. He thought of the legends the native people told, of tides of pale moonlight that lapped against the shore, life eternal and evergreen; if he could just see a sprinkle of that magic through Milah’s eyes, it could all be redeemed.

Is it wonderful, she had murmured once, to travel so much?

She had gasped, convulsed, and collapsed lifeless in his arms.

He had to kill Rumplestiltskin. It was the only happy ending that mattered, now.

He considered what had caused his thoughts to be so full of tumult all day. Securing passage to the Land Without Magic, this Storybrooke, was all he cared about — taking Pan’s deal, if history was any indication, was the surest way to guarantee that eventuality. The sheer scope of his power over Neverland made Emma’s rescue attempt into a non-starter, and there were too many variables to consider. Not only did they have to be successful, Emma had to be telling the truth about the magic she possessed, and he had to trust her to follow through on her end of the bargain once she had what she came for. Pan had always been a trickster, but he never broke the deals he made.

And yet —?

Perhaps it was the clawing vestige of Liam, murmuring at his breast about honour, or his fleeting memories of Baelfire — perhaps it was how much Emma’s lad had seemed to resemble the boy he had once rescued from Neverland’s icy waters. There was something holding him back from throwing his weight behind convincing Emma to depart the island.

Still, he had brought them westward even as he wrested with the decision, and a tide of guilt rose within him as he surveyed her sleeping form. If he were truly against taking Pan’s deal, they wouldn’t be there.

Liam would be ashamed of him.

(Well, he couldn’t help but think, he’d done far worse for the promise of less.)

Before long, the purpose for his errant wakefulness began to stir.

When the low shivering, sobbing noises started to sprinkle from the treetops, Hook tried to shut his ears to the sound. As always, it pierced right through any meagre attempt at blocking them out. Every night inland was the same; the cries of the lost children of Neverland echoed for hours until a short while before dawn, weeping for the families they had lost, the love they would never again find.

Hook had discovered early on that only a few of his crew had been aware of the devastating chorus, the rest continuing to slumber peacefully despite it. It had been one of Pan’s great delights to make clear to Hook just why he, among others, was able to hear the crying – a certain kinship existed between he and them, so he had been told. The lament of the children cast away. It was a paralysing clamour, and it never failed to make him ache in places that had lain untouched for centuries.

Your father will watch the light for you.

Gone by morning.

A figure stirred in front of him and his gaze snapped to them – to his surprise it was Emma, turning in her sleep with a frown before suddenly jerking awake. She scrabbled for her sword immediately, chest heaving, head whipping around quickly. It became clear she was trying to find the source of the cries, and her eyes soon enough landed on Hook from his perch a few paces away.

Evidently his lack of alarm relaxed her, if only slightly. “What the hell is that?”

“The Lost Ones.”

“I thought you said they were savages?”

Hook closed his eyes, willing the noise to just stop. “And at night they remember what it is to be boys.” They cry, and they cry, and they cry until they rise from their weary trance, and are as dangerous and as proud and loyal to Pan as they had ever been, as if the events of the night had never happened. Perhaps they didn’t remember; or Pan held such sway over them that they dare not dwell.

Hook had never felt an urge to spend any time finding out.

Emma looked profoundly uncomfortable, hand curling into a fist around the lining of her sleep sack. It occurred to Hook that if she, too, could hear the whimpers of the Lost, then they had something in common beyond a shared dislike of the villain they faced.

“Well, I can see I was right about you, love. If you can hear them…”

This is Neverland, the home of the Lost Ones. They all share the same look in their eyes. The look you get when you’ve been left alone.

Who had left Emma Swan, he wondered?

Hook spread his hand. “As they say – an orphan’s an orphan.”

Emma surveyed him carefully, her expression unreadable. “And what does that make you?”

“A commodity.” Something within him, some distant desire to have that particular betrayal vilified once more, compelled him to be honest. “Traded by my father for an old rowboat.”

Before his companion even had a chance to respond, another cry pierced the year – however this time exceedingly different. This screech was far higher in pitch, more mature than the sob of a child, and curdled the thump of his blood from his heart. It broke it merely to hear it, devastated his soul and wrenched at something dazedly sad inside him. He longed to go to it. Even as he repressed the urge, another wail rose into the sky.

“That’s no boy,” Emma realised, suddenly throwing back the sack and lunging for her sword.

“Swan,” he called, almost half-heartedly, but Emma was already tearing off into the bush, as he knew she would. “Wait.”

Hook, after assuring himself that both Starkey and Noodler remained sound asleep (and the stillness of their slumber could only be described as supernatural, which made him certain He had had a hand in it), began to jog to follow her. He had only travelled this path once before, but if he were at all unsure of the direction he should be heading in, the noise Emma was making crashing through the jungle was enough to be able to track her.

“Swan!” he hollered, loud enough for her to hear him. He had to admire her. All it took was a single scream into the air from an unknown source and her first instinct was to go to them – she was certainly more than just a mother, that had already been made clear, but the extent with which she put herself in harms way for another was nothing short of, well. Heroic.

Low-hanging branches and wide, reaching shrubbery attempted to block his path but he kept pace, and before he long he broke from the tree cover and almost sprinted headfirst into Emma, paused as she was at the edge of the jungle. They had reached the mouth of the westward river, the one whose waters flowed from the healing spring of Dead Man’s Peak itself, the area his crew had fearfully coined Misery Bay. Not least because of the sight now rolling out in front of them.

Halting further progress was the way the path in front veered into a steep drop, where dirty-white, craggy spikes of rock awaited any who dared attempt a descent. Behind that, the rock rose high upward, the beginnings of a wall which spanned at least two, maybe three hundred metres across, its surface crawling with moss and ivy like outstretched arms reaching upward to its peak. The barrier continued outwards into the centre of the bay, the sand it rested on discolouring the nearer it got to the sea, and began to spiral in on itself in a circular, winding fashion. The result was a gigantic ivory labyrinth with walls that appeared to blur into one another the longer it was observed, and Hook found a familiar, dull ache began to knock at his temple the longer his mind instinctively tried to find a coherent route through it. From Emma’s expression, he could tell she was experiencing similar discomfort.

On all sides the maze was guarded by the ragged spikes, pointing outwards with unveiled threat, but Hook felt no particular desire to enter; the sounds that rose from the inside of the structure were enough of a deterrent for him. For it was here, surrounded by towers of rock and wet moss, that the screams they had heard originated.

Loud whimpers and devastated moans struck the air with a clarity that made him wince, but with proximity came the ability to identify genuine words within them, desperate pleas destined to be ignored.

“Oscar… Oscar, where…”

“Michael, dear god, oh, Michael—”

“Nabil!”

If he looked close enough, Hook could make out the dreamlike figures floating around each corner of the maze.

“What is this place?”

Emma’s attention was entirely fixed on the labyrinth below them, her grip on her longsword so tight that her knuckles were turning white. The air around them was heavy with sadness, clutching at them like a desperate fog, and he could feel more than see the way it was beginning to affect her.

“I didn’t want you to see this.”

The lie came to him easily, but when Emma looked back at him, eyes wide and imploring and fearful, it instantly turned to truth. The remorse he had been planning to fake crystallised into sincerity like lightning, and he realised with surprise that he didn’t want her to see this. He was assaulted with visions of her and her lad yesterday, of the pain she must have been working all day to suppress, and all of a sudden he did not want her to spend another second staring out across the bay. But it was too late. The notion of this encounter he had worked to engineer made him want to retch.

“My men call it the Maze of Regrets,” Hook continued, trying to be gentle. The regret was palpable in its every twisted corner. “You are… far from the first to have come to Neverland to retrieve a wayward soul.”

“I don’t understand.”

A wail rose from below.

“Somebody, please, somebody, my Charlie…”

The moment realisation struck, he watched as the colour drained from Emma’s face.

Hook had first stumbled across the Maze of Regrets in the same manner Emma herself had, following the trail of the distant sobs, although at the time his men had misidentified the haunted mothers as witches, and sworn off approaching any closer. Only Hook and Smee had investigated further, making it even to the mouth of the maze at the edge of the bay before discovering the invisible barrier that would not let them pass. One woman had torn around the corner before them, skirts shredded and feet bleeding, her hair falling in straggles around her gaunt, pale features. Her eyes were rimmed red with crying.

To their horror, she had spotted them. But instead of approaching, she had uttered just six words which even now sometimes visited Hook in his darkest slumbers.

Felix? she had asked hoarsely, Have you seen my Felix?

“They’re – well,” Hook hesitated.

Convince Emma Swan to leave the island.

This was why he’d brought her here, wasn’t it?

And yet, it was with great reluctance that he confirmed that which he already knew her stricken expression had surmised.

“Mothers, Swan. They’re mothers.”

---

A/N: *Noodler's hands are mentioned in Peter & Wendy as being "fixed on backwards"; I felt this could certainly be due to a Peter a la OUAT sort of twist.

*the Maze of Regrets is an area of Neverland created in Peter Pan in Scarlet by Geraldine McCaughrean, considered the "official sequel" after a competition was hosted by Great Ormond St Hospital (to whom JM Barrie granted all rights to Peter Pan) to find an author to write one - it's an excellent read, and I highly recommend it. This particular section on the Maze I found devastatingly lovely, and again I enjoy giving it a little malicious OUAT Neverland twist.

if you’re following this, don’t be shy, make yourself known! <3

#jay writes #brink #cs au week #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #canon divergence #cs au #killian jones #emma swan #I know cs au week was many #many #many moons ago #but it was what I started this far so I'll tag for old times sake #I hope if anyone still reads that you enjoy!

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secretsolarsystem · 2 years ago

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I would love to see an actor+Obikin au from you. I loved the interviews ewan and Hayden agve us an I would love to see Anakin and Obi-Wan in the modern world or any other world being actors. Do you think they would like each other?

bestie thank you sm for your patience...obviously got this a hot minute ago BUT!!! I am happy to say I have a short little something for you <3

this is inspired both by my refusal to let my time doing oral history go to waste and the fact that Ewan and Hayden are Aries men (it's actually only briefly mentioned but I think it's something we as a community need to acknowledge)

so pls enjoy this 1.5k modern au, actors au, my oral history skills have struck again! >:D mwahahahaha, welcome to my headcannon that Obi-Wan would absolutely be an Elton John stan, "we're both gay and british" !!! :D

–

This week, the Coruscant Sun was lucky enough to snag interviews with the main cast of the new film coming later this year, Luminous Beings. Ever since the trailer dropped last week, giving audiences riveting teasers of action, romance, and a story sure to keep viewers on the edge of their seats, no one can stop talking about how much they can’t wait to see this star-studded movie.

Although, star-studded may not be the only thing this cast is – could they perhaps also be star-crossed? As the Sun sat down with leading lady Padmé Amidala and breakout actor Ahsoka Tano, we couldn’t help but ask what everyone else has been chomping at the bit to know: what is the deal with Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Ever since the press tour began, fans couldn’t help but speculate that the relationship between Skywalker and Kenobi may be more than professional. With lingering glances, smitten smiles, and familiar touches, it seems these two may have stepped out of their characters as friends and work partners and have become more-than-friends and perhaps even partners, sans ‘work.’

Here’s what Amidala had to say on the matter in her exclusive interview with the Sun last week:

CS: Can you tell us about the dynamics of the cast? You’re working with a familiar face, aren’t you?

PA: Yes! It’s so nice to work with Anakin again. You can tell he’s grown so much since that short film last year. I mean, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be the lead of a full-length feature, right? He’s brought a new depth of emotion to his acting, but he’s still his charming, goofy self when we’re not rolling. Always playing pranks on everyone, doing silly stunts and getting himself hurt…It’s never a dull moment with Anakin, to be sure.

CS: We’re just as happy to see you two reunite! Have you made any new friends on set?

PA: I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I do think I’ve become really great friends with Obi-Wan Kenobi. Of course I’ve seen his work and seen him at events and such, before but to work with him has been such an honor. He brings so much to this film aside from his name: his grace, his knowledge, his understanding of the inner workings of movies and their characters. I think he’s really elevated everyone’s work without stifling anyone’s interpretation. And outside of work, he’s just amazing. So many stories, and – don’t tell anyone I told you this – he’s really good at karaoke.

CS: Oh, you have to tell us more.

PA: All I’ll say is he’s a big Elton John fan.

CS: So when are we getting an Obi-Wan Kenobi and Elton John collab?!

PA: [laughs]

CS: While we’re on the subject of these co-stars of yours, we’ve got to ask: do you know anything about what’s going on between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi?

PA: Oh you have to ask, do you?

CS: [laughs] The readers will have our heads if we don’t!

PA: [laughs] Oh, I believe you. I’m afraid it isn’t my place to speculate on what they do outside of work, but there is a sort of magic between them when we’re on set. It’s like they’re each a half of the same mind. When one suggests a line change, the other has a new line in response in seconds. When one tries changing up the blocking, the other meets them move for move. And Anakin, you know, is a bit newer to the acting scene, and you can see him just absorbing every word of advice and praise Obi-Wan has for him. Obi-Wan, too, is eager to not only encourage Anakin throughout filming, but learn a thing or two himself. You can tell they genuinely respect each other and like working together, which has made the overall process of working all together really wonderful.

CS: So they’re all smiles when they’re together? That’s very cute, wouldn’t you say?

PA: Sometimes it’s cute, sometimes it’s nauseating.

CS: [laughs]

Later that week, we managed to sit down with Ahsoka Tano to discuss her first ever movie role. Of course, though, we had to ask the young star what she thought about the rumors surrounding Skywalker and Kenobi.

CS: You’re working with some pretty big actors for your first ever movie. That must be exciting!

AT: It is, and everyone’s been so welcoming and helpful. Anakin’s become a sort of older brother, always looking out for me but ‘making sure I stay humble’ – which is his nice way of saying he can pick on me, but no one else can.

CS: [laughs]

AT: And Padmé’s been so nice. She’s someone I can really confide in and go to for advice about a lot of things, acting-related or not. And Obi-Wan – he’s the best, but also intimidating.

CS: Intimidating?

AT: I mean, not in the way most people think, I guess. He does come to work on a motorcycle in a leather jacket and all that, but the second he’s not on his bike he’s in big sweaters and he wears these ridiculous glasses when reading over the script. But I guess because of his experience and the faith he puts in us as colleagues, you just really don’t want to let him down.

CS: Wow, that’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, especially as someone who’s starting out.

AT: Yeah, but like you said, I’m putting it on myself.

CS: Do you think any of your co-stars feel similarly?

AT: I think Padmé’s always been sure of herself and her skills, which I really admire. Anakin is the cockiest guy you’ll ever meet, but I can see him looking for Obi-Wan’s approval a lot.

CS: Speaking of which, what do you think of the two of them? Of their dynamic?

AT: Well, first thing’s first: both of them are Aries men. So it’s utter chaos with either of them around, and it’s just impossible when they’re together.

CS: Oh? What makes them so ‘impossible’ together?

AT: When they’re getting along, it’s disgusting. All their smiles and the whispers in each other’s ears to make the other laugh, the way Anakin will rest his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to read over the script in Obi-Wan’s hands even though Anakin has his own copy, the way they have to sit on the same end of the couch, even if no one else is sitting on it.

CS: That sounds pretty adorable.

AT: I think it’s gross, but I haven’t even gotten to when they aren’t getting along. They’re equally stubborn, even if Anakin goes hot where Obi-Wan goes cold. When they disagree about something, you do not want to be in the same room as them. Anakin yells, sometimes he throws things. Obi-Wan gets this really severe look and tone, and can say some nasty things. It’s hard to watch, honestly- Oh shit, this is all on the record, isn’t it?

CS: It is, is that alright?

AT: Eh, I guess their lovers’ spats can be known beyond the set.

CS: ‘Lovers,’ you say?

AT: [rolling her eyes] Nice try. Ask them about that, ask me about my job.

Ouch, but fair enough. We’ve done our best to get these possible love birds to sit down and talk, and readers, we have succeeded! Be on the lookout for an exclusive Obi-Wan and Anakin – or ‘obikin’ as some devout believers have dubbed them – next week!

–

“Jesus, Snips,” Anakin groaned, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. From where he sat next to him on the same end of the couch, Obi-Wan ran a soothing hand along his back.

“It’s really not so bad,” he tried, earning a muffled scoff from Anakin. “Really, what’s so bad?”

Bringing his head up, Anakin shot Obi-Wan a look of incredulity. “The way we’re always together? Our lovers’ spats? The way this paper claims we’re a couple and their interviews did nothing to dispute that?”

Laughing, Obi-Wan brought his hand up to caress Anakin’s cheek. “We’re not so subtle though, darling. We have to take some responsibility.”

Anakin pouted. “Never.” Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan moved his hand to tug at Anakin’s shoulder until he was tucked under Obi-Wan’s arm, their temples pressed together. “I just…I like our little bubble, Obi-Wan. I don’t want it to burst yet. I don’t want this to not be just ours anymore.”

Running a soothing hand along Anakin’s arm, Obi-Wan turned to press a kiss to his hair before smiling. “Then we’ll just have to have some fun in our interview, won’t we?”

Pulling away, Anakin looked to Obi-Wan with wide eyes. “We don’t have to pretend to hate each other, do we? I’m a good actor, Obi-Wan, but I don’t know if I could pull that off. Well- No, I definitely could, I just don’t want to.”

“No, we don’t have to pretend to hate each other,” Obi-Wan assured. “We can just…Be our normal selves.”

“But that’s what got us in this mess,” Anakin frowned.

“We’ll be our normal selves,” Obi-Wan repeated, “but if they ask us anything, we don’t give a straight answer.”

Anakin’s frown deepened. “But if we’re our normal selves, they’ll think we’re dating.”

“But they won’t get confirmation that we are. Keep them guessing.”

A small smile started to form on Anakin’s face. “Why would we do that, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, smiling still. “It could be funny. Plus, it’ll be great press for the film.”

Now smiling fully, Anakin moved to straddle Obi-Wan, resting his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders while Obi-Wan’s rested on his waist. “Oh, Obi-Wan, I’m so lucky to have a friend and coworker as smart as you.”

Laughing loudly, Obi-Wan voiced his agreement before surging up to kiss Anakin’s smiling lips.

prompt collection on ao3

#to answer ur question...I think they'd bite each others heads off #sometimes out of anger sometimes from aggressive kissing :]#ask #prompt #my writing #obikin

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childotkw · 2 years ago

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Hi Jordan! What is your writing process like? Are you one of those people that needs to structure and preplan an upcoming work (especially curious about ybtm) or do you get random bursts of inspiration or would you rather pace yourself evenly? It's so fascinating to me, especially considering how very many fandoms you seem to partake in, how do you keep your head straight with all that? 😅

Oh, my writing process is a mess. Absolute chaos.

I tend to structure really well. I map out chapters as I go, separating the scenes and then having a list of dot-points for key moments I want in each section. That's every story - ybtm, CS, TLWD, even ones I haven't written yet. I've got tons of drafts that are sitting with the first chapter completely mapped out.

But when it comes to the actual writing, that's when I struggle. My brain gets too ahead of itself with the story and plot that I have to constantly drag my attention back to what I'm currently writing. I am my own biggest enemy lmao

Most of my writing comes in bursts. I can write thousands of words in a day, and then nothing for a week. It comes and goes and I have to basically ride the wave of inspiration for as long as it's with me.

I think the most I've ever written was about 30,000 in two days - I updated five stories on one day and it was hilarious.

For keeping my head on straight, I'm just really lucky to have a brain that happily runs several trains of thought at one time. I could be writing for CS and be thinking about ybtm at the same time. Or I could be thinking about my HOTD Aus and planning a future scene for TLWD down to the details.

I genuinely don't know how else to explain it hahah. My brain is hyperactive and it's like herding cats sometimes, but when I do get that tunnel-vision it's glorious.

#anonymous #personal #my writing #im a dumpster fire #but I'm used to it by now

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justkending · 4 years ago

Text

Moral of the Story (Prologue)

Series Summary: From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, the two naive, young, and lovestruck teens decided the best way to keep a strong relationship during college would be to marry right out of highschool. No one batted an eye at the idea as everyone knew they were soulmates. However, college is a big step in a person’s life. You learn new things about yourself, you make new friends, find new hobbies… And maybe being newly weds and going to different colleges across the states wasn’t the best plan… After a falling out, and a tragic heartbreaking divorce, the two now hold grudges for how the other handled the whole thing in the past. Neither not really knowing both sides of the story. 10 years later, and they both get a call from the lawyers office that settled their divorce. Somehow the papers never went through and the divorce was never completed. So now, the exes, or should we say husband and wife, have to meet back up after all these years to settle their failed marriage once and for all. (This summary will be shorter in other chapters. I just needed to get the full concept out there;)

A/N (repeat): So the other day while I was doing my hair (quite the process), I was playing music and the song Moral of the Story by Ashe came on. Mind you, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but for some reason, this time I got a major story idea! Listening to the lyrics brought me to this new series. Of course, the lengthy summary above will give you an idea of what came to my brain, but I recommend you listen to the song still because it plays a big part in my thought process:) (Plus it’s a good song;) Enjoy and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and comments with me! I love each and every single one<3

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1200+

Prologue:

"Melody, have the papers for the Bee's Knees company come in yet?"

"Uh, no. But I can call them again and see if they faxed it or sent over a physical copy though," Melody answered from her desk, already typing away to find the company.

"Perfect. We have a meeting with a recycling plant next week and I want to get everything set before we go in with them," Y/N nodded, coming out from her office with a file in her hands. She turned to her assistant at the front desk who was about 20 emails deep and already finding the issue. "Hey, you're not coming in tomorrow, right?"

"Um, no, no. I am. I rescheduled that date," she answered bashfully as if she had been caught in the act of something.

"Melody..." Y/N drug out, hand on her hip.

"What? I- He understood. He said he was fine moving it to Saturday," the young woman shrugged, never looking back at her boss that was clearly sending her a motherly stare.

"You're already over your 40 hours this week, and you've rescheduled with him, what? 3 times now?" Y/N moved to the front of the desk so the young brunette had to make eye contact with her.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Is it just nerves or something else?" Y/N smirked.

"I'm not nervous... It's just been a while since I've had time for a date."

"Two things about what you just said in the past minute. One, clearly this guy likes you because he's rescheduled with you this many times and hasn't called it off yet. So if you're nervous about it not going well on his end, I think you're safe," Y/N pointed a finger at her.

"But-," Melody started.

"Second," Y/N cut off with a raised eyebrow. "I'm giving you time to go on a date and you're still not taking it. Work is no longer an excuse."

Melody stopped avoiding eye contact and looked up at the Y/H/C hair woman leaning on her reception desk.

"You've been talking with my mom again, haven't you?" she sighed.

"I promised I'd take care of you. So yes, I have. And though her reasoning for you dating is because she wants grandbabies, I just want you to have fun and live your life. You're 22. Don't waste your young years being scared."

"Ugh, fine. I'll text him now and see if he's still available for tonight," she groaned.

"Perfect!" Y/N grinned in victory as she started to walk back to her office. "I expect the details in the morning," she winked before she walked in.

"Oh, Y/N!" Melody stopped her. "A message came for you while you were in that last meeting."

"Who from?" Y/N quirked an eyebrow, moving back to the desk.

"Uh, I don't really know. Didn't sound familiar, but here's the name and number they said to call back from," she answered, handing her a note.

Y/N took the small paper and looked it over. Her face dropped and her eyes widened.

"You ok? Is it someone you know?" the young assistant asked, noticing what looked like horror on her face.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine," Y/N tried to quickly brush off. "Um, I'm going to take this. Can you hold any calls and if anyone comes to talk, tell them to just email me?"

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I'll take care of it," Melody nodded.

"Thank you."

Rushing back to her office and quickly shutting her door, she raced to her phone. She read the business name again, not sure if she was dreaming or if it was a hallucination.

Nope. Hammer Attorney was written in Melody's perfect penmanship on the paper with a number that held an area code from New York. A place she never thought she would hear from again and from a town she hadn't visited in almost 10 years._________________

"Buck, did you tell Fury about getting those new water therapy machines?" Steve shouted from his room.

"We're at home, Steve. Why are we talking about work?" Bucky groaned as he slouched on the couch. A beer in hand and a documentary with I Survived stories playing in front of him.

Steve came in from around the corner looking down at his phone in hand before moving his eye line to his roommate.

"Because I just got a call from the night crew saying that the last one that was working, finally went out tonight while they were running it for some test," Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you would think that a facility run by a billionaire who literally makes his money on high-tech machines, wouldn't have to ask for those kinds of things," Bucky groaned, grabbing his own phone and going through emails. "Let me check to see if the email went through. He wasn't in office when I went to tell him."

As he was sorting through the hundreds of emails sent back and forth just this week alone, he found the reply message.

"Yeah, management confirmed it. They should be in by Saturday it looks like. Guess Stark was still working out the kinks to a new one and was waiting to send one our way until the last one died to get more time on his newest model."

Steve nodded before walking to the kitchen and typing Bucky's response to the other crew members.

"The man is always finding new ways to upgrade them before he can even send them to us."

Just as Bucky was about to throw his phone to the side again though, it started ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he didn't recognize the unknown number. It was from in-state but in his hometown area of Brooklyn. He pinched his eyebrows together confused at the call, but answered it anyway, thinking it must be someone from home.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Barnes?" The other voice answered.

"Yes, this is him. Who's this?" he asked, sitting up a little and putting the beer on the end table.

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I work at Nelson and Murdock Law firm," he went on. Bucky shook his head not knowing what that was supposed to mean. "Well, you may actually know us previously as Hammer Attorney. We recently just took over their business after some fraud issues."

Bucky's heart stopped. He knew what that name meant.

"I hate to inform you, but we were going through some of their old files. Ones we were informed could be incomplete or done completely incorrectly due to little care in the actual cases, but more so in taking the money."

"Incomplete cases?" Bucky said softly. His brain was still trying to wrap around the conversation.

"Yes, unfortunately, it looks like a lot of cases having to deal with divorces that the past owners handled, were done strictly in order to launder money. They weren't actually certified, nor trained in handling divorce settlements."

Bucky froze. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

He stuttered out a response when the man on the other line didn't continue.

"A-And talking about incomplete divorce settlements, you called because..." Bucky knew. He needed to hear it out loud because if he didn't, it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Barnes, but it looks as though you and your wife, Y/N Y/L/N or sorry, Y/N Barnes, are actually not divorced."

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @pham-tastical

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia

#bucky barnes x reader au #bucky barnes highschool sweetheart #bucky barnes collge au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #justkending #new series #new marvel series #marvel au

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maggyoutthere · 3 years ago

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Well this is something I wish I didn't had to do.

So yall know how Crossing Starfields was made in collaboration with @keixamie. She owns Nova and Amara and the hotel setting where a lot of the story takes place in. You might have also realized she no longer appeared credited at the beginning of each lore post. Why's that?

She'd been continuously going offline for weeks and it got extremely hard to talk to her. Like she would be completely gone for weeks at the time and I would never be able to get a hold of her. Luckily we had planned all of the au lore previously so it wasn't that big of an issue, but that's why at the beginning of the year CS entered an hiatus; the reason was to not put pressure on her and give her time to try and get her shit together.

Well, during that time, she kept going offline for weeks on end like I said. And, for 3 the months the au was on hiatus, I barely got to see if she was making an effort to actually work on anything, because she wouldn't even make an effort to talk to me. Around the beginning of May, we agreed to take a break from eachother for like 2 weeks (meaning she would be back around June 1st) because we realized things just weren't working out really well and we were starting to get frustrated at eachother. So two weeks came and went, and then she added to most of her socialmedias she'd be leaving the internet for around a month (until July 1st).

I was not informed of this in any capacity and had to find out through my other friends who noticed it. Suffice to say I was pretty disappointed. Clearly we weren't getting anywhere, and no matter how much patience, time and space I gave her to be happy, she only used that to bail on me for some reason. I suppose she's very anxious about being online, but that doesn't excuse it.

I view collaborations the same way movie companies view contracts. They give directors and other studios contracts to use their licensed characters and IPs for a specific amount of content and then the contract is over. So, that's exactly what I did with Crossing Starfields. Even if they were no longer around, I was determined to finish this all on my own if it had to be. All the art and writing you've seen? I did that, all of that. Since day 1, I was the one doing all the hard work.

If this post goes up, it should be July 3rd, and she's not yet reached out to me or responded to my message. I wanted to give keixamie time, to give her the benefit of the doubt one last time. Now that Crossing Starfields (as the main project) is done, I no longer get to post about Nova, Amara, or anything she had "contributed" to this au. The story itself will still exist, but I will no longer mention or reference them in my posts. Of course, White, Neut and White's dimension still belong to me, so I can use those as much as I want.

It's unfortunate how this ended tbh. This used to be such a passion project for the both of us, so I'm sad it turned into such a heavy burden to take on alone.

I'm not sure if she's just outright a bad person and doing this on purpose, or just has major anxiety issues, but when it's shown that despite me telling her about this so many times and her apologies and promises to change, she does no effort of actually trying to change, then I'm sorry but I stopped carrying. If she somehow ends up reading this, then I want to say that she can still message me if she wants. Yes, I'm angry at her, but I'm still willing to talk to her.

None of us are big enough content creators to even have to ask for this, but obviously don't go harass or annoy her. If she is really as anxious as she said, then I don't want anything happening to her because of some shitty """""""drama"""""""" on the internet.

Thanks for reading.

#maggy moment #@keixamie #crossing starfields #tw drama #i guess

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teamhook · 3 years ago

Text

Always, Always a Bridesmaid :: 27 Dresses Birthday CS AU

Hello! This is the final installment of my birthday fic for @ultraluckycatnd

Thank you to my beta @demisexualemmaswan

Much love and thanks for the help from @veryverynotgood and @karlyfr13s and the CSMM discord ladies that help with sprints and their encouragement.

FFN

AO3

The newly engaged couple wanted to share the joyous news right away with Mr. Goldman. The doting father was elated at the prospect of having his younger daughter back in town permanently. Emma’s obvious discomfort went unnoticed by her family. Midas without thinking passed down the bride-to-be her mother’s wedding gown, completely missing her fake smile. He was just happy at the thought of his little girl finding a good man and moving back to the States.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Kathryn said.

Graham smiled lovingly at his fiance as she showed him the gown.

Sitting across from the couple, Emma’s heart sunk even further. Not only had her sister swiped away her dream man but her mother’s beloved gown as well. She shouldn’t hold Graham against Kathryn because she didn’t know...but the dress was a different story.

Emma took a deep breath as she entered the bar. She still couldn’t believe she had taken the guy up on his offer for a drink. Who was she kidding? The moment Kathryn and Graham’s eyes met she had increased her alcohol consumption. She was not an alcoholic yet but she was enjoying the drink a little too often.

Killian waved at her from the bar.

Emma plopped down at the chair next to him.

“Hello, love.” Killian smiled widely.

Emma forced a smile. “Hello.”

Killian took a long, scrutinizing look at her. “I can’t help but wonder what deity I owe the pleasure of your company. Don’t get me wrong, love. I’m ecstatic, but you had been dodging my calls, and you suddenly called me to invite me out for a drink.”

Emma grimaced. “My baby sister is getting married.”

“Ah, before you.”

“That is not why I’m upset,” she defended.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Emma sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “You don’t know my sister. Kathryn is going to want me to do everything for her. I will not just be her maid of honor,” she said with exasperation.

“I don’t see the problem. You ‘love weddings’.” he reminded her.

“I do love weddings but I’m going to have to take care of everything .”

“Alright. How about you simply say, ‘No’?”

“What?” she asked confusedly.

“Love, you have said, ‘No’ to people before haven’t you?”

She scoffed. “Of course I have!”

Killian’s raised his eyebrow skeptically.

“Many, many times before but not in this situation.”

“But you want to say no this time?”

She nodded. “I wish I could. But I can’t; it’s my sister.”

“Alright. We are going to play this little game to practice saying ‘no’.”

Emma stared at him.

Killian took a big breath. “Emma, love, give me 50 dollars.”

“NO!” Emma said with a smile.

“Emma, darling. It’s only 50 dollars. I promise I’ll pay you back,” he said, holding his hand on his heart.

“No,” she said, proud of herself.

“Emma, love. I need you…” he said, licking his lips seductively, leaning closer to her, “To give me 50 dollars.”

“ No ?” she said hesitantly.

“Eh, not bad, darling,” he said proudly. “May I have your drink?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said as she pushed the drink to him.

He grabbed it and with a smirk.

“Wait, I meant no!”

Killian tsked. “You were doing so well. That's terrible,” he said as he enjoyed her drink.

“Mmhmm,” she sighed disappointedly.

The night came to an end not long after for the pair after the game.

Kathryn and Emma shared a walk through Central Park as they talked about wedding plans.

“Ems, did you go to the flower shop and order the favors?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“And the invitation mock-ups? Did you get those done?”

“Yes. Done.”

“This is so much fun!”

The girls kept walking.

“Oh, and I want you to ask your friend to be my bridesmaid. The rude one.”

“You want me to ask Ruby? My best friend.”

“Yeah, she is really pretty and she will not throw off the aesthetics. You know that I don’t have girlfriends. Girls, they don't like me.” Kathryn shrugged. “I just don’t understand why.”

Emma gave her an incredulous look with a raised brow.

Kathryn rolled her eyes. “Fine. I know why. Just ask her.”

“Of course.”

“I was thinking you should do a slideshow for the rehearsal dinner with pictures of Graham and me together and say funny things.”

“Okay, I will get the photos from Graham. I have our family photo albums.”

Kathryn squealed. “Before I forget, guess what.”

“What?”

“You know that writer you stalk…well, he called me because he wants to do a whole Commitments column on us for the Journal. Can you believe it?”

“Of course, at this point, I absolutely can. Why not?”

Kathryn stopped across the Boathouse. “I have been thinking and I think you are right. It would be a lovely wedding if I got married where mom and dad got married.”

Emma gaped at her sister for a second. “I didn’t think that was your style.”

“It isn’t but why not? I’m wearing mom’s dress,” she shrugged.

“You are always going on and on about how perfect it was. Tada!” Kathryn enthusiastically waved her hands in the direction of the venue. “We are getting married in three weeks.”

Emma gulped, “Three weeks?”

“Yeah. When I called they didn’t have any availability for 18 months. Then they called me to say they had a cancellation. So I had to take it. I know you can pull it together quickly. I don’t want to wait.”

Emma just forced a smile.

“I don’t get it. Emma, you could at least try to act like you are happy for me.”

Emma resorted to an old nickname from their childhood to appease her sister. “KitKat, you know I am…”

“I know that you wanted to get married at the Boathouse wearing mom’s dress but I’m really happy and I thought my big sis would be happy for me.”

“I am. I just didn’t know that’s what you wanted…”

“It is and you will get the dress after. Okay. Now can we talk about more important stuff?” Kathryn said as she resumed walking.

Emma stood on ceremony.

“Come on. Emma, you have a lot of work to do. I don't like the linens, and I think you need to rent new ones because they do not go with the color scheme that I picked out.”

The next day she met Ruby at the Yoga studio for their workout and she shared the news. She had to beg her to say yes to being a bridesmaid. She couldn’t be alone in this mess.

Finally Ruby relented only after being kicked out for talking.

“You want this cake in three weeks? Emma, I don’t know if I can do it. It’s just not enough time for what you want.”

“Tiana, I know you can do it. I wouldn’t ask otherwise. Do you remember the beautiful six-tiered heart-shaped cake that was commissioned by the Fisher’s or the tower of edible gifts for the Page-Booth outdoor fiesta. You can do anything, and we both know it.”

“ Three weeks?”

“Do it for your favorite maid-of-honor, please?”

Tiana caved with a smile.

“We have a cake.” Emma turned to her sister and Graham with a wide grin on her face.

The sudden clapping from the door alerted her of the newcomer.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked, already exasperated by his presence.

“Hello. I’m James Rogers,” he said with a gleaming smile.

Emma’s mouth opened but nothing came out.

“Oh, yes. I’m Kathryn and this is my fiance, Graham.”

“Congratulations! Lovely to meet you both,” he said as charmingly as possible.

“ Thank you,” Kathryn and Graham replied together.

“Oh, and this is my sister, Emma. She is obsessed with your stories. She’s your number one fan. She is going to make a wallpaper with all your articles.”

Killian smirked at Emma. “Is that so?”

Finally, Emma found her voice, “Wait, you said your name was Killian. I’m confused.”

“Aye, my name is Killian. I use James for the byline so I don’t get stalked by the crazy brides,” Killian answered Emma.

Kathryn’s attention was focused on her phone.

Killian turned to Kathryn. “How did you lovebirds meet?”

Emma scoffed, “You are an asshole.”

“Emma!” Kathryn hissed.

“What? He is! He told me his name was Killian.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Kathryn asked.

“We both work the wedding circuit,” Killian replied.

“Kathryn, can you give us one second? Tell Tiana what you want,” Emma urged her sister in the direction of her friend.

“I can’t believe it. You lied to me,” Emma accused.

“Ah, ah. Love, I told you I was a writer. Where is the lie in that? I just didn’t tell you what I wrote.”

“But…you write the most beautiful things. Which one is it? Do you only pretend to be a cynic… or are you a cynic who knows how to spin romantic crap for girls like me?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “The second one, the spinning crap one as you so eloquently put it.”

“This is just great. I feel like I just found out my favorite love song was written about a sandwich.”

“James, can I steal you away for a second so we can talk about Graham and me?”

“Of course. That's why I'm here.”

Kathryn and Killian chatted away as they walked towards Graham, leaving Emma behind.

Killian walked with an extra pep in his step. He knew this story would get him out of the dreaded Commitments. He found the address that Kathryn gave him.

He knocked eagerly.

On the other side of the door. Emma groaned as she saw through the peephole. She opened the door just wide enough for her unhappiness to see him be on display.

“Kathryn is not here. You can go now.”

“I’m afraid I’m not here for her. I’m here to interview you for the piece.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Just go away, I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

“Come on, lass. For Kathryn and Graham?” he asked, pouting.

Emma hesitated for a second. She knew Kathryn would be angry if she messed this up for her.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.” She opened the door wide for him to walk in.

Killian got his phone out and set it to record. “The maid of honor, although a lovely lass, is a little prickly. Emma, how do you feel about Kathryn’s whirlwind romance?”

Emma took a deep breath. “She’s my little sister. How do you think I feel? I taught her how to tell time, and how to ride a bike. I raised her. Please, don’t print that. It would break my father’s heart but to answer your question. I couldn’t be happier.”

Killian nodded as he listened to her but his attention wasn’t completely on her. His eyes roamed the apartment until they landed on the slightly opened closet. Love, what are those?”

Emma’s eyes followed his gaze and answered as she tried to make her way over to the closet to close the door and keep him away from her prized collection. “That’s nothing.”

Killian was giddy with excitement as he trailed right behind her. “Are those…”

“No!” Emma tried to keep him away by pushing him away from the door but she wasn’t able to keep him from opening the door.

“Bloody hell! Are these all bridesmaid dresses?”

“None of your business.”

“Good God, lass. Why? The closet is so full you can barely close the door.”

“I just have a lot of friends and I like keeping them,” she shrugged.

“Makes perfect sense because they’re bloody beautiful.”

“Some of them are not that bad.”

“I’d like to see one that is not bad.”

“Fine.” Emma started looking through the dresses, muttering not that one, or that one.

“Aha, this one is not bad.” She showed him a greenish dress.

“Love, we need to have those lovely eyes checked because that is the very definition of bad. What color is this? Vomit?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, it's an "olivey" green. The color is super flattering. I’m telling you. It looks great on.”

“I disagree. Love, that dress is one of the worst instruments of torture I have ever seen because the bride wants you to look ugly.”

“No, no. Ariel picked it because it looks good on everybody.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “The lass is delusional and believes anything anyone tells her,” he spoke to the recorder.

“I’ll prove it to you.” She grabbed the dress and headed to her room.

Killian kept skimming through the dresses, grimacing as he took them out to look at them. He kept taking pictures of the packed closet.

Emma came out of the room.

He had to agree the dress wasn't that bad but perhaps it was her .

“See?” she said, twirling.

He smiled. “You are right. The dress isn’t that bad but what about the color? He said as he took a picture and showed her the photo.

Emma groaned. “It’s your camera. It’s defective or something.”

Killian looked at her, unamused.

Emma sighed. “Okay, it’s not that good. Are you happy?”

“You look like a very beautiful shiny mermaid. You should be flattered.”

Emma bit her bottom lip. “It's really not the worst one.”

She went on to show him every dress in the closet and he took a picture of each one. They laughed and made fun of the themed weddings and the accessories.

“Love, you have twenty-seven dresses.”

Emma smiled and shrugged.

“I don't understand. You attend the wedding, why not throw the dress after? This is a huge closet.”

“I know you don’t believe me but I’ve had really good times in those dresses.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s not about me. It’s about supporting them.”

“Alright, but how much time do you spend doing this for others? What about you?”

Emma sighed, “Someday… It will be my day and those people will be there for me.”

Killian’s camera flash took her by surprise. He couldn’t help capturing the image. The look in her eye spoke to his cynical soul. He thanked her for the hospitality but made his excuse to leave.

Emma arrived at Graham’s apartment. She could hear the loud music through the door. Emma rolled her eyes, Kathryn was too busy for the gift registry but she was okay taking full advantage of the fact Graham was out of town for business. She only hoped her sister wasn’t doing anything she would regret.

She rang the doorbell.

Kathryn opened the door enough to give Emma the list. “Here I thought you were going to wait for me downstairs.”

Emma knew her sister well enough to know she was trying to get rid of her.

Emma pushed past her. “Kathryn, what is going on here?” Her eyes landing on Henry vacuuming the living room.

Kathyrn scoffed. “What? He was looking for a part-time job to buy a new computer. He wants an Apple MacBook Air because he wants to be a writer.”

“You have a kid cleaning your fiance's apartment. Graham adores him. He has been his big brother for years.” Emma said in disbelief.

“It’s our secret. Henry’s and mine. Ems, don’t worry about it, okay. You should go, it’s getting late.”

Emma left, grabbing the list. She wondered if she told Graham the truth about Kathryn, what he would say. At the park, she had tried to make him see her sister’s lies but he was blind by his attraction for her.

Killian was looking through his notes and the pictures with a faint smile on his face.

Cora appeared at his cubicle suddenly, as if transported by magic.

A startled Killian snapped up from his computer screen. “Cora, did you need something?”

“The bridesmaid story you pitched, what do you have so far?”

“Ah, yes, it’s still a little rough. I’m working on it.”

“I want to see it now . Email it.” She said and walked away.

“Cora, it’s not ready! Bloody hell,” he muttered, Killian got up from his chair to chase after her after sending the email. She was a heartless woman and people had been fired for less. He had been lucky she had found value in him.

Cora was sitting down behind her desk when he arrived. “Cora, the email was sent with the draft. I hope you let me know what you think and just keep that in mind,” Killian said.

She just nodded a silent way to dismiss him.

“Hello, love. Did you miss me?” Killian whispered in Emma’s ear as she scanned the cookware.

Emma jumped a bit and almost dropped the crystal glasses.

She glared at Killian. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you. Go away, please?”

“Kathryn did.” He smiled. “I’m just doing my job. I have to see every aspect of the wedding.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she kept scanning things off of Kathryn’s list distancing herself from him.

“Your sister wants so many presents that she physically cannot register for them herself?” he asked when he caught up with her.

Emma stopped scanning and turned her attention to Killian. “It’s a short engagement so she is pressed for time.”

“How many casserole dishes does a person need? Kathryn doesn’t strike me as the cooking type,” he said as he trailed behind her again.

“This isn't just another vahze ." Emma turned to face him, annoyed at his comments.

“It’s called a vase,” he said matter of factly.

“You just don’t get it. These are the things you build a life with.”

“No, love. This is useless crap that the 70-billion-dollar-a-year wedding industry has conned you into believing that you need to have or you won't be happy.”

“No, you know what I think? I think that all your theories are just a smokescreen.”

“For what, darling?”

“Your secret, whatever it is. Maybe you haven’t found the right girl and you're afraid you never will.”

Killian sat down on a display couch. “And I think that you love weddings so much because you prefer to focus on everyone else’s Kodak moments rather than make memories of your own.”

“What do you want me to say? You're right? You are crazy. Weddings are the worst place to forget you are single.”

“Love, you want a wedding, not a marriage, a bloody wedding. The dress and the special day.”

“What is your problem, asshole? Let me guess you had a fancy wedding and your wife left you for someone else?”

Killian’s jaw ticked. “Aye, with my college professor by the way. They lived happily ever after with their son.”

“What? Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Killian, it was just a guess.”

“A good one,” he laughed bitterly. “For someone who has no insight whatsoever into herself, you nailed me right on the head.”

“Hey, do you want to find the ugliest stuff in here and register Kathryn for it?”

“Aye, let’s do it. I saw the most hideous crocodile gravy boat on the counter back there,” he said with a devilish smile on his face.

Killian walked to Cora’s office.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” Killian asked as he opened the door and sat down.

“Wow,” she said.

“Cora, I told you I wasn’t done with it. I need to do some edits.” Killian said.

“Relax. I like it. It's a decent story. I have to admit, I was shocked. It’s smart and entertaining.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“You really nailed this girl. We’re running the story Sunday, front page.”

“No, no. It’s not ready,” Killian insisted. “I still have some things to add and I know it will make it worth the wait.”

Cora crossed her arms over her chest and raised her brows. "You have been begging me for months for a chance. How about some gratitude?"

Mind reeling, Killian searched for any reason to stall Cora's decision. “I really want to get this right. Can you give me a week to make it perfect?”

“If I didn’t know you any better I would say you care for her. Did the girl get under your skin?”

He scoffed, “Of course not. I’m just trying to do my job. She’s more than this perpetual bridesmaid. There’s more to her tale. Just give me a week and you will not regret it.”

“Fine. Get out.”

Killian called Emma to see if they could meet to talk but was greeted with Kathryn’s voice instead. Kathryn had told him that Emma was meeting Graham to pick the menu for the reception. He truly wondered what she was doing for her own wedding. She was always doing something for her instead of for the wedding preparations. He understood what Emma had meant when she told him she would need to do everything.

Killian showed up at the restaurant and stopped in his tracks. Even from his spot, he knew the signs of a woman smitten with the man she was talking to. Emma was in love with Graham. Bloody hell, his stomach dropped for some unknown reason. She was smiling freely at something he said. He hadn’t dared to get closer to them. How could anyone else miss the obvious signs? How could he have missed it?

Emma and Graham were so busy in their conversation that they had not noticed Killian’s arrival. So he started to walk away.

After hearing Graham praising Kathryn, Emma wanted to tell him the truth. She is not who he thinks but stopped herself because he looked so happy. She will not be the one to break his heart.

“Emma, tell me what is your favorite part of a wedding?” Graham asked.

“My favorite part of the wedding is watching the groom’s face when the bride is walking down the aisle, and seeing the pure love on his face,” Emma said.

“I think it’s easy to look at your bride with love if she is like your sister. Kathryn is wonderful and I am very happy I found her,” Graham said with a loving gaze.

Emma smiled at him then lowered her gaze to her plate.

Graham turned away to get the waiter’s attention but noticed Killian walking away.

“Rogers, Is that you?”

Killian winced but forced a fake smile as he turned to face the table.

Emma glared at him as he approached them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“I have some more questions for you,” he said simply.

“You could email me the questions and I will return the email.”

“Where’s Kathryn?” Killian asked.

“She’s busy and couldn’t make it so she asked me to come in her place,” Emma said.

“Hmm. She couldn’t come to pick the wedding meal?”

“Emma is just helping out. Kathryn had a hair appointment; we are having dinner with my parents later,” Graham replied.

“I’m sure Emma was happy to oblige,” Killian said.

“Should we leave now?” Emma asked Graham.

“We should we're heading up to Rhinebeck to pick out

some linens from an antique store,” Graham said as he waved the waiter over.

“I have an idea, How about if I go with Emma in your place? I imagine you have things to do before your dinner.”

“No, no, that’s okay. We can make it back in plenty of time,” Emma answered quickly.

“I don't mind,” Killian said with a smile.

Graham nodded. “It would be a great help.”

“Mate, I insist,” Killian said.

Graham paid and went on his way.

Emma and Killian got in her dad’s car and drove away.

Emma was driving with a scowl on her face.

Killian laughed, “Of course you’re angry at having to plan your sister’s wedding to the man you love. The second I saw you mooning over him while you had your meal. It was like a bloody anchor was dropped. You won’t say anything because you are too used to facilitating others' happiness instead of your own.”

Emma scoffed. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Hmm. You are miserable and unwilling to do anything about it.”

“You are crazy! I’m thrilled to be planning their wedding. She’s my baby sister like I have for every wedding that I've been a part of. You wouldn’t understand because you are cynical, mean, and dark. That’s your problem, buddy, not mine.”

“Buddy? Did you call me buddy?”

“I could have called you an asshole! Just shut up!”

“I understand you’re vexed. I ruined the day of you pining for somebody that will never be yours!” Killian roared.

“Stop!” Emma yelled back.

Killian’s attention turned back to the rainy road. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to antagonize her.

“Love, you need to slow down so I can read the sign.”

The car kept picking up speed.

“Do you think you could slow down? Ease your foot off the accelerator.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

Killian checked his seatbelt. He should have waited to say his thoughts but she had given him the cold shoulder since they left the restaurant. He hadn’t noticed when the weather had gotten that bad. It was as if the rain was mimicking her mood.

“Emma, love. Slow down, we’re going to hydroplane,” he said in a soothing voice.

Emma rolled her eyes. “We are not going to hydroplane.” Her fingers squeezed the steering wheel tightly as she made a slight correction and the car started swerving out of control. “Shit, shit!! We are hydroplaning!!”

Killian hissed as he grabbed onto the armrest and gripped it as if his life depended on it. In a way it did, he supposed.

“Bloody hell! I told you to slow down! Lass, just calm down and ease your foot off the gas--”

“Shut it! I know what I’m doing.” She eased her foot on the break as she eased it off the gas like Killian suggested and maneuvered the vehicle to safety. “This is your fault if you would have stopped talking for a moment like I asked, I would have been able to focus on the road.”

Killian glared at her.

The car was stuck and they couldn’t get it out. It was too late for a tow truck and there was no cell phone service.

Killian spotted a bar not too far from them. “Come along, lass. Let’s see if we can get some help or at the very least get a drink.”

Emma hesitantly followed him.

The place was a small hole in the wall bar.

Killian found the payphone right away.

“You got anything?” Emma asked.

He shook his head no. “Mate, your phone doesn’t work,” Killian said to the bartender.

The man shrugged. “Nice detective skills. It has been out of service for a while.”

“Our car broke down and we have no cell service,” Emma told the bartender.

The man pulled out a phone from beneath the bar. “You will not find someone to come help you right now. The rain is bad and it’s getting late.”

Emma groaned.

Killian approached the bar. “Rum, three fingers, no ice, please.”He pulled a stool and sat down.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, annoyed as she followed him.

“You heard the man, we are not getting a tow anytime soon. I’m going to enjoy a drink. There’s nothing you can do. You should have a drink.”

The bartender handed Killian his drink.

“Thanks, mate.”

Emma sat down next to Killian. “Fine, I’ll have one, let me have the same.”

After several drinks, Emma eyed him carefully.

“Jones, I have to know something. You once wrote a column that was so beautiful it made me cry.”

“Aww,” he mocked.

“The Zimmer-York article was full of emotion. It was the anniversary of the mother's death. The brother flew home from Afghanistan.”

Killian remembered the article but he would not admit it. “Sorry, I don’t recall.”

“How can you not remember it? You cannot fake emotion like that.”

“A talented writer like meself can.”

“You’re not that good.”

Killian signaled the bartender for another round of drinks.

“Be honest with me for once. What is your favorite part of a wedding?”

He stared at her. “My favorite part of a wedding is an open bar.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

“No. Everybody likes that.”

Killian laughed. “Alright. The part when the bride is making her grand entrance. I like to glance back at the wanker getting married. He looks happy even though he is willingly entering into the last form of slavery.”

Emma’s eyes widened as he finished talking.

Killian scratched behind his ear nervously. “Why the bloody hell are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you serious? That’s my favorite part! I can’t believe it. We have something in common.”

“Aye, that must make us kindred spirits. Love, it was bound to happen.”

“Just admit you are a big teddy bear that the whole cynical thing is an act so you can seem wounded and mysterious… and sexy.”

“I’m sorry love, what was the last one?”

“ Huh ?”

“You think I’m sexy, love? I'm startling, aren't I? Some people say striking, but I will accept sexy.”

“No, I don’t. I think you think you are sexy.”

“Mhmm,” he said with a wide smile.

Emma’s cheeks blushed bright pink.

Benny and the Jets played loudly, filling the moment of silence between them.

“I love this song,” Emma said, swaying to the beat of the song.

“Aye, it’s a great song.” Killian hummed in tune then broke into song, “ Hey, kids shake it loose together… That's been known to change the weather.”

Emma snorts in an unladylike way. “Those are not the lyrics,” she giggled.

“Those are the lyrics. Alright, lyric police. What are the correct words?”

“You're gonna hear a handsome music… So the walrus sounds.”

Killian laughed. “Walrus sounds?”

Emma grinned and continued, “Say, Penny's no longer in a cement jet… Ooh, but you're so laced down.”

He shook his head, but joined her in the next line. “Buh, buh, buh, buh Bennie and the Jets…”

Emma continued belting out the lyrics, “O oh, in the wind and the waterfall… Oh, baby, she's a "revocaine"... She's got electric boobs.”

Killian laughed so hard with tears in his eyes. “Boobs?”

Sometime after, Killian found himself singing alongside Emma on top of the bar, dancing and enjoying the moment.

The crowd had become a rapt audience to the pair cheering them on after an encore performance.

Killian helped Emma get off the bar table. Once she was at eye level she was so beautiful. He blurted out, “I wept like a babe at the Zimmer-York wedding.”

Emma’s eyes widened at his confession and without thinking she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to her, melding their lips together. The kiss escalated fast as they found themselves in the back seat of her car fogging the car windows with their heavy breathing.

The sunshine woke up Emma from her sleep. She was trying to shake off the kinks. She looked around the scenery and decided that there are worse places to end up stranded.

“Morning, love. The tow truck is on its way,” Killian said as he handed her a cup of coffee.”

“Thank you, I just want you to know I never do this.”

“I know, lass, you kept saying that last night over and over.”

Emma groaned, her head pounded. Why was everything so loud? While Killian acted as if he was a two-hundred-year-old pirate with an endless supply of rum.

“I was wondering if you would like to grab something to eat while we wait for the tow truck?”

They found a small diner just down the block and placed their food order when one of the patrons from the bar last night approached them and reminded them of the rendition to Benny and The Jets. Emma grimaces at the thought of singing in public. The man left with a smile on his face while humming the song.

“Oh, why didn’t you stop me?” Emma asked Killian.

“I’m sorry, you looked so free.”

“Hey, you’re that girl! You’re famous.” A customer approached her with recognition in her eyes. “From the newspaper.”

Emma looked confused at the lady. “What paper?”

Killian groaned and muttered, “ Bloody hell .”

The woman had gone to find the newspaper for her to see.

"Always, Always a Bridesmaid by James Rogers? What the hell is this?” She asked, throwing the newspaper on his face. Emma got up from her seat and walked out.

Killian followed her after he paid the bill.

“Emma! Swan, please let me explain. I told my editor not to run it. Lass, no one reads it,” Killian said as he caught up with her and grabbed her arm to get her attention.

Emma whipped around and slapped him. She walked away toward the car leaving him behind.

Killian knew better than to try to talk to her again.

Killian stormed into work to confront Cora, she had lied to him. He had been blindsided when the article was mentioned. The look of betrayal he saw in her eyes made his stomach sour.

Cora’s door was open.

Killian didn’t even bother with any sort of civility. “What the bloody hell happened? I thought we agreed to hold it,” Killian accused.

“I thought the story was ready and I make the decisions here you don’t,” She said coolly.

“Cora, you don't understand. I didn't have time to warn her.”

“In case you forgot. You work for me, not the other way around. You should kiss my feet. I gave you 24 inches in the Sunday paper. Get out !” she said unamused.

Emma arrived at her place to be greeted with a string of shrieks and screams. “How could you let this happen?”

“I didn’t know he was writing a story about me,” Emma said.

“You?! Did you read it? If Emma is the typical, accommodating bridesmaid then her sister, Kathryn, is cast as the overbearing, overindulged bride-to-be who might start stomping around Manhattan at any moment."

“I’m sorry.”

“Emma, he called me bridezilla in the New York Journal!”

Emma stayed quiet as Kathryn scolded her, missing the hurt in her eyes. The phone rang interrupting her tirade.

“What?” Kathryn answered the phone.

“May I please speak with Emma?” Killian asked.

“Are you kidding? The only person you will be speaking to is my attorney! Asshole!” Kathryn yelled at the phone and slammed it down.

The week had started horribly for Emma. Kathryn hadn’t stopped her complaints about the article when all Emma wanted to do was forget about it. Not once had Kathryn shown her an ounce of sympathy there had been so many embarrassing pictures of Emma on the front page of the section. Kathryn had only been mentioned but no one knew what her face looked like. Emma however, was the damn star. Her head was starting to pound. She still had to face Graham. What if he felt like her sister?

Killian had been relentless with the calls and messages. Of course Ruby tried to cheer her up by making light of the situation but it didn’t help.

Graham called her to his office and was so caring and understanding that it made her feel as if someone had her back. He was right, no one read that section.

Emma had to rush to the bridal shop for her meeting with Kathryn.

“Johanna, can you hem this part? Emma, is that you?” Kathryn called out from the fitting room. Johanna went to do the alteration.

“Yeah, it's me,” Emma said as she walked to the back.

Emma sat down on one of the chairs.

“Emma, I have been thinking that it wasn’t your fault. You are just too trusting. I guess,” Kathryn said as she checked her list.

“Thank you. Wait. Is that your enemy list? The one from high school. Are you checking me off the list?” Emma said dumbfounded.

Kathryn gave her a small smile alongside a paper. “About the slide show, I want you to say that. Exactly as I wrote it, that is the script. Graham said he will give you all his photos.”

“Okay,” Emma said as she read over the script her sister gave her.

Johanna walked back in with the altered dress, “Hi, Emma.”

“Hi, Johanna,” Emma said with a welcoming smile and returning her attention to the scripted paper her sister gave her.

“Kathryn, here it is. Step in.” Johanna said as she helped Kathryn with the dress.

“Emma, what do you think?” Kathryn said, twirling in the dress.

Emma finally looked up to see the dress, expecting to see her mother’s dress with some slight changes but instead finding a completely different dress. “I thought you were wearing Mom's dress.”

“This is Mom's dress. Parts of it anyway. It was just too old-fashioned. We could just use a few pieces here and there,”

Kathryn said as she smoothed the material.

“I’m sorry... what ?” Emma asked as she approached her sister wearing a dress she no longer recognized. “You cut up Mom’s dress ?”

“Isn’t it pretty? You can wear it too. Technically Johanna cut it, not me.”

Emma didn’t think her sister could be any more selfish; she was proven wrong. “ No. No, no, no, no. No! God, you don't care. You only care about yourself, don’t you? I have made excuses for you since Mom died but enough is enough!”

Kathryn rolled her eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I can’t fix the dress but I won't let you hurt Graham. He thinks he knows you but it's all a lie. You even had Henry keep a secret from him. Tell him the truth or I will.”

“I don’t have to tell him anything and you will not either. You are my sister, you definitely wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

“No, today you're just some selfish bitch who broke my heart and cut up my mother's wedding dress. You didn't even have the decency to ask me about it! You knew how much that dress meant to me but you just didn't care. You could have easily just picked a brand new dress to match your taste. Kathryn, you only get this warning, tell him the truth or a will.” Emma left her sister just staring at her back as she walked away.

Kathryn just groaned as she made her way to change her clothes.

On the day of the engagement party, Emma had been jittery all day but she wouldn’t be deterred from what she had to do. She gave her sister a chance to do the right thing, to be honest. She hoped she had come clean with Graham.

Emma had been getting pitying looks, and dealing with passive-aggressive comments about how terrible it must feel that her baby sister was marrying before her.

The last straw had Emma replying with, “ Yeah, but at least I still get to have hot sex with strangers .”

The stunned look on the old woman's face had been priceless.

The night progressed and it soon would be time for the slide show. Emma had kept trying to talk to Kathryn but her sister avoided her feigning she had to play host.

Ruby arrived fashionably late as always but quickly found Emma, a drink already in her hand. “Hey, you clean up nicely! You look hot! I might be persuaded to change sides,” she said with a wink.

Emma didn’t react with a quip of her own, making Ruby since her friend wasn’t holding up as well as she thought. “Emma, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said with a tight smile, grabbing the drink from Ruby’s hand while drinking it in one gulp.

“Hey, that is not water,” Ruby said as she saw her friend finish up to the last drop of her drink.

Emma turned to the guy helping her set up her computer for the slideshow. “It’s under Kathryn and Graham.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep, I’m fine,” Emma insisted.

Graham approached Emma with a reluctant fiance on his arm. “Emma, thank you for a lovely party. You have gone above and beyond. Hasn’t she, Kathryn?”

Kathryn nodded her agreement while avoiding Emma’s eyes.

Emma got the confirmation she needed with her sister’s attitude. “You guys should take a seat. I’m going to start the slideshow.”

The restaurant was packed with family and friends. Emma gave a lovely introduction as the images played in the background. It started with oohs and awws which morphed into gasps as Emma unmasked Kathryn from her preferred food to her dislike of pets which included Graham’s beloved dog Hunter. The final straw was Henry’s sell pitch for the cleaning business Kathryn was helping him, in which Graham’s home was the first customer.

Graham furiously got up from his seat and left with Kathryn following close behind trying to explain herself.

A crying Kathryn returned alone, walked up to Emma. “I hope you are happy. He broke off the engagement. The wedding is off.”

Emma saw as her sister walked away. Ruby nudged her shoulder. “What happened?”

“He deserved to know the truth.”

“I agree but perhaps you could have told him face-to-face when this mess started. I know that my moral compass doesn't exactly point due north but if I can see there’s something wrong, there’s a reason.”

“Ruby, you’re the one who is always telling me to be brave and stand up for myself,” Emma said, hurt at her friend’s attitude.

“Emma, hun that's not what you did. You unleashed years of repressed feelings in one night. I admit it was entertaining but if you were sure you did the right thing you'd feel better right now,” Ruby said honestly.

Emma walked out of the building, she heard footsteps approaching causing her to turn.

“Oh, my God. What do you want? Can't you take a hint? Why are you here?” she said, rolling her eyes at the intruder.

He shrugged, “Love, you wouldn't return my phone calls.”

“Haven't you ruined my life enough? Let me guess, you want another picture for your paper?”

“Emma, I’m sorry.”

“Please, Stop! You used me to advance in your career. At least have the decency to admit it but don’t try to act as you care about me.”

“I just saw what you did there and all I can say is it’s about bloody time!”

“Stop, I'm not doing this with you again.”

“Do you want to know the truth, why I came here? Alright, I knew this would be a difficult day for you, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to look out for someone else. I know I was a damn fool. I’m sorry. I will vanish from your life but I want you to know that I think you are amazing, a marvel, and I think you deserve so much more than what you settle for. You deserve to be taken care of like the princess you are.” He turned to walk away but stopped mid-step. “Sorry, love. I forgot to give you this.” He hands her a package. “It’s just something to make your life easier. A new beginning.”

She took the gift hesitantly and watched him walk away.

Killian stared at his computer screen. He had hated walking away from Emma but it was clear she was not ready to forgive him.

“Killian, your little bridesmaid story got a phenomenal response. Looks like you finally did it, you got yourself bumped from Commitments,” Cora said.

“Lovely,” Killian said with a depreciating smile on his face.

“Killian, you should be happy. Isn’t this what you dreamt of?” Cora said as she walked away.

Killian knew she was right, he should be happy. He should be celebrating but it was a hollow victory.

Emma was surprised when her father called the day after and invited her over.

“Emma, you have got to work this out,” Midas said as he hugged her to comfort her pain.

“You two need to talk and fix this. Remember you love each other,” Midas said as if talking to two little girls with pigtails.

They stood stubbornly at opposite sides as their dad gave them privacy.

Emma had grown up looking after her sister. She had no idea what had caused Kathryn to become as selfish as she was. Kathryn had become the person that only looked out for herself. Emma had let go of her hurt over Graham because she had no idea of her feelings for him but the dress. The wedding dress was part of her dream wedding and she took it knowing so. Not only that but she shredded it without concerns about her feelings. But as Emma stared into her sister's eyes, she recognized the pain that had reflected in her own. She had done the unthinkable and caused pain to the one she had protected all her life.

“Kathryn, I’m sorry. I feel terrible.”

Kathryn’s mouth opened. “Sorry? You humiliated me in front of everyone!”

“I know but --” Emma stammered.

“Just admit it! You have always been jealous of me!” Kathryn yelled as she threw bags of chips and anything she could find at Emma.

Ducking and dodging various items being flung at her from the shelves, Emma became aggravated by Kathryn's child-like tantrum, but once she picked up a family-sized can of vegetables to throw, Emma snapped. “Stop it! Kathryn, I’m sorry but you could have been honest with Graham from the beginning. We wouldn't be standing here if you had. Did you even love him or was it just convenient?”

Kathryn huffed, “Get off your high horse. Sweet Emma, kind and smart. Perfect Emma. You always thought my life was perfect. The truth is you resent me because you had to braid my hair, go shopping for my prom dress, and make my Halloween costumes.”

Emma sighed. “No, Kathryn, I never did.”

“You think my life is so easy.”

“Kathryn, you never had a care in the world. You did as you pleased, never caring for the consequences. You are beautiful and fun. Your life is perfect.”

“You have no idea, Emma. Do you want to know the reason why I stayed home? I got fired from my job and James dumped me. Then I met Graham and he was nice to me. I just wanted to be someone worthy of him. I was trying to be you.”

Emma asked, confused, “Why would you want to be boring me when you get to be you?”

“Emma, you have taken care of me since Mom died. You stopped being my big sister and became my surrogate mother."

“I had to. You are my baby sister.”

"No, you didn't. I'm sorry about mom's dress. I know how much that dress meant to you. I wasn't thinking," Kathryn sighed. "I was too busy enjoying my happy moment. I didn't care about you or anyone. You were right calling me selfish. I just never thought I would hear those words coming from you. I will not lie and say it didn't hurt. In a way, I'm happy you finally started saying what you feel. I will always be your sister and I think it's time for you to stop taking care of everybody. It’s time to focus on you.”

"Kathryn, I am sorry for what I did. I never wanted to be the one to cause you pain."

The girls hug and start cleaning the mess.

Emma was at home cleaning out her closet. Finally taking the advice she had been given. She decided to start fresh.

The phone rang several times before she answered it. “Hello?”

The familiar voice on the other side greeted her warmly.

“Hi, Graham. I can do that. No problem. I'll be right there.” Emma rushed to get ready and meet Graham at the office. It was the least she could do after her stunt at the party.

Graham was sitting at his desk trying to find his speech for the benefit. He looked up and saw Emma walk in. She looked beautiful. He was not blind but he never wanted to cross that line.

“Emma, you look--great. Wow!” Graham said.

“Thank you,” Emma replied. “Before we go, I want to say sorry about last night. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Emma, you did me a favor. I was about to marry a woman I didn’t know. It’s not your fault I got swept away. Let’s forget about the whole thing.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I hate to ask for another favor but I need to print up my speech for tonight. I looked but I couldn't find the file.”

“Sure no problem. I can get it for you.” Emma walked to his desk to find the file.

Graham sighed in relief. “Emma, I’m so thankful I could call you tonight. I love that I can always count on you to never say no.”

Emma froze and looked at him. “What?”

“I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?” He asked, concerned.

Emma sighed. “Oh--”

Graham approached her with concern.

Emma stared at the computer screen. “Graham, I quit.”

Graham’s face turned confused. “What do you mean?”

“You hired me right after college. I was so blown away and caught up by the company and you. I never bothered to get my own life. Then I couldn’t leave because I was so madly in love with you.”

He takes one fluid step into her space. His right hand sliding to the back of her head pulling her into a kiss.

Emma froze for a second waiting for the fireworks to explode but it was a dud.

Graham noticed her reaction and backed away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

She looked at him with understanding. “It’s okay. I always wanted to know what it would feel like.”She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but that's not what it's supposed to feel like.” Her phone ringtone to Benny and the Jets went off interrupting them.

He smiled warmly as he saw her face brightened up with realization.

She smiled and left him behind.

Emma found the building easily enough. She approached the receptionist's desk interrupting a group of people deep in conversation. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Ki-James Rogers.”

The person that replied was a classically handsome man with a boyish quality and fair complexion with a bright smile. “He’s at a wedding. Wait, aren't you the girl from the article?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m famous.”

Emma had been pleasantly surprised at how accommodating the guy, Victor, had been. He quickly provided the information to her with a smirk.

Emma ran out of the building hailing a cab.

The taxi came to a screeching stop.

Emma opened the door and got in. “Pier 17,” she said looking forward while waiting for the car to move.

The face of the cabbie that drove her the night she met Killian smiled through the rearview mirror. “I only have one dress tonight.”

The man grumbled in disappointment as the possibility of some extra cash disappeared and started driving.

They arrived shortly at the destination. Emma rushed out of the cab noticing the venue’s wedding sign, and asked the two valet workers to point her in the right direction.

Emma easily found the wedding on a ship and it was about to depart. Emma didn’t think twice and just jumped landing on the gangplank.

She landed safely, taking a deep breath and she started her search for Killian. The wedding was lovely. She was amazed by the magical feel of it.

“Hey,” a voice called out from behind her, Emma turned to face the voice.

The tiny blonde with a big smile greeted her. “I know you from the article. What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Emma grimaced; she only hoped the bride was a romantic. “Long story short. There's this guy and he is here and I ...” Flustered at her own boldness Emma confided her story to the pixie bride who eagerly helped her.

Emma took the microphone nervously at the encouragement of her new friend.

“Hello. Good evening, I’m sorry to interrupt such a happy occasion. I promise this won't take long. I’m looking for someone, Killian? Killian Jones?”

The groom arrived and stood next to his bride, “Love, what’s going on?”

The bride said, “Shhh. Don’t worry, this is a good thing.”

Killian heard his name in a familiar voice and muttered, “Oh, bloodiest of hells…”

The Bride grabbed the mic from Emma’s grasp. “Can we have a spotlight, please? Killian Jones, come forward.” With an encouraging smile, she returned the microphone to Emma.

Killian begrudgingly stepped forward. The spotlight landed on him as the bride pointed him out.

Emma’s eyes met his and she continued to lower her armor. “I just wanted to say you were right about me. I wasn’t ready to hear it, especially not from you. I waited all my life for my prince charming. Then you showed up, a scoundrel, a pirate. The truth is, fighting with you is the best thing that ever happened to me. I think the chances of me falling in love with you are very good. That's all I had to say. I'll go now.”

Emma made her way through the crowd to meet Killian in the middle.

Killian smiled as she hesitantly arrived a few steps in front of him. “It’s about bloody time,” he said, pulling her as close to him as possible before he kissed her soundly.

After a few minutes of enjoying their kissing session, they are separated after hearing someone clear their throat.

“Little brother, I thought I taught you better manners. How about introducing me to the lovely lass that crashed my wedding to profess her feelings to you?”

“Leave them alone, Liam. They have a lot to talk about.”

“They can talk all they want but I feel like we deserve at least an introduction.”

Killian rolled his eyes as he hesitantly made space between Emma and himself. “Emma, this is my elder brother, Liam Jones. You have met my new sister-in-law, Olivia, but you can call her Tink.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry I interrupted your wedding. I wasn’t thinking. I never do stuff like this.”

Tink laughed, “It’s okay: you’re family.”

Killian shook his head. “Tink, I didn't know you were so intent on helping me find something as precious as my happy ending.”

A year later…

After quitting her job, Emma opened her wedding planner business: Savior Weddings. Soon enough, she found herself planning for a very special day.

You are cordially invited to the union of Emma Swan and Killian Jones.

Kathryn was the maid of honor, she smiled at her new boyfriend Frederick. A kind man that she met at her father’s store. He sat on the bride’s side.

Graham and his date Elsa arrived at the wedding with an excited Henry who happily tagged along for the special occasion. They were seated in the bride’s section.

Tink sat excitedly on the Groom’s side. She was so happy her brother-in-law found happiness.

Ruby smiled widely as she guided guests to their seats.

“Excuse me, what do you think makes this wedding special?” a voice got her attention.

Ruby turned to the source and smiled wolfishly. “And who are you?”

He smirked. “I’m the new writer of the Commitments column for the Journal, Victor Whale. I was hoping I could buy you a drink later.”

She laughed, “You do know it’s an open bar, right? I'll buy you a drink.” She winked and walked away. It was almost time for the ceremony to start.

Liam was happily standing next to his little brother as the music started. He joked saying he earned being the best man since his bride crashed his wedding.

Emma glided down the aisle. Her father proudly escorted her.

At that moment she didn't care if everything was perfect or not because the only thing that mattered was the way Killian looked at her, full of love. She looked at her bridesmaids. All twenty-seven of them were there to support her.

Once she arrived at her spot next to Killian he smiled lovingly as he asked her, “Is this moment everything you had hoped for?”

She beamed with happiness.“It’s so much more.”

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Emma Swan and Killian Jones in holy matrimony. Marriage is a cause for celebration… I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.

The 27 Brides:

1 Lily/August

2 Alice/Robyn

3 Astrid/Leroy

4 Victoria/Flynn

5 Mary Margaret/David

6 Ariel/Eric

7 Aurora/Phillip

8 Ashley/Sean

9 Belle/Gaston

10 Anastacia/Will

11 Anna/Kristoff

12 Merida/Mulan

13 Gwen/Lance

14 Marian/Robin

15 Zelena/Hades

16 Tiana/Naveen

17 Regina/Daniel

18 Jacqueline/James

19 Nimue/Merlin

20 Jasmine/Aladdin

21 Wendy/Felix

22 Megara/Hercules

23 Cruella/Isaac

24 Fiona/Malcolm

25 Tamara/Greg

26 Ivy/Henry

27 Priscilla/Jefferson

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#Captain Swan #CSMM #cs ff #CSMM20 #Captain Swan Movie Marathon

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roman-writing · 4 years ago

Text

bring home a haunting (1/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 11,511

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” - CS Lewis, Till We Have Faces

—

I: 1987

—

The sound of water sloshing through the pipes was a constant drone in the air. Dani stared at herself in the mirror. Her hand rested on the tap, holding it open. Steam crept in along the edges of the mirror as hot water continued to stream into the white porcelain bathroom sink, pale tendrils framing her face like smudged fingerprints against the glass. She was still dressed in pajamas, her hair a rumpled mess. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her face felt puffy and her stomach heavy, but above all else she just appeared tired.

There was movement behind her. The bathroom door opened and her head jerked up in surprise as the door frame squared around Eddie's tall silhouette. In the misted mirror, his glasses seemed to reflect all light, obscuring half his face in a gleam like the sun glancing across the surface of a windscreen.

His reflection smiled. "You still getting ready?" he asked. "We need to go in ten, if I'm giving you a ride to work."

Abruptly, Dani twisted the tap, cutting off the flow of water. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. No. I'll — I'll drive myself."

"You sure? I don't know if your poor little car will make it."

"No. It'll be fine," she assured him, trying to sound far more confident than she felt. Never mind that the local mechanic had given her a list of incomprehensible ills that plagued her car the last time she had taken it into the shop after it had broken down again. "Thanks, though."

"All right," he said, but still he did not turn to leave. "You know, I was thinking. We should probably sell it."

"Hmm?"

Dani had opened the mirror door to reveal a jumble of bottles and toothpaste and toothbrushes, only some of which were hers. She scouted around for what she was looking for. Even after a few weeks, everything still felt so displaced. She struggled to find the smallest item these days, be it her favorite sauce pan or a bottle of — oh, there it was.

"Your car," Eddie was saying behind her. "Don't you think we should sell it? We don't really need two. Not now that we're living together."

Dani froze with her hands cupped in the water of the sink. She could see her own reflection weaving and waving from the disturbance until her face looked disjointed. Like some sort of Picasso. An eye here. A jaw there. Scattered into separate chambers.

Without answering, she leaned down and splashed her face, rubbing at her cheeks until a foam lathered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Well?" Eddie asked.

She bought herself a moment by rinsing the suds from her face and reaching blindly for a towel that she had perched on a nearby rail for just that very purpose. When she spoke, her voice was muffled through the cloth, "I don't know. I just think —" She lowered the towel and wiped at her neck. "Wouldn't it be inconvenient? You having to drive me around everywhere?"

In the mirror, his outline shrugged. "I don't mind. More time spent with you, right?"

She offered him a weak smile, drying her hands and folding the towel neatly back on its rack. “You’re sweet,” she said. “But really. I mean — What if I need to pick up groceries on the way back from the school? Or what if I want to visit your mother? Or —?”

“All right. All right. You win,” he laughed, softly. He came up behind her, hands settling on her waist, gentle but heavy all the same. “Just think about it. Okay?”

The steam at the edges of the mirror had begun to fade, and Eddie’s features came into sharp relief. Looking at their reflection was like looking at the picture in their living room where they were posed for prom. Eddie’s hands clasped at her waist, and Dani still with that deer in the headlights smile. It was almost perfect. It was almost enough. Being a fresh-faced fiancée. Wearing rumpled pink pajamas. Living together. Watching a life unfold before her as though it belonged to someone else.

She shrank away from him in order to turn around. “I should finish getting ready,” she said.

He let her go but leaned down for a kiss. Instead, his glasses bumped the side of her face. Laughing, she pushed the glasses up his nose as he retreated with a wince.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Her hand was still lingering on the side of his face — scratch of stubble beneath her fingertips — and Eddie pressed a brief kiss to her palm before striding from the bathroom. Dani stood there, clutching her hand back to her chest, listening to his retreating footsteps down the hall. Something curdled in her stomach, though she hadn’t eaten anything yet this morning. She passed it off as hunger instead of guilt.

Eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching into a fist at her sternum, Dani inhaled a deep steadying breath. Then, opening her eyes once more, she turned back towards the mirror and reached for a hairbrush.

—

The coffee in the teacher’s lounge was always dark as sin and tasted of battery acid. Dani pulled on the tap, filling up her styrofoam cup until her hand burned and she had to hold it gingerly from the top with her fingertips. Enough creamer followed so that the coffee resembled milk more than the original brew. She tested it with a sip, crinkled her nose, and added sugar until it was barely palatable. It would still strip paint in a pinch, but it would also keep her going throughout the day.

With a resigned sigh, she carried the coffee over to the round table in the back corner of the lounge, where her piles of notes and textbooks waited. The binders sported multi-colored tongues, every section marked with a tab and her broad loopy handwriting, and there was a satchel of pens and markers in every hue under the sky. Taking a sip of her cup of paint thinner, Dani pulled out a plain black pen. She trailed her thumb down the tabs until she reached the desired section, and flipped open to the correct page. There, she began to record her meticulous notes. She would pause every so often to flip through a textbook and double-check some figure or another that she had convinced herself she had forgotten.

The lounge was mostly empty but for her. It was still an early hour, even for her colleagues. Here, she felt like she could actually work. Back home she would inevitably feel like she had gotten in the way. Not of Eddie. Not usually. Though sometimes he would wander over to the table while she was trying to arrange a lesson plan and distract her with talk of banalities that always made her hand slip, that always made her lose her place on the page. Other times he would complain about how her work sprawled and took over the whole dining room.

Mostly it was the house itself. Still so fresh and new and clean, walls pressing in like a stomach lining. Spreading all her work notes out felt like she was intruding upon the space of the napkins and cutlery. As though all of the items people had bought them for their engagement were more at home there than she was. A house of cardboard boxes. Of clothes. Of china. Stuff. Things. Their things.

Dani’s writing had slowed. She shook her head briskly and straightened in her seat. Another sip of fortifying turpentine, and she was scribbling away again.

“Enjoy the summer holiday?”

Dani glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice. Hannah Grose, seamlessly elegant in a wine-dark skirt suit, stood with her hand on the back of one of the chairs around the little table.

A smile broke across Dani’s face, and she said, “Yeah! And you?” She gestured towards the chair with her pen, adding, “Please.”

“Not much to report on the western front.” Hannah sat, delicately leaning her elbow upon the table so as not to disturb the sprawl of Dani’s notes. “But I hear that’s not the case in your camp. Congratulations are in order.”

Dani could feel her cheeks strain with the effort of keeping her smile in place. “Thanks!”

“Well?” Hannah asked, her eyes agleam with warm curiosity. “Go on then. How did he propose?”

“Which time?” Dani joked half-heartedly. When Hannah gave a little huff of laughter, Dani said, “No, seriously. He’s been asking me to marry him since we were kids.”

“Well, congratulations,” Hannah said. “Do you have a date planned? Or is that still in the works?”

Dani fiddled with the pen between her fingers, repeatedly removing the cap and sticking it back on with a nervous jab. The plastic clacked dully against the unfamiliar band of gold around her finger. “Oh, no. Not yet. We — uh — we’re going to wait a bit. Eddie just started his new job, and I’ve — well. You’re the one who asked me to teach sixth grade this year. And I’m excited, but also I feel so unprepared for a whole classroom of twelve year olds.”

“Don’t be nervous, dear,” Hannah said, and though her tone was soothing her small smile was teasing. “They can smell fear.”

Dani’s laugh was slightly too breathy and too short to be heartfelt. “Oh, I know. It’s just —” She made a flighty gesture with one hand, “— getting a new batch in. It’s always a little nerve wracking. There are so many names to memorize in the first week. And sorting out the dynamics of them all, how they interact, and — well, you know.”

“No, I don’t. Not really, anyway,” Hannah said. “I came up the ranks through an administrative route. Never had any classroom time to speak of.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Dani said.

Hannah gave Dani’s notes a nudge with her elbow. “What was it you were just telling me about the trials and tribulations of homeroom?”

This time when Dani laughed, it was far more relaxed. “The kids are the best part. Really. That’s why you do it.”

Hannah gave her a knowing look. “Yes. And that’s why I hired you.”

“Have I thanked you for that, yet?”

“Only once a year for three years.”

“My next gift basket is in the mail tomorrow, then,” Dani joked.

“Hang the basket and bring me a slice from the cafe instead.”

“With coffee?” Dani asked, grinning when Hannah wrinkled her nose at the idea. “You got it, boss.”

“Tea,” said Hannah primly, “is perfectly serviceable. Thank you. It’s eight thirty, by the way.”

Dani’s eyes widened and she checked her watch to find that Hannah was, in fact, correct. “Oh, shoot!” Hastily, she scraped together the loose papers, shuffling them back into their notebook. Tucking it beneath one arm, she snatched up her styrofoam cup and made a dash for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Grose.”

“Don’t forget to bring back a receipt for the slice!” Hannah called after her. “You must let me pay you back this time!”

“Put it on my next remuneration review!”

—

The kids were all filing into class, and Dani was hesitating at the blackboard. She held the tip of a piece of chalk against the dark grain. Her hand had frozen on the final downward stroke of the 'M' when she thought — should it still be 'Miss'? 'Ms.'? What were the rules?

The sounds of children jabbering away behind her, chairs scraping, things being thrown, urged her into action, and Dani wrote the name she had always written before turning around.

"All right, let's settle down, please." She waited until twenty-five faces were turned towards her in relative silence — as good as she could hope for given the circumstances — before smiling. Then, she set aside the chalk and picked up a clipboard full of names. "Hi, everyone. I'm Miss Clayton. Welcome to homeroom. Let's go through names. Make sure everyone's here."

It was the same, she told herself even as she meticulously took roll. How different could a bunch of twelve year olds be to her usual ten year olds? She even recognized one or two names from when she had taught a previous class. One of her former students waved at her from the back of a row of desks, and Dani smiled in return.

She skimmed right over the roll call and into the first introductions to the year. It happened so fast, that she hardly even registered a familiar looking name on the list. The boy in question merely raised his hand upon his name being called out, and Dani forged on to the next. With so many new faces to memorize, she did not even pause to mull over the presence of a Michael Taylor in her class. There were too many of them. Always too many. She never could keep track. Always remembering faces, but never names. Maybe if there were fewer of them, she thought. Maybe if they were younger.

They never were.

—

Even after two weeks back in the classroom, the bell ringing never failed to make Dani jump slightly. She nearly dropped her chalk from where she was drawing on the blackboard. Already behind her she could hear the scrape of chairs and the excited babble at the arrival of the weekend.

Setting down the chalk, Dani turned around and began wiping her hands against her skirt. She had to lift her voice to be heard. “All right everyone, don’t forget your permission slips for a trip to the community library! If you don’t bring back a signed form, you won’t be able to go, and you’ll have to stay here! And, Michael? Can you stay behind for a minute, please? I want to talk to you.”

Michael’s head whipped around at the sound of his name. A few other students shot him odd glances and his shoulders crept up around his ears. He shoved his books and notes into his bag — a dark blue canvas with silver stars that looked like they’d been painstakingly drawn on — then slouched at his desk until the others had all left.

Sitting behind her own desk, Dani brushed at the chalk handprints on her skirt — she was always a mess by the end of a school week; chalk everywhere — and gestured for Michael to come closer. He hesitated before pushing himself upright and walking forward until he stood in front of her desk. His brow was furrowed but his head was bowed, looking contrite, as though waiting for some sort of reprimand.

Dani gentled her voice. “Michael, I just wanted to -"

"Mikey."

She blinked, faltering. "I'm sorry?"

"My name," he said very firmly for someone who stood with such a stoop. "It’s Mikey. I don’t like Michael."

With a smile, Dani said, "Of course. Mikey. You’re not in trouble. I promise.” With a light tap of her palms against the surface of the desk, she pulled out a piece of paper from atop one of the stacks and slid it towards him across her desk. “This is your homework from Monday. Do you remember this problem here? Number eleven?”

Shrugging at the weight of his backpack, he nodded.

“Well, I kind of messed up,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward as though revealing a secret. “And I copied this problem from the wrong section of the book. The back section of the book, I mean. Most of the others didn’t even try to answer it, and those that did got it wrong. Except —” Dani tapped a finger against the edge of the page, “— for you.”

Mikey did not say anything. His gaze remained dropped, as though he were studying his shoes.

“Do you know what this ‘x’ is?” Dani asked, pointing to the math problem in question.

Mikey shook his head. “No. I thought it was like a question mark?”

“Yeah.” Dani smiled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He glanced up at her, saw her watching him, and then hastily lowered his eyes again, shuffling his feet.

Leaning her weight on her forearms, Dani said, “I know you’re a transfer student this year, and you came from somewhere out of state. Did your other schools teach you algebra by any chance?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Okay.” She ducked her head down in an attempt to look into his eyes. “I told you: you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to know — do you like math? Because it seems to me you’re really good at it.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack. “Can I go now?”

Dani toyed with the edge of the page of homework. Then with a sigh she leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, you can go. Have a good weekend.”

He murmured some pleasantry in response, but in the next moment he was gone from the room so fast she thought she must have imagined it. For a moment, Dani frowned after him. She pulled his homework towards herself, studying the page. Mikey’s handwriting was cramped and messy, but there was no mistaking the fact that he had written every answer only once. There were no eraser marks to be seen. He even showed the steps he took to reach his answers.

Her thumb traced over his name at the top right hand corner. Then, with a little shake of her head, she set the page back atop the stack of other papers and began to clean up.

Even after the kids had mostly left, there were always a few stragglers left behind. Some trotted through the halls in packs on their way to whatever extracurricular activities their parents had signed them up for. Dani kept the door to her classroom open, and the squeak of their shoes echoed down the corridor along with the sound of their fading voices. Tilting her wrist to check the time, she pulled out the latest round of homework assignments that had been handed back to her earlier that day. The set she hadn’t had a chance to mark yet.

Best to just get it done with now. Her car was clinging to the last vestiges of life and had landed itself back in the workshop earlier that week. She would be here a while until Eddie got off work.

She grabbed a red pen and pulled the first page towards her. The pen flicked officiously as she scanned through the questions, barely pausing until she circled the final grade at the top and set the page aside in favor of the next. And so on. And so forth. It was almost relaxing. As relaxing as a known constant could be. She could always rely upon the dependability of homework that needed grading. Just like she could rely upon the dependability of death and taxes.

She glanced up only rarely from her work whenever a flurry of movement flitted across the corners of her vision. A bird darting from a tree branch here. A janitor sweeping the floors there. Dani paused to push her seat back from the desk and make small talk, asking after the janitor's wife and kids until he shuffled along with a wave, pushing his long-handled broom, which looked more like a breed of shaggy dog than a cleaning implement. She had almost finished grading the stack of papers, when she glanced out the window towards the street. She looked back down at the papers, then did a double take.

That was a student sitting on the curb. She recognized that blue backpack with silver stars. Dani checked the time again. Nearly four in the afternoon now. With a hum and a frown, she returned to grading, but her gaze would wander after each finished page back towards the window.

Finally, she capped the pen and set it down atop the finished stack of papers. She would need to enter those grades into the system later, but that could wait. For now, Dani swept everything into her bag before slinging it over one shoulder. Her keys jangled from their lanyard as she locked up and made her way outside.

Mikey was still crouched on the sidewalk when she approached. Her shoes clacked dully against the pavement, and he turned to look over his shoulder at who was approaching him.

Dani smiled brightly. "Hi!" she said. "You’re still here?"

Mikey nodded, but gave no verbal reply. Some sort of magazine was hanging loosely from his fingers, half open and tucked between his legs as though he had been caught red-handed.

Setting her bag down on the ground, she sat beside him and craned her neck to get a look at the cover he was clearly trying to hide. "Wonder Woman, huh?"

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he refused to look anywhere near her direction.

"You know," Dani said. "I used to wait up at night to catch all the episodes of the show as they were airing. The Lynda Carter ones? You ever watch it?"

His eyes were wide when he finally turned to look at her. He nodded. "Yeah. I love that show."

"I recorded them all," Dani confided in a whisper, as though the two of them were in on a secret. "Still have them on tape at home, though I haven't watched them in forever."

"My sister gets annoyed when I rewatch stuff too often," Mikey said. He had straightened his legs, and now the comic book was sprawled across his bony knees to reveal a few inked pages.

She nodded towards the thin paper booklet. "I never read the comics, though. Are they any fun?"

It was like opening flood gates. Suddenly, she found herself being regaled about the entire publication history of Wonder Woman, while Mikey gestured wildly with the comic so that the loose pages rustled with every motion of his hands. His face came alight when he spoke. Dani listened with amusement. She perched an elbow on her knees and propped her chin on her hand, nodding along, asking appropriate questions. Once she asked what was obviously a dumb question, for he made a face and explained her error in great detail.

The early autumnal sun was slanting through the trees by the time a boxy silver sedan rolled up to the other side of the street. Dani could see a familiar mop of dark hair and the gleam of glasses through the windows. The car puttered to a halt, engine idling, and Eddie pressed down on the steering wheel so that the horn blared briefly.

Dani waved in his direction and said to Mikey, “That’s my ride. Are you going to be okay out here?” She glanced down the street for any approaching cars. “Someone’s coming to pick you up, right?”

In answer, he held up the issue of Wonder Woman. “It’s okay, Miss Clayton. My sister will be here soon.”

“Okay, then,” said Dani. Slapping her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to her feet, bag hanging from one shoulder. She walked towards the car with a smile and a wave back at Mikey. “I’ll see you next week!”

He did not answer. He was already nose-deep in his comic book again. Shaking her head with a small chuckle, Dani continued towards where Eddie was waiting for her, tapping at the dashboard. It wasn’t until her hand was on the chromed door handle that she finally registered what Mikey had said.

A sister. He had a sister. At first she’d thought — well, a sister who got annoyed with a brother who hogged the television set would surely be a younger sister. But a sister who drove to pick him up from school was definitely not a younger sister.

“Danielle, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice made her jerk half out of her skin. She hadn’t even realized he had rolled down the window.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Yeah. Can you just - Can you wait a second? I’ll be —I’ll be just a second.”

Dani shoved her bag through the open window into her seat, then whirled around and marched back across the street. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She could feel the bite of her short nails into her palms. Something acidic boiled in her stomach, twisting it into knots, until she stood over Mikey, struggling to find her voice.

“You said you had a sister?” she asked. “An older sister? And — And your last name is Taylor?”

Looking puzzled, Mikey shrugged. “Yeah?”

This was impossible. There was no way. For a long moment, Dani stared at him, his brown hair, his brown eyes, his narrow shoulders, the almost familiar shape of his nose and face.

Dani cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “And what — uh — what’s her name?”

With a quizzical frown up at her, Mikey turned a page of his comic book to where Wonder Woman was punching stars from one of her foes. “My sister?” he asked, as if it were the most bizarre question in the world. “Jamie. Her name’s Jamie.”

“Right,” Dani breathed, feeling like she’d just received a blow to the space beneath her ribcage. “Right. Of course. Sorry. I’ll just — Bye.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back towards the waiting car. She willed her breathing to even out, even as she felt something coil around her sternum and tighten with every step. Yanking open the door, Dani slipped into the car. She pushed her bag down to her feet and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Everything good?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Dani lied, her voice sounding oddly high even to her own ears. It was difficult to swallow; her throat felt too tight. A rush of blood flooded through her ears in a deafening crash. She stared fixedly at the reflection of her own clenched hands in the slanted windshield, willing them to relax even as her knuckles went whiter. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

And Eddie didn’t question it at all. He merely shrugged, put the car into gear, and drove away.

—

It stayed with her afterwards. Like a bruise upon her skin, blue and purple, tender to the touch. That cloying sense of the air too thick. Molasses on a hot summer day, the dark shadow that clung to her heels in sunlight, haunting her every step. She couldn’t breathe with it, couldn’t escape it.

Jamie. Jamie, here. Jamie, home.

Somehow Eddie didn’t notice. It completely passed him by, the way her eyes darted around as they stopped to pick up groceries, her clenched fists held tightly to her sides, consumed with the uneasy notion that she might turn around the corner and Jamie would appear, as if summoned by the gravity of Dani’s pounding heart.

It should’ve been easy — like most things eventually — locking it away. Erasing it. She had managed now for years, days, months. Except now the very thought of Jamie being so near again, so tangible again, made her somehow indelible. As if she’d always been there. Waiting. As if she’d never gone. It felt altogether at once like being peeled and stripped away, down to an exposed nerve.

Dani wished she could say she slept easy that night. Instead, after spending much of the witching hour staring at the ceiling, she finally succumbed to the sound of Eddie’s soft snores, his arm splayed across her waist, only to wake up feeling as if she'd been cracked open and hollowed out. Somehow, in between the moments of stumbling out of bed and driving up to the blue bungalow across town with Eddie in the small rental truck behind her, Dani managed to go through the motions of call and response. Her limbs moving, her mouth speaking all of their own accord, and she could only watch it happening. She pulled on the turn signal. The click of the light like an errant drip of a tap. It was only when she was cutting the engine to stare up at the house that was once hers, that something tightened in her chest, shunting her back to earth.

Carson met them by the front steps where he sat in his studded leather jacket that he wore regardless of the weather, two takeout cups in hand.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled, standing and offering one of the cups to Eddie who reached him first. “Thought I was gonna have to drink these myself before they got cold.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, taking the cup. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he drawled before helping himself inside the house without a backwards glance, taking a long sip from his cup.

Carson stared after him for a moment before turning to Dani with a smirk, and said, “Someone’s in a mood.”

Managing a chuckle, Dani folded her arms around herself. “Yeah, he uh, he’s just eager to get it done, you know? Realtor wants the place empty by three today.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, holding out the last cup, his smirk softening to something kinder.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking it. The brush of his fingers against hers was warm and welcome. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure, I did,” he responded with a shrug, and nudged her to take a drink, “Go on.”

At the first sip of what Dani had thought was coffee was instead a sweet and rich hot chocolate. Her eyes went wide.

Carson laughed at the expression on her face. “Thought you could use a little something sweet today.”

She smiled at him over the plastic top and took another longer sip. “Thank you,” she said, “For coming. You didn’t need to, but —”

“— You needed some extra muscle, which I’ve plenty of.” His grin seemed rueful. There lingered in Carson more of the boyish youth that Dani had seen in Eddie so many years ago. He wasn’t as gangly or as broad-shouldered as his older brothers, but he was always, without fail, a comforting presence in an otherwise rowdy O’Mara household.

“And yet none of your other brothers showed up, I see,” Dani said.

“Yeah, well,” Carson shrugged against his leather jacket, hands stuck into the pockets. “Guess, I’m just the only responsible one.”

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you best.”

He winked and lowered his voice. “Don’t let Eddie hear you say that.”

With a snort, Dani reached out and ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair so that it more resembled Eddie’s unruly curls. He ducked his head and swatted her away with a whine of complaint. She laughed when he stepped away to carefully fix his hair in the reflection of her car window.

“You leave your pomade at home again?” Dani teased. “Thought you never left without it.”

She could just make out his face in the reflection, nose scrunching up as he raked his fingers through his dark hair until it was suitably tamed. The door of the house one over opened, and a young man strode out, wearing a bathrobe and clutching a mug of coffee. Immediately Carson straightened, as though he’d been tapped with the wrong end of a cattle prod.

Dani waved. “Hi, Jason!”

Her neighbor lifted a desultory hand while he fumbled with his letterbox. “Last day?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep.

“Taking the last of it now,” she said.

Jason shut the letterbox and scooped up the newspaper that had been tossed onto his lawn earlier that morning. “Let me know if you need an extra hand.”

“I should be all right. That’s what Carson’s for.” She gestured with her hot chocolate towards Carson, who had his hands jammed back into his pockets and was now leaning against her car with an odd expression on his face.

Jason glanced over and nodded, no more than a jerk of his chin up, before walking back into his house with the newspaper tucked under one arm. The muscles in Carson’s jaw were clenched, standing out like the ropes of a sailing ship.

After the door to Jason’s house had swung shut, Dani asked, “I thought you two were friends?”

Carson grunted a wordless note. “We had a falling out a few months ago. Anyway —” He turned on his heel, grin back in place, and started making his way towards her house. “Show me the heavy stuff. Come on!”

By the time they first made their way inside, Eddie was already hauling out boxes filled with her things. The tops and sides of each cardboard box had been painstakingly labelled in Dani’s hand, the letters neat and blocky. Carson slipped by Eddie with an exaggerated pose as if squeezing through a tight space as they passed one another in the door. Eddie paused, arms laden, and turned his face to Dani while she climbed the steps leading up to the entryway. The extra step allowed her to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and, mollified, he continued on his way towards the truck. Once inside, she found that Carson was already heaving an armchair up with his hands. She moved out of the way so he could trot after his older brother, leaving her momentarily alone.

The house was bare. Most of her things had already been carted away the week before. The transition into their new shared home had been gradual, just like everything else in their relationship. Eddie settling in first and coaxing Dani along as though she were a particularly nervous show dog that had slipped the collar. Looking around now, hands on her hips, Dani felt like an intruder. Like she was an archaeologist who had wandered into someone else's burial site with a rusty torch and hammer.

It almost looked bigger now that it was so empty. Her footsteps echoed too loud on the wooden floors, the sound traveling further and longer. The bare walls once peppered with paintings and photos now like a skeleton expanding its ribs, waiting to expel her in one long sunken breath. Her thumb gradually drifted to her mouth as she took it all in, biting hard at her nail and skin, fixedly eyeing the spot where once a small reading nook used to be.

The sound of footsteps behind her was harsh and loud to her ears. “Hey, what did I tell you about that?” Eddie said from beside her suddenly, his hand gently pulling Dani’s away from her mouth.

She swallowed heavily and pulled her hand carefully back to hold into a fist by her side, and said, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just —”

“I don’t like you hurting yourself,” he said, frowning. She couldn’t help but let her shoulders slump at the concern in his eyes, and only managed to give him a tenuous smile and a nod. “Look, we’re almost done. Soon we’ll be out of here in no time and we can finally just focus on our home. Just let me and Carson do all the hard work.”

“I can help,” Dani said. “I want to help.”

He sighed. “Danielle -”

“I have my inhaler in the car. I won’t keel over and die,” Dani said.

“Hey, Ed, buddy, what happened to that deadline, huh?” Carson said, leaning heavily on the wall and pointing behind him to the kitchen, “You gonna help me with this thing or not?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and briefly placed a hand on her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen with muttered grumbling. Dani grinned after him before catching Carson’s eyes, chuckling and shaking her head as he winked at her before following Eddie.

“Gotta give her a minute to breathe, Ed.” Carson’s voice was soft, but still Dani heard it all the same and wrapped her arms tight around herself.

Clearing her throat, she strode off in the direction of her old bedroom. The bed had been taken away and put in their new spare bedroom for guests who might come to visit. The carpet still bore indentations from where the posts had once sat. Eddie had already been in here; the boxes were gone. Dani glanced around for any last remaining items that might have been forgotten. The closet door was slightly awry, and with a frown she pulled it fully open. There was a single wire coat hanger hooked on the bar that stretched across the closet. Her hand reached out to take it, when she froze.

There, tucked away into the corner beneath one of the built in shelves, was a small wooden box. She could hardly remember the last time she had seen it, let alone opened it. A layer of dust covered the top. Kneeling down, Dani pulled the box out and into her lap. She blew the dust off and had to wipe a bit more with the edge of her sleeve. It was made of plain wood with a bronze latch fastening the lid shut. Her thumb teased the corner of the latch. She worried her lower lip between her teeth before steeling herself and lifting the lid open on squeaky hinges.

Nestled inside were a series of photographs, faded with age. Something clenched in her chest as she touched the first one with trembling fingers.

She and Jamie looked so young, and they were. Barely fifteen. Jamie's arm flung around her shoulder, arm outstretched to snap the photo while she pressed a kiss to Dani's cheek even as Dani laughed and elbowed her ribs. Swallowing down the urge to be sick, she slipped the photo aside to see the next. Jamie was younger still. Her arms were outstretched as she balanced her weight on the narrow steel bar of the abandoned train tracks beyond the fields that surrounded the town. Dani could remember the day she took this with crystal clarity. The days of summer in those years had been longer somehow, stretching on into warm endless nights.

She was a furtive grave robber, flicking through picture after picture, exhuming a past that she hardly recognized herself in now. And pictures weren’t all that were stored here. There was a band shirt that had been half eaten by moths over years of neglect. An old Zippo lighter with scratched edges along the chrome plating. A necklace that was actually just a worn old half dollar coin pierced through and hung from a cheap chain. A cassette tape labelled Jamie’s Mixtape (1978) in a messy slanted scrawl, long missing its protective case. And finally, an old battered copy of Valley of the Dolls, where if she were to flick it open, she would find a pressed blue morning glory hidden among the pages.

She gently ran her hand over them, still trembling as if the living memories within the treasure trove thrummed under her skin with its own heartbeat.

In the distance, she could hear footsteps and the back and forth between Carson and Eddie in the living room as they manoeuvred a couch through the front door. When the footsteps drew closer, approaching down the hall, Dani hurriedly stuffed everything back into the box and shut the lid.

Carson leaned in the doorway. At some point he had shed his leather jacket, so that now he only wore a white undershirt that was two sizes too small, tucked into his jeans. “You good here? We’ve loaded the last of it into the truck.”

“Yeah,” Dani said. She pushed herself upright, clutching the box to her chest as though it were an heirloom. “Yeah, that's everything.”

His eyebrows rose and he nodded towards the box. “What do you got there?”

Dani’s grip tightened. She could feel the grooves of the box pressing into her skin. “Nothing important.”

—

Dani went about her routine on edge. At the supermarket, gripping the shopping cart between her hands and turning down the different aisles. At the gas station, stepping out of her beat up old car to work the pump. At the school, peering out the window at all the parents dropping off their kids in the parking lot. At the local cafe nearest the elementary school, picking up a newspaper and a slice for Hannah. Hoping for a glimpse of Jamie and dreading any encounter with her all at once.

Except Jamie never appeared. And Mikey sat at the back of the class, doodling in his notebook, not paying attention but knowing all the answers regardless whenever Dani called on him to participate. She could always see him after school sitting on the curbside and reading a new comic issue, or thumbing through a book from the paltry school library or scratching at his homework with a pencil. Not once did Dani loiter long enough to see him get picked up, and she felt a stab of irritation that he should be left alone for so long. But it wasn’t her business, and he got along well enough with the other kids during recess.

Dani was still stewing silently over the whole affair at dinner with her future in-laws. She sat at the dining table, chewing at the skin of her thumb, with Carson at one elbow and Eddie at the next. Mike, Judy’s soft-spoken stooping husband, sat at the head of the table, while Judy herself set the last of the platters down and invited everyone to tuck in.

“How’re the kids this year?” Judy asked as she spooned peas onto her plate.

Dani made a noise in the back of her throat, before lowering her hand into her lap. “Yeah, they’re great! I — uh — I actually have a transfer student.”

Judy made a sound to indicate that she was still listening even while she passed a platter across the table to Eddie.

“He’s really smart,” Dani continued. “I don’t really know what to do with him. He — well, he always looks a bit bored, to be honest.”

“Don’t they have some sort of advanced program for kids like that?” Mike asked. He had already tucked into the food even though his plate was only half full.

“I’d need to talk to the parent or guardian first,” Dani said, her stomach flipping at the thought. The peas had made their way around the table to her now, and she slowly scraped the last of them onto an available corner of her plate. Swallowing heavily, Dani concentrated hard on the steady movements of her hands, and said, “Judy, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of anyone new coming to town?”

Judy’s mouth was full. She frowned thoughtfully as she chewed, and swallowed before answering. “No, I haven’t, now that you mention it. I’ll have to ask around the ladies at the book club if they’ve seen anyone.”

Any hope Dani might have nursed of learning something new about Jamie’s presence in town flickered out like a snuffed candle. “Thanks,” she said, already feeling the conversation wander towards other topics. “Can you pass the salt, Carson?”

—

Sitting here in her Sunday best with Eddie’s warm hand in hers and a book of hymns in the other, Dani was sandwiched in the pew between her fiancé and her mother. Karen smelled sharply of cheap mall perfume, her dress pressing in tight on her ribs. The priest’s voice echoed from his place declaming near the altar, but Dani wasn’t listening. She was too preoccupied with the way her heart pounded in her chest, the clench of her stomach and the restless nerves that someone might have seen her.

She hadn’t planned on going to the movies yesterday, not at first. Not until she had seen the ad in Saturday’s morning paper, an art house theater two towns over advertising a one-time showing of Desert Hearts. It had caused such a stir in the community a few years ago that any curiosity Dani had felt toward it had died and shriveled up inside of her. Yet her Saturday afternoon had been free, and Eddie had been mercifully busy after helping her move the last of her things.

And now Dani sat in the same church she’d been going to her entire life, feeling like a marionette whose mouth was puppetted by invisible strings as she joined the others in song. The priest leading them through a hymn wasn’t the same man who baptized Dani as an infant. The bench she was sitting on wasn’t the same she sat in week after week. The woman on her right was virtually nonexistent. The man’s hand she was holding loosely in her left wasn’t the same man who she grew up with, he wasn’t the boy who asked her again and again to marry him.

This Dani, this new Dani, lied to her fiancé and drove an hour out of town the day before with a whispered prayer on her tongue for her car to just hold on for once, for just one more day to see a film that left her blushing scarlet and her stomach dropping not uncomfortably, sitting alone in the dark with a carton of untouched popcorn. This Dani would return to her car, and her first thought would turn to whether this would be the kind of movie Jamie would have picked as her choice of their weekly film showing — knowing immediately that the answer would be 'yes.’ And just as abruptly as the thought appeared, she promptly squashed the idea of even contemplating such a question.

Dani’s voice faltered, wavering over the words as a flash of guilt washed over her when the heat returned to her skin. She looked up at the cross, hanging on the back wall over the priest’s head, and glanced furtively at Eddie to see where he was in the verse, praying no one had seen her stumble. When service finally ended, and the ritualistic gossip on the front steps had been entertained, she allowed herself to be led outside. Eddie’s hand was warm and steady, completely enveloping her own, pulling her to the warm air where it finally felt like she was able to breathe again.

She felt a heady rush of relief when her mom begged off brunch, claiming to suffer from a headache as she walked to her car with a half-hearted wave. Relieved two-fold when Eddie needed to run off to the office for preliminary work for Monday, kissing her on the cheek in a goodbye that she barely registered before rushing off to his car. Until she was only left with Judy.

“So,” Judy asked, and for a brief terrifying moment Dani thought she might know, she might have finally seen her. In the end though all Judy said was: “How about that lunch?”

Judy linked their arms, pulling her in close until all Dani could do was smile and say, “Lead the way.”

The bistro Judy directed them to was relatively new, Dani had passed it multiple times over the last couple weeks but had never actually gone in, always driving by with casual curiosity and a bemused but charmed smile at the name: A Batter Place.

“You’re gonna love it,” Judy said, guiding Dani in with an arm linked in her own, “Their macaroons are to die for.”

Gamely, Dani smiled along to Judy’s enthusiasm as Judy pointed to various fixtures of the restaurant, steadily ignoring the strain building in the back of her neck. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Judy made her nervous. There were too many good intentions behind her warm eyes and her warm hugs, always with her hands full of containers of hearty food, always holding on a little longer than Dani expected, like she was afraid Dani would drift away. Judy, she knew, at least cared.

Perhaps that was why, after settling in their seats and ordering their lunch, Dani hid her hands under the table, fingers trembling as they picked at the skin of her thumb.

“So, how have you been, honey?” Judy asked over her cup of coffee, smiling that kind, good-intentioned smile. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you since school started up again.”

A small pressure valve released in Dani’s chest, and she finally allowed herself a real smile. “I’ve been keeping busy, and well — you know how it is with a new school year. This year especially is different.”

“Because of the higher grade?”

“Right. And I just — I want things to be perfect, you know?” Dani said, and chuckled ruefully, “Though twenty-five twelve year olds will certainly be a challenge.”

This she could manage. This she could at least be grateful for, the way Judy allowed the conversation to steer towards something that filled Dani with a sense of purpose, smiling proudly at her over the din of conversation around them with no mention of Eddie or long overdue wedding planning.

Judy took a pointed sip of her coffee. “Well, I know you like the challenge, but you can’t forget to take care of yourself,” she said, her lips pulling into a familiar smile. One to be used when nearing a cornered animal. Dani’s stomach sank, when Judy continued, “Now, I know you and Eddie need time to get used to living together, doing all the things couples have to learn to do alone but, you don’t have to steer clear of the house forever. I know we all recently just had dinner together but —”

Dani glanced away.

“— You could come over at any time. Like yesterday! What were you up to yesterday? I would have made lasagna for you.”

“Oh, uh —” Dani gave a nervous breathy chuckle, hoping to hide the grimace at the memory of the two women who had stared brazenly at her when she had exited the art house theater yesterday, Dani in her too bright blouse and high jeans, looking frazzled and out of place. She took a long sip of her coffee, hoping to hide the same feeling under her skin now. “You know. Busy.”

Judy waved her explanation away with that same smile. “Oh, well, never mind that. It doesn’t matter now. There’s always next weekend,” she said, and her hand reached over to clasp Dani’s before she could hide it again. “I’m just hoping I get more time to spend with my favorite future daughter-in-law before things get too crazy. Wedding planning and teaching a class of twenty-five kids is one thing, but thinking about raising a baby is another.”

A moment passed before Dani could process the words. A baby. Of course.

“Oh,” was all Dani managed to say, a polite smile frozen on her face as Judy’s grip on her hand tightened in a way that anyone else would have found comforting. The hand that Dani so wanted to pull away, to press against her chest. A pressure building inside her ribs, pulling her skin taught and straining at the edges. A ringing in her ears that sounded more and more like the whistle of a tea kettle or the whine of an over-revved engine.

She was only saved by the grace of their food arriving, the pressure abating to something manageable as Judy freed Dani’s hand to make room for their plates. It gave Dani the opportunity to down half of her coffee, hot enough to scald, and to clench a fist under the table, her nails pressing hard into the soft skin of her hand.

At the first bite of food, Judy hummed and sank back into her seat. “Now that is delicious,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “Go on, take a bite.”

Dani took advantage of the moment, letting the previous topic of conversation pass over them untouched as she pulled her own forkful of food in her mouth. She blinked in surprise.

“Wow,” she said after swallowing, sharing an incredulous chuckle with Judy. “That is really good.”

“I’m telling you, this new chef knows what he’s doing,” Judy said with a grin, as if she had known exactly how Dani would have reacted.

It should have been comforting, being so well understood. And for the most part it was. Afterall, Dani had spent much of her youth at Judy’s table, being fed day in and day out as if she were Judy’s own. Always having a safe haven. A home away from home, where she would be welcome. No questions asked. It should have been an absolute solace. Yet somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being made of glass. As if she were standing there and Judy was looking right through her at someone else that didn’t exist.

The bell attached to the door rang as it swung open, and the sound drew her back to the table, almost startling her. She swallowed down an unexpected thickness in her throat, ignoring that steady pressure in her ribs, and shared another unassuming smile with Judy, taking a second bite.

“We should come here again,” Dani said, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure that was building in her lungs.

“Then it’s a date. Next Sunday.” Judy smiled wide.

It was so easy, making Judy happy, making her smile wide and bright like she’d won the lottery. It was something Dani was good at, pleasing others. The very thought of speaking up and potentially ruining the moment was enough to cause a vein of dread to thread its way through her. Yet something in that moment caused Judy’s smile to flicker, the sound of the bell ringing again as the front door swung open with a squeak of unoiled hinges. Judy’s eyes glanced over somewhere behind Dani’s shoulder and they slowly widened to an expression Dani had only seen once before — when Eddie announced their engagement during family dinner.

“Jamie Taylor?”

Dani tensed and turned around, and sure enough, there she was. Jamie Taylor herself. Dark jeans, big work boots, and a brown jacket, strolling into the bistro like she’d never left town. Like the air from Dani’s lungs hadn’t been sucked out by a gut punch releasing every single pressure valve at the very sight of her.

“Oi, Sharma! Whatever happened to you saying you could fix those hinges without my help?” Jamie’s voice rang clear across the room.

“Danielle, honey, you didn’t tell me that Jamie was back,” Judy said in a rush of breath, already out of her seat and walking toward Jamie like a woman on a mission, as if there wasn’t a hurricane forming within Dani’s chest. As if a swell of feeling wasn’t rushing through her as she sat unmoving with wide eyes attached to the lines of Jamie’s back, to the curl of her hair, unchanged, unkempt, and yet completely different.

Whatever Dani had expected to feel upon hearing that voice again, it wasn’t to feel all of it at once. She didn’t know which feeling to land on, watching Jamie turn at the sound of Judy’s voice, catching sight of the familiar lines of Jamie’s face as they twisted in surprise and fell into a charming smile as Jamie conceded to a tight hug from Judy; the fluttering of happiness, the rush of anxiety, the desperate desire to flee, the shock that belied the anger and muted resentment.

In the end, Dani just sat there, unable to move and unable to look away.

The pair pulled out of the hug, with Judy briefly and affectionately framing Jamie’s face with her hands like she used to. And Jamie rolled her eyes good naturedly with a crooked smile, burying her hands in her pockets. It was like no time at all had passed. They were teenagers again, and Judy was sending them off back home from dinner with warm hugs and piling their hands with leftovers in tupperware.

When Judy gestured over towards their table towards Dani, it was all she could do to not run and excuse herself to the washroom, to not slip out the back door. But it was too late, tension coiling in her body as Jamie’s head turned towards Dani and their eyes finally met.

It was suddenly incredibly hard to breathe. Dani blinked, and the look on Jamie’s face at the sight of her — startled, mouth agape — was gone, and all that was left was something entirely unfamiliar. A polite placid smile as Judy talked her ear off, answering Judy’s questions and gesturing across the counter towards a handsome man with a thick moustache wearing an apron. Even so, Jamie only had eyes for Dani, her gaze occasionally roving back, her expression unreadable.

Before Dani could do more than stare, Judy was guiding Jamie back to their table, a hand on her back. Dani’s stomach twisted itself into a knot at their approach. Her heart began crashing against her ribs until it was all she could hear. Jamie was looking at her with that crooked grin, and Dani didn’t know what else to do but stand from her seat, faintly dazed, a hand brushing against invisible lint and wrinkles along her sky blue dress.

“Look who I found!” Judy said as they pulled up to the table, as if Dani hadn't been on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the last minute. The last decade, if she were being honest with herself.

All Dani could do was give a trembling smile. “Jamie,” she said, almost breathless, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. “Hi.”

Jamie’s grin shifted into something like a smirk, gaze drifting over Dani so fast that she felt it on her skin like a flash fire. “Danielle,” she said, and Dani’s smile faltered. “Been a minute.”

“It has,” Dani said in between barely gritted teeth, the feeling in her stomach souring.

“I was just telling Jamie how this is the first time I’ve brought you here,” Judy interrupted, oblivious as ever. Jamie’s smirk dropped back into something softer, an eyebrow quirked and her head tilting curiously. “How today of all days, that we all walk in the same restaurant together. It must be kismet.”

“Don’t know about that, Mrs. O’Mara. Was never much one for kismet,” Jamie said with a shrug, looking so much like she’s sixteen again that a dull pressure returned to Dani’s chest. “World’s too chaotic for that.”

“And yet here you are.” Judy shuffled back into her seat and gestured to Jamie. “Come, come sit. Just for a while until your takeout is ready.”

It was only by the grace of luck and Judy’s affection for Jamie, that she gestured toward the chair next to her instead of Dani. Jamie didn’t argue, taking the seat, and Dani following after, almost a second delayed from the shock of it all. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she settled in her chair, but Dani kept her attention low and focused on her food, feeling distinctly like she was in a dream.

“Danielle, truly, I can’t believe you neglected to tell me Jamie was back,” Judy admonished with a teasing grin.

She clenched her teeth. Dani had a hard time believing it herself. “Must’ve slipped my mind," she said.

“How long have you been back again, honey?”

“About two months now,” Jamie said. At the admission, Dani finally pulled her eyes away from the table to look up at Jamie, lounging back in her seat like she had all the time in the world, noticeably avoiding Dani’s gaze.

Two months. Two months, and not even a phone call. Not even a letter. Dani took another heady swallow of her now lukewarm coffee in an effort to ground herself. Some things just never changed, she guessed.

“We were so worried when you left, after — after everything, especially. We all were. I thought about you for so long afterwards. Kept you in my prayers,” Judy said, and while the words were sobering with the memories of those days, Jamie’s expression remained unchanged, detached and ambiguous, the corner of her mouth quirked.

“Then I guess I have you to thank,” Jamie said, “All that praying must’ve done something good. Mikey and I have been getting on quite nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Judy gasped, a hand clutching at her chest. “Oh, Mikey! That sweet boy, how is he? Oh, I can’t believe it’s been so long. He must be — what? Eleven now?”

“Twelve actually,” Jamie said, then chuckled. It was something new. The way her eyes turned just a bit brighter, her smile more gentle, as she reached into her pocket to dig out a beat up leather wallet, flipping it open towards Judy. Judy gasped again, holding onto the wallet with a laugh. “Twelve years old and already reaching my chin," Jamie continued. "The little gremlin’s gonna have me beat by next year at this rate, I swear.”

“He’s wonderful,” Judy said, her eyes alight with emotion, “Gosh, he looks just like you. Except for the eyes, those sweet brown eyes. He’s definitely going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Not on my bloody watch,” Jamie grumbled.

“Have you seen him yet, Danielle?” Judy held out the wallet to Dani, who had to refrain from recoiling back, as if Judy was holding out a live snake.

“I have,” Dani admitted quietly, “He’s one of my students, actually.”

“Oh, so that’s what all those questions were about the other day,” Judy said, and tapped Jamie playfully on her arm resting on the table with her wallet. “What did I tell you? Kismet.”

Jamie flipped the wallet shut and returned it to her pocket. “Mikey did mention the name once or twice. Miss Clayton this, Miss Clayton that, and I thought: what are the chances?”

Dani swallowed down a scoff and the bitterness brewing in the back of her throat. Her left hand ached from clutching it so tight in her lap, knuckles white, crescent-shaped grooves in her palm. She stretched her hand out and ran it through her hair, her fingers trembling as they smoothed down the gentle waves and curls she put in that morning.

“Ah, so he’s done it then,” Jamie said, apropos of nothing. She leaned forward on the table, staring so abruptly and intently that Dani shifted away in her own seat slightly, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

It was the first time Jamie had fully addressed her since that singular hello. Dani frowned, that ever present knot in her stomach twisting tighter. “Sorry?”

“That nice big shiny rock on your hand.” Jamie gestured down to the aforementioned rock, and sure enough, there was her engagement ring, shining bright against the afternoon light pouring through the window. “Must’ve cost a damn fortune.”

Dani had thought the same, when Eddie had dropped to his knee, proffering up the box where the ring lay, his face flickering through a wide array of emotions — adoration, anxiety, hope. At the time all Dani could think, staring down at the large square cut diamond, was that it looked heavy.

“But isn’t it gorgeous?” Judy gushed, reaching out to grasp Dani’s hand to pull it closer for Jamie to see. Dani breathed out an awkward laugh at the sudden motion but let herself be dragged along. “I went to help him pick it out, and — gosh, well, we all know how many times he’s asked over the years. Our Danielle always liked to keep him on his toes. I just about died at the news when they officially announced the engagement a few months later.”

Jamie whistled low. “I can imagine,” she drawled.

Judy continued to ramble about the announcement. She released the hand that Dani tried to surreptitiously and swiftly return under the table, hoping to hide the desire to shrink under the table as well. Meanwhile Jamie seemed to be only half-listening, watching Dani with a tilted head and a sharp glance that left Dani feeling like a strip of overexposed film. Her eyes strayed to Jamie's old scar against her will, landing on the long stretch of a pale line that started from her lower lip and descended down towards her chin. It was usually hard to see, but today it was easy to find in the light of the room.

Dani swallowed thickly and glanced away.

“So, how’d he do it?”

“Mmm?” Dani looked back up, a little dazed.

Jamie’s head tilted pointedly towards her. “Ed,” she said. “How’d he go about it this time? To be honest with you, I had my bets placed on senior prom night, like he’d always planned. Flowers in the park after the dance, and all that rubbish.”

“He told you that?” Dani frowned.

“Wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Oh.” Dani fiddled with the ring, glancing down at it. “No, it was um — “ She smiled, a frail subdued thing, only to fold her right hand over it, covering the diamond so that it dug into her palm, “ — it was during a dinner date.”

Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “In public?”

Dani nodded. “Yeah.”

“Christ,” Jamie breathed, looking somewhat horrified.

“Language, sweetie,” Judy piped in, seemingly instinctively.

And like clockwork, Jamie ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all.

Judy laughed, patting Jamie’s arm. “Gosh, just look at us,” she breathed, her eyes shining as they bounced between Dani and Jamie. “I still can’t believe it. Me and my girls back together again. Who’d have thought?”

Dani breathed out a chuckle, her cheeks aching from the force of holding a smile in place, not knowing what else to say. And what could she say, really? That none of this felt familiar? That it all felt so wrong? That after years of absence, to finally be just arm’s length away from Jamie, only to feel like she was meeting a stranger wearing a familiar face?

No. No, that wasn’t right. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but Jamie had never stopped watching her. A shared look passed between them and it was there, finally, that she found something warm and tangible. The ghost of a memory of sitting across the table from each other at Judy’s during dinner, sharing a secretive knowing smile, while Judy gushed over Dani’s help in the kitchen, or admonished Jamie for yet another skinned knee. A smile pulled at the corners of Dani’s mouth, slow and real. Jamie blinked, her gaze softening as she mirrored Dani’s smile, and for the first time in a long time, Dani felt something in her chest unspool.

A bell rang. Jamie glanced away, and the moment was gone, leaving Dani chilled in its absence as if she had stepped out from a warm building and into a storm.

“That’s my cue,” Jamie said, sounding just as she had before, as if nothing had transpired between them. “Can’t let the kid starve without some lunch.”

She moved to stand but Judy’s hand held her in place. “Don’t think you can get away again this time without at least letting me give you my number,” Judy reprimanded not unkindly. "We got a new one at the house, you'll be surprised to hear."

Grinning crookedly, Jamie said, “And I imagine you’ll be wanting mine, then?”

Judy pulled out a pen from her purse and waggled it back and forth. “You know me too well.”

Grabbing a spare napkin, Judy jotted down a series of numbers. “Now don’t you forget to give me a call, all right? I want to hear all about your time away,” she said, handing over the pen and napkin for Jamie to rip out her piece, and note down her own number. Dani’s eyes strayed down to the confident, angled numbers, just barely able to decipher them from her vantage point. “And I hope you know, you and Mikey are welcome any time over for dinner. I want to meet that young man. See if he’s anything like his older sister.”

The words were fond, but Jamie snorted all the same. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. O’Mara. He’s my better half.”

Dani rose to her feet out of politeness when Judy stood to give Jamie a parting hug. For a terrifying moment, she thought Jamie might expect one from her as well, but Jamie only lifted her eyebrows and nodded before turning towards the counter to collect her order. She didn’t glance in Dani’s direction again as she left, pushing through the glass door and striding off down the street with the breeze in her hair. Dani watched her go, jaw aching from how hard she was clenching her teeth together.

Judy sat, and Dani followed suit as though she were simply mimicking Judy’s movements. “Jamie Taylor back from the dead after ten years. Imagine that.” Judy chuckled to herself and picked up her fork. “Feels just like old times, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dani breathed. “Just like old times.”

#thobm #the haunting of bly manor #dani clayton/jamie #bring home a haunting #dani clayton #jamie taylor #cfau #roman writes #FINALLY

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spartanguard · 4 years ago

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partners

summary: SVU detective Emma Swan's new partner is not what she expected. Thankfully, that's a good thing.

A/n: So I've been watching a LOT of Law & Order: SVU lately and when I got to the episodes where Stabler was partnered with Dani Beck, it just smacked with CS feels. This is just a bit of exploration of that, in honor of @optomisticgirl ‘s birthday!!

B—HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Thank you for being the most amazing friend, and the best person to bounce crazy fic ideas off of (like this). I hope you have the most amazing day and I love you!!!!

Note: While there isn't any actual sexual violence in this story, it is an SVU AU, so it's mentioned.

rated T | 2.3k words | AO3

She met him while he was trying to arrest a perp who’d just walked.

“Are you Detective Swan?” he’d asked, and she immediately noticed his accent—the way it wrapped around her last name in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was hard to tell if it was in a good way or not.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she tossed back.

“I’m your new partner. Killian Jones.”

She shook his offered hand (only later noticing he only had the one) and wondered—just what the hell were they about to get into?

[He was her second new partner in as many weeks. Graham, who she’d worked with since she joined the unit, had enough with special victims—with Boston in general—and had taken up some smalltown sheriff gig in Maine. Emma knew he’d be happier there, but it kind of left her in the lurch. They’d sent someone new over the week before, but her style didn’t gel with Mulan’s quite well enough—the woman was a damn fine detective but just...too different.]

Jones was new to special victims, transferring in on the recommendation of the captain at his previous precinct, where he’d worked in homicide. The dead victims, he was used to; the live ones—not so much.

It was pretty obvious on their first case together, when they were interviewing the young girl in the hospital. Emma—she’d seen enough of the world’s shitty side that little phazed her any more; growing up in the foster system made her uniquely suited to this line of work.

But Killian? He was visibly upset; she had to physically restrain him from running out of the hospital to start tracking down the culprit, holding him back by the sleeve of his leather jacket. They hardly had a lead on this. Something could be said for enthusiasm, but that didn’t excuse jumping ahead of themselves. That’s how you got into trouble—that was how criminals got away with murder (literally); she’d done that enough for the both of them, and had a feeling he had, too.

She felt they had a lot in common, actually; there was an obvious affinity for leather coats, but past that, there was something familiar in his eyes. Not that she’d met him before, or anything—just something in the determined set of his gaze when interviewing a suspect, in the empathetic way he handled the victim.

She still wasn’t sure if that was good or not, especially when he almost forgot protocol—almost lost them evidence—by rushing in too soon.

And she was half ready to walk into Captain Mills’ office to request a new partner (again) when she found him asleep at his desk with what could only be described as a murderboard spread out behind him. He looked younger and softer in his sleep, impossibly gorgeous with the way his long lashes rested on his cheekbones and gentle breaths from his full lips—and none of that was really pertinent, because the man had just researched his way to a solved case.

“Just who are you, Killian Jones?” she asked when she later woke him up with coffee and a bear claw (biting back a comment on the rumpled state of his usually pristine waistcoat-and-dress shirt combo).

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he drawled, holding her gaze intently before taking a long pull from his cup.

She knew she shouldn’t, but damn, did she.

It wasn’t until a couple cases later that she began to put together the pieces of him. It had been a doozy of a kidnapping, and he’d been on edge the whole time—right until they finally tracked down the little boy who’d been abducted. Emma slapped the cuffs on the miserable excuse for a father who’d taken him and Killian pulled the boy into his arms, visibly deflating once he knew he was safe.

She dragged him to their unit’s favorite bar that night and slid a glass of rum in front of him, along with the directive to “Talk.”

He downed it in one shot, then worried his bottom lip (much to Emma’s distraction) before saying, “Have I mentioned I have a daughter?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she let him explain without interruption. Her name was Alice; she was 8. He had sole custody, and with good reason: her mother, his ex-girlfriend, had kidnapped her from his apartment when she was only a few years old. “It’s the most scared I’ve ever been,” he confessed. “And today...it’s like I was right back in that moment.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied, then finished her own whiskey. This was probably where she should drop some of her own tragic backstory, right? Like the scumbag who left her pregnant at 17, and the baby boy she put up for adoption? “Props to you for doing it on your own. I obviously couldn't.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, love; you gave him his best chance.” He gently set his hand over hers on the bar and she froze; not because he was cold—quite the opposite, actually—but between that tiny gesture of support and the understanding in those too-blue eyes, she felt more seen than she had by anyone in ages, even Graham.

It was suddenly too much, too intimate, and she yanked her hand away and ordered another drink. “Is your ex the name on your tattoo?” she asked, trying to put some space in between them (physically and emotionally).

It worked. He sat back up and tugged his right sleeve down with his prosthesis, hiding the ink, and she could almost see the walls go back up between them. “No. That’s...another story. For another time.” He stood and tossed some cash on the counter. “Alice is with my neighbor; I better go get her. See you ‘round.” And he left hastily.

It was what she wanted to happen. He’d suddenly gotten too close. So why did she feel like such an ass about it?

She was going to apologize at their next shift, but they got thrown into another case. And then another after it. It was a different kind of intense—a different kind of intimate—than that moment in the bar; very quickly, she had to trust him, and vice versa. That was something neither were predisposed to, but were managing to do...honestly, better than she had with anyone.

After putting another rapist behind bars, Killian said with a smirk, “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” And he winked (well, tried to), and she just blushed back, like she was a teenager in love all over again. That fact that would normally send her running but, for the first time in years, she wasn’t opposed to it—except for, y’know, the fact that he was her partner and they were coworkers and HR generally looked down on that kind of thing.

She doubted he was interested, anyway. They hadn’t really done anything outside of work since that night; he was always quick to get home to Alice, and she didn’t fault him that—especially when she finally met the kid, who was clearly her father’s daughter in all the best ways.

They got a call for a case late one weeknight; Emma easily beat him to the scene, since he had to make sure his neighbor could watch Alice at such an ungodly hour. She handed him a coffee when he got there and they made their way to the ME, to get the rundown on the vic.

Emma had been paying attention, but it shifted from the examiner to Killian pretty quickly; he stiffened at the description of what had been done to the victim, then when white as the sheet covering her when it was pulled back.

“Eloise,” he whispered, like he’d seen a ghost.

“Wait—as in…?”

He nodded. “Aye. Alice’s mum.”

“Shit.”

They got what little information they could from the scene and then started to head for the precinct, but he was shaking so much, she insisted on driving.

“Are you gonna be alright?” she asked.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “No, probably not.” Then, one long breath later, “It was Gold.”

She nearly missed their turn at that. “Gold? As in, the mysterious Mr. Gold, owner of the pawn store chain?”

“One and the same,” Killian said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s the same as with Milah.”

She would have asked who that was, but he was resting his prosthesis over the spot on his arm where she knew the tattoo was. And she got a sinking feeling in her stomach that this was going to be a rough case.

Once they got to the office (and she got some more coffee in him), Killian explained: Milah was his ex, his first love—but also Gold’s wife. And while Gold was well-known for being a shady individual, no one had ever been able to pin anything on him.

But Gold did find out about their affair, and Killian came home one day to find Milah—dead, attacked and killed in the same way Eloise had been hours ago. He wasn’t sure what their connection was—and he didn’t think Gold knew about his to Eloise, especially since she’d only been released from jail last week—“But I know it’s him. And I’m going to prove it this time.”

(Apparently, last time had ended with him getting into an altercation with one of Gold’s lackeys. He escaped with his life, but not with his left hand.)

Milah’s case had gone cold, but given the similarities, they were able to pull the files. It took a few weeks—several late nights, more than a few breakdowns, many tears (mostly Killian’s, but Emma’s and Alice’s as well) before they finally—finally—had the evidence to pin both murders on Gold.

Tracking him down was another thing altogether, but they finally caught up with him in his penthouse apartment. To no one’s surprise, he didn’t go willingly; a fistfight broke out between he and Killian.

She was scared she’d have to intervene, knowing how personal it was. By the end of it, Killian had a black eye and a bloody lip, but Gold was in handcuffs, tossed unceremoniously in the back of a squad car.

Killian watched the vehicle pull away, then turned to Emma, and wrapped his arms around her in a bruising hug.

In any other situation, she would have gone stiff with shock, but she didn’t hesitate to lean right into him. Her desire to comfort him after that was just as strong as his need for comfort.

But then he pulled back, cupped her cheek, and pressed his lips to hers.

That did take her by surprise.

But she was equally quick to reciprocate.

Just as fast, it was over and he was walking away, leaving her utterly confused. Logically, she knew it was probably just an emotional reaction—a one-time thing.

However: he kissed her like he meant it. She was familiar with empty kisses and single-night flings—and that...was a whole lot more.

And she couldn’t deny it any longer: she wanted that more.

She arrived at the precinct early the next morning, hoping to beat him there so they could talk about whatever that had been. She’d even gotten up an hour before she usually did so she could get them good coffee. But he was already there, filling out forms at his desk.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward as she put the cup on his desk. “You taking care of the reports?”

“Um, yeah,” he stammered, pointedly focusing on the paperwork and not her.

She glanced down at the desk, and that wasn’t a report—that was a transfer form. “You want to leave?” she whispered, the familiar pain of betrayal washing over her. He didn’t want to be her partner anymore?

“Emma, I can’t stay here,” he said, only somewhat apologetic. (Also, though she didn’t realize it at the moment, it was the first time he’d used her given name.) “After this last case...it just wouldn’t be good form.”

“Fuck your good form, Jones!” she cried. “How can you say that, after everything these past few months? After last night?”

Calmly, he stood up and moved into her space. “I can’t be your partner any more, Emma,” he said, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “Because I want to be more than that. And last I checked, Captain Mills frowned upon inter-unit relations.”

That was true; she really did, more than most. But then the reality of what Killian was saying hit: “You...you’d give up your position for me?”

“Aye,” he answered, simply, like it wasn’t the heaviest thing anyone had ever told her.

What else was she supposed to do after a confession like that but kiss him? She rose up on her toes, gripped the lapels of his waistcoat, and found his lips with hers. He didn’t hesitate to pull her close and she was exceedingly glad no one else was in the squad room, because she’d never quite been kissed so closely to within an inch of her life as she’d been then.

(Also, it was a good thing no one was around when he pushed her onto his desk to deepen it further. If Captain Mills later noticed the forms were a bit crumpled, she didn’t say anything.)

Killian ended up transferring back to his old precinct, old job. It turned out they missed him. Emma knew exactly why; her next partner, David, was great, but no match.

Good thing she got to go home to Killian—and Alice—every night.

----------------------------------------

thanks for reading, and send B all the birthday love! tagging some others:

@kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx t @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs detective au #happy birthday #optomisticgirl #my ff

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years ago

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CS ff: “Christmas Miss-mas” (au)

Summary: It’s been a year since they saw each other, after the previous year’s disastrous events, but what the two remember is hardly what it seems. One basement, three different events.

Rating: T

A/N: Hiiiii @ouatpost. I feel like you should’ve known it was me from the moment I went “Well, this is going to be laaaaate,” because that’s what I seem to do every damn year. BUT! I have this completed and just in the nick of time for the end of 2020! I hope you enjoy! I had much grander visions for this, but thanks to work (we have a trio of new employees we’re trying to wrangle and it’s uhhhhh not going well at all) and a slew of dumb complications (this morning’s was waking up to a pinched nerve in my neck) I was just happy to be able to get words on the page for you, hopefully in an order that pleases you, with some details you shared that you enjoy reading! It’s not as grand as I wanted, but I do hope it’s still to your liking. <3

Thank you @cssecretsanta2020 for another awesome year, and for knocking me back into my writing. You are a rockstar and deserve so many fruit baskets in gratitude.

-x-

Christmas Party 2019

As far as parties go, Mary Margaret and David Nolan’s Christmas Party has always been Emma’s favorite. For as long as she’s been a Storybrooke resident, there’s been a party to go to. Back when she was fifteen and freshly adopted by David’s mother, Ruth, the parties were a little different. They drank sparkling grape juice and hung out in the farmhouse’s basement.

That’s where David met Mary Margaret his senior year of high school, where they officially decided to start dating the week after, and where he asked her to marry him four years later.

When Ruth passed away the year after they were married, David moved back into the farmhouse with Mary Margaret, and the two of them began restoring the house. Now, after all these years, the house is exactly what the two of them have always wanted with the recent addition of a nursery for their upcoming child.

What does any of this have to do with Emma? Well, with David as her brother, she’s expected to be at the party every year. She also offered to help with whatever Mary Margaret needed since she’s due next month and she knows the expectant mother is going to go overboard as usual. And while she’s never had the urge or need to cancel in the past, she fervently wishes she could this year.

For the first time in a year, she’s going to be facing Killian – former best friend, complicated story… the man she thought was the love of her life, if she’s being 100% honest. Her stomach flutters, thinking about how David had casually mentioned Killian was back in town. They’ve done just fine avoiding each other since last year, but with Killian’s own invitation to the party implied, she knows that their streak is likely to end tonight.

In the event that this is the case, Emma has spared no attention to detail for her outfit. She’s strong. She’s independent. And she certainly doesn’t need a man in her life to make it valid. So what if she wants to remind Killian of everything he’s missing out on? The red dress hugs her body, and is probably lower cut than she usually wears around her brother, but she doesn’t care.

Makeup? Perfect. Hair? Flawless. Jewelry? The earrings are from Killian, and she tries to ignore the way that makes her feel as she secures the backing. With one last fluff of her hair and a quick check to make sure she didn’t get lipstick on her teeth, Emma takes a bracing breath and grabs her coat as she walks out of her apartment.

-x-

Alone in a room in Granny’s B&B, Killian stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror with dread crossing his features. He checks his pocket watch one last time, knowing he has to leave if he’s to make it there fashionably late instead of just plain tardy.

It’s been almost a full year since he saw Emma last.

He can hardly remember a time before that where they went more than a week without seeing each other, not to mention talking or texting every day. For years, the two of them had been inseparable, since the first time they met. He braces himself on the edge of the sink as he thinks about the series of parties they’ve lived through together, looking at himself only once he feels the pain fade from his expression.

While he’s always looked forward to The Nolan Christmas Party in the past, he’s sure Emma wants nothing to do with him after what happened last year. He’s still not sure how exactly he went from total euphoria one moment to losing his best friend, the woman he loves, all in the next moment.

Loves.

Bloody hell, but it’s true. He still loves her with every dark corner of his heart, not that it matters much. Etched into his memory is the look she gave him after… just after.

With one last heavy sigh at the lost moments and memories, Killian checks his reflection for the last time. He looks like shit, as he confirms as he glances over his reflection. At least he went for a haircut and shaved down his beard before tonight. Liam had taken to calling him Chuck, after Tom Hanks’ character on Castaway, and asking him if he’d lost Wilson again.

Right. Time to face the past. He slips on his jacket and heads out the door.

Christmas Party 2015

It’s not every day you meet your equal in the basement of someone else’s house, but that’s how Killian and Emma meet.

Emma wanders down to the unfinished basement to quietly raid the cookies she knows Mary Margaret didn’t put out and finds a man sitting on the half-finished bar. By next year, Emma’s sure this area, too, will be up and running for the yearly party and she can’t wait.

But back to the stranger sitting in her brother’s basement.

“Hi there,” she says when she hits the bottom step.

His head jerks up and he lurches off the bar, glancing up to look at the door Emma shut behind her. “Bollocks,” he mutters, hanging his head again and dragging himself back to where he’d been sitting.

“What’s going on?” Emma asks, looking between the guy she still doesn’t know and the basement door. Was he waiting for someone else? Disappointed that it’s not another woman that wandered down here? Or man? She doesn’t know what he’s into, but far be it for her to judge.

“Welcome to the basement party. Population is now two, and you are also stuck down here.” He’s brooding, clearly, but he has to be lying.

Emma jogs back up the stairs and tries the door, surprised to find that the handle doesn’t budge. It’s locked. How is it locked? Why is it locked?

“David!” Emma yells out as she bangs on the door. “David, the door is locked!”

“He won’t hear you,” the man says from the bottom of the staircase. “The speaker seems to be precisely in a location that’s drowning out all sound from the door. And there’s too many people moving around for anyone to hear the ruckus I’ve been making against the ceiling for the last half hour.”

“Fuck. You’re not kidding?”

“Nope.”

“Great.”

“Aye. Well, nice to meet you, lass. I’m Killian Jones. I tagged along with Will.” He jumps off the bar again to hold out his hand to her.

“Emma Swan. Sister of the host. And apparently locked down in my brother’s basement with a complete stranger.”

“You can’t call us complete strangers if we already know each other’s names.”

“That’s flimsy logic, and you know it,” Emma says, crossing her arms after extracting her hand from his. He’s flirting with her? At a time like this?

“Ah, but now we’ve got time to get acquainted, it seems,” he says, holding out his arms to indicate the empty space they’re occupying.

She should be disappointed about missing the party, but it’s quickly obvious that all the good food is stashed down here, as are all of Emma’s favorite cookies. And while the bar and surrounding basement might not be finished yet, there’s a good selection of wine and beer already in stock. And, if she’s being honest with herself, he’s certainly nice to look at. She’s curious to see if the personality matches the looks.

Emma finds the cushions for the outdoor furniture and throws them on the floor as she and Killian graze the offerings like a picnic. They pass the time by talking shit about the people they don’t like at the party, and she’s surprised by how easily she gets along with him already.

As the time ticks by, she finds herself laughing, enjoying herself more than if she’d been upstairs getting shitfaced and avoiding said people she doesn’t like.

The music cuts out at 11pm, and while it would be the perfect opportunity for either one of the trapped guests to make noise to get rescued, both of them are fast asleep, stretched out on cushions with Killian’s suit jacket draped over Emma’s shoulders.

At 11:30pm when the last guests finally head out, David heads to the basement to get a fresh box of trash bags and finds Emma asleep with a man he only briefly met at the start of the party.

“Emma?”

She startles awake, sitting up and blinking at David in confusion.

“What are you doing down here?” he asks, noticing that Killian is still out solid.

“Killian and I got locked down here. Your door sucks,” Emma grumbles, just avoiding rubbing her eyes so she doesn’t smear her makeup. “Killian. Hey. Wake up.” With a few shoves of his shoulder, Emma rouses her companion. “David, I’m staying in the guest room. And you’re out of Malbec.”

“Noted,” David says, still very befuddled with everything going on. “Killian? Do you need to crash here for the night? I know you arrived with Will but he left with Belle over an hour ago.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Killian says, sounding more alert than Emma would’ve expected after how fast asleep he was.

“You’re not,” she tells him. “I’ll give you a ride home in the morning.”

It’s this, more than anything, which makes David raise his eyebrows in surprise. He hasn’t seen Emma take this fast to anyone… almost ever. Here she is falling asleep near and offering a ride to someone David knows by reputation alone. (Said reputation is a mixed bag from some questionable sources, so he will do his best to reserve judgement despite his protective instincts firing up.)

Even as David helps Killian get settled on the couch, Emma is puttering around with a blanket and pillow, explaining where everything is if Killian should need it. When David and Emma get upstairs to the entrance to both his bedroom (a single glance shows Mary Margaret face-down on the bed without even changing) and the guest room, he goes to ask the obvious, but Emma just smiles.

“Goodnight, David. Go tend to your wife,” she says with an affectionate smile. She hugs him and walks into the room, closing the door behind her.

What on Earth just happened? he wonders.

Christmas Party 2019

Getting to the Nolan household early means more than just helping set everything up. It also means getting to spend time with her sister-in-law before the chaos of the party begins.

Emma heads straight to the office on the first floor and hangs her coat on the rolling rack they have specifically for this purpose. She takes a deep breath and goes to find Mary Margaret to get the other woman off her feet as much as possible.

As they finish the party preparations, Emma happily listens to the town gossip and the baby updates.

“You know Killian will be here tonight, right?” Mary Margaret’s question is tentative. She doesn’t really know what happened between the two of them, but she’s never pushed. Emma is pretty sure she knows the depth of Emma’s feelings for Killian, so the fact that she a) never told him (notoriously bad secret-keeper that she is) and b) never harassed Emma for any information she didn’t willingly give has been a huge relief.

“I thought I’d heard that rumor,” Emma says, trying to keep her voice calm and even. She can do this. She can come face to face with the man she loves… Loved? She stops herself from sighing, not even sure if she managed to shuffle that into the past tense.

“I just wanted you to be prepared,” Mary Margaret says, still doing her best not to pry even though Emma can hear that note in her voice that screams of curiosity.

Emma just smiles, shaking her head and putting the finishing touches on the charcuterie board she’s been painstakingly assembling. “How’s that?” she asks when she’s done, taking a picture of the whole butcher’s block and going to show her so Mary Margaret doesn’t have to get up.

“Perfect. You know, in another life you could’ve been a party planner,” the other woman remarks, and Emma chuckles under her breath.

In another life, that’s what she wanted to do. But somehow, she found her niche in bail bonds, instead, enjoying the hunt a little more than she thought she would. Sure, it takes her away from home sometimes. She’s a member of multiple hotel preferred programs and top tier in all of them at this point.

There’s something about the chase that’s always thrilled her. It’s something new and exciting at every turn, and there’s something extra satisfying about catching people that otherwise thought they could slip away unnoticed from their bad deeds.

But thanks to her passion for details specifically at social gatherings, Emma easily plays co-host and makes sure to circulate once the guests start arriving.

She’s in the office hanging up Ruby’s coat when she turns and runs directly into someone. Someone that smells far too familiar, who feels familiar against where her hands are braced on his chest. Her stomach clenches for multiple reasons and she thinks about running, but something compels her to look up, to meet his eyes.

“Swan,” he whispers. His hand is on her waist from when they collided, and she can feel the warmth of his skin, longs for the way that hand has touched her with casual intimacy for so many years now.

“Killian.” Her voice is hoarse all of a sudden, and she swallows in order to continue, to say anything to him, to ask him why. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” she says instead, breaking away and exiting the room as quickly as she can.

-x-

He knew it wouldn’t be easy seeing her again, and had all hopes that he wouldn’t be met with hostility or hatred. Her sad confusion, however, may hurt even more. He doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He still replays last year over and over searching for the details that may unlock her radio silence for a whole bloody year but with how that night played out, he can only assume that what happened was a mistake to her.

Emma is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. No matter where she goes throughout the party, he can catch sight of her glowing and schmoozing. She’s a delight, a natural-born socialite without the reputation of one.

Multiple times, he finds her near. He doesn’t move when he notices her, too terrified of scaring her off. But sooner or later she realizes he’s close and swiftly finds herself a new task to attend to, thus leaving him lurking and definitely sulking in a corner.

Halfway through the event, he can’t take it anymore. It’s impossible being in proximity with Emma and not being able to talk to her and interact with her as he used to. Right after the party last year, he got called back to England. His brother, still living in London, had called to alert him of his father’s passing. The next year was an endless battle of selling off the old man’s house and possessions, and also celebrating the birth of Liam’s first child.

Since he was only able to come back for brief moments, Will had sublet his room in their apartment and Killian would stay at Granny’s when he would come back.

He was in town for Emma’s birthday, but he never saw her, never managed to text her, never heard from her…

Tonight? It’s obvious that what’s between them will never be fixed. Along with that, he fears his heart may never mend.

Christmas Party 2018

Emma was right - the finished basement is even better than she could’ve imagined. The difference between sitting down here this time and the first time is that she and Killian aren’t stuck. They’re just hiding out for a bit to escape the party. Around them are the remnants of a bottle of rum, a plate of cookies and chocolates, and way more cheesy potatoes than she meant to steal but she panicked.

“So what are we doing for New Years?” Emma asks as she leans back against the wall behind the bar. Now that the door to the upstairs doesn’t lock, they’ve taken to literally hiding from anyone that might find them. The bar is tall enough that someone would have to come around or lean over it to actually see them which works perfectly fine for her.

“Whatever your heart desires, love. As long as I get my cheeky kiss at midnight, you know I’m a happy man.”

She smiles, thinking of the previous year’s “cheeky kiss” which was truly a kiss on his cheek. There was no one she wanted to kiss at midnight, and Killian was standing next to her. And she couldn’t very well imagine another year without a New Years kiss so she grabbed his face and planted a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek above his beard. He’d worn that kiss the rest of the night.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your kiss,” she remarks, turning to do it again but doesn’t anticipate that he’s turning towards her as well, and instead kisses him directly on the lips.

It was probably out of surprise that they sat there for a few seconds like that, lips pressed together. And then he kisses her back. He tastes like rum and chocolate as his tongue slips out to taste her lips, and she can’t help but sigh into the kiss.

His lips feel like she always imagined they would. She’s been curious in the past but what they have is far too precious for her to mess up with sex, so she never made a move. But there have been lonely nights where she pretended that their snuggling during movies was more than platonic, that holding his hand was something real. She’s woken up to his arm around her more times than she can count but the dream always fades by the time he opens his eyes and brings her back to reality.

This, however, is unearthing every desire and wish she’d ever had for what the two of them could become. This is giving her a vivid picture of snowed-in nights and lazy Sunday mornings. Of interrupting Killian’s work at his little desk in the corner of his room to climb into his lap and do her best to distract him. Of making him breakfast at the loft and giving up in order to be pulled into his embrace and tightly held against him.

As if he can hear her thoughts and is making up for lost time, she feels Killian’s hand snake around her waist to pull her closer, until her legs are thrown over his lap and they’re as close as they can be without her straddling him. The food around them is forgotten; the bottle of rum - thankfully capped - knocked over in their haste.

It’s right when their hands start decidedly less innocent wandering that Emma thinks that they should maybe slow down, especially since they’re still in the basement and the party's still going on above their heads.

“Wait,” she says, her voice husky as her hand caresses his cheek. He pulls back, as if startled to find that it was her he was making out with the whole time. If she had to label the expression on his face, it would have to be named Panic, and she starts to wonder why that might be.

“There you are! What are you two doing down here?” David’s voice from over the bar startles them out of the moment entirely.

Killian scrambles to stand up. “Not a thing, mate. Enjoying your sister’s favorite dish in some peace and quiet.” He at least has the decency to hold out a hand to help her up, but when she’s on her feet he already feels like he’s a million miles away.

“Emma? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, forcing a smile and extracting her hand out of Killian’s and moving around the bar. “Need help with anything?”

David starts talking about wine and crackers and Emma moves on autopilot behind him, walking away from Killian and feeling her heart ice over as she does.

Nothing. It meant nothing to him, she thinks as they climb the stairs and move back to the party. So that’s what she would treat it as.

She doesn’t turn back to see Killian still bracing himself on the bar, his expression conflicted and longing.

Two days later, before she could figure out if things were going to go back to normal, she finds out Killian is gone. His few belongings are in the apartment storage and Will is subletting his room. She had dodged all his calls, but the fact that he left without a goodbye was telling enough.

And just like that, her best friendship and her heart were broken in the same instance.

Christmas Party 2019

He’s not even sure how long he’s been hidden away in the basement, only that he has no desire to make his way back to the party. Surely, there must be a way for him to sneak out without anyone noticing. It was a mistake to attend tonight.

With intent to do just that, to skulk out without catching attention, Killian moves to stand but promptly halts when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs. He pushes himself closer to the bar to hide in the shadows, willing the intruder to leave as quickly as possible.

He keeps his head tucked down to avoid being noticed, so imagine his surprise when it’s Emma’s voice that reaches his ears.

“Just had to go and take our hiding spot,” she says quietly, and he lifts his head to see her standing at the opening of the bar, a plate of cookies in one hand, a bowl of cheesy potatoes in the other, and a beer tucked beneath her arm.

She walks a little closer, stopping at the end of the bar and placing down her bounty before sliding onto the last barstool.

Taking it as a cue that she’s not going to run from him, Killian stands and rummages in the small fridge for a beer of his own.

“Not running this time?” He asks as he cracks it open.

“I’m too tired,” she says, propping her head up with the hand not picking at the cookies.

He takes a step closer, grabbing her bottle and popping off the cap.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and hesitates just a moment more before she’s pushing her plate of cookies towards him.

They’re silent for a moment, the music just barely reaching their seclusion.

“You look beautiful tonight, Swan.”

There’s a hint of a smile, but she only dips her head in gratitude as she continues to graze.

“Listen, love. I still don’t know what’s happened between us, but I have been bloody miserable without you this last year. You add color to my life. Without you it’s been… so grey. So underwhelming. I miss you. Please - I’ll do whatever’s in my power to make things right again, but please let us be friends, at the very least.”

“I’m not nothing,” she responds after another moment. She’s looking him directly in the eyes this time and he sees a world of hurt and sadness there.

“What?”

“I’m not nothing. Never was. Never will be.”

“Of course you’re not nothing. Why would…”

And then he realizes it. Realizes exactly what he said at a most critical time between them.

“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Emma, that’s not what I meant. You most definitely aren’t nothing. You’re everything. You were - still are! - my everything.”

“Then why did you get so defensive with David?”

“I didn’t want to scare you. I’d finally had you in my arms where I wanted you. I didn’t want you running off.” He winces, giving her a sheepish look. “Which you did anyway, but I promise, love. You misunderstood. I wanted you to have time to process. I didn’t want your brother in our business so soon after that moment.”

“Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you try calling me?”

“I did. Before I left. I wanted nothing more than to see you before I went to London. So when you ignored my calls, I figured it was best to leave it at that. It’s why I stayed away so long.”

“I thought you thought it was a mistake. That kissing me was a mistake,” she admits.

“That kiss was the best bloody idea either of us ever had. It’s everything that came after that should’ve never happened.”

-x-

Hearing Killian admit that kissing her was definitely not a mistake goes a long way in healing Emma’s heart. It’s what helps her ease off the stool and move closer to where he’s standing until she’s right in front of him.

“Not a mistake?”

“No,” he answers promptly.

“Neither of us will be running?”

“Nope.”

“Good,” Emma says, closing the final inches between them and kissing him softly.

At the wrecked noise he makes, she’s lost to it all. What starts as a soft, simple kiss quickly turns heady. Her hands end up along his face and into his hair while his hand is on her lower back, urging her closer.

“Did you drive?” Emma asks, her hand dropping down to his tie.

“Aye. And other than this beer I haven’t been drinking.”

“To my place?”

He doesn’t respond with words, instead bending to kiss her again before they come up with their plan to escape.

In the morning, Emma wakes up to Killian’s arm wrapped around her and everything finally feels like it’s back in place.

Christmas 2020

For the first time since Emma has lived in Storybrooke, the Nolan Christmas Party is cancelled.

Instead, everyone boots up their computers or phones, opting for facetime celebrations instead of in-person ones.

Cooped up in her tiny loft, Emma is just fine with this. A nice little spread of finger foods and cookies is on the coffee table, and Killian collapses next to her, already in his pajamas as she starts the call to David and Mary Margaret.

“Merry Christmas!” the other couple greets while baby Leo babbles happily in David’s lap.

“Happy Christmas,” Killian greets while Emma gives her own sentiments. She snuggles into his side as the call continues, feeling like she’s right where she’s meant to be.

And this time there’s no basement involved.

#cs fanfic #captain swan ff #cs ff au #cs secret santa 2020 #sarah writes ff

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