#I’m trying to map out ch18 now

[a-very-fond-farewell]

ok the vibe is: I’m just a silly little guy in a dreadful little world. time to go back to my roots (*eats croutons straight from the bag*)

[ineffablecolors]

THE WIFE [20/?]

 The Wife || Ch 20 ~ 6.6k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 C12 Ch13Ch14 Ch15 Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: 1. It’s only referenced but Rumpel/Rumbelle fans might not enjoy some things 2. Mentions of hunting and trophies, nothing graphic

Breakfast at Captain Nemo’s home is an unnecessary lavish affair. Emma wonders if the man bothers with so many different beverages, fruits, pastries and meats even when he is eating on his own. She is almost certain that he does. The captain does everything with certain aplomb that she finds both amusing and, on occasion, a tad exasperating. Judging by Killian’s face, none of it is out of the ordinary so she just tries to acclimate herself to the best of her abilities.

The task becomes somewhat easier when the men close themselves inside Captain Nemo’s study to discuss the business that brought them here in the first place and leave Emma to her own devices. Much as she would’ve liked to have Killian’s company, she is far from bored.

If their home has touches of a ship’s interior about it, Captain Nemo’s makes her feel like she has been plunged into the very depths of the ocean. Emma doesn’t care much for all the stuffed animals and sea creatures that are present in almost every room – she touches a boar’s tusk but can’t make herself put her hand on its brittle fur and eyes the long fish that line the walls with morbid interest.

The different stones and shells are much more pleasing to her eye and cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She recognizes a few from Killian’s collection on the mantle in his—their bedroom, but Captain Nemo’s haul is much larger and more meticulous. When she picks up an oval grey stone that she has no fear of dropping or damaging, Emma discovers the writing underneath. Too curious to be cautious, she gently turns one of the seashells over and discovers a black inscription in blocky letters on the smooth white surface inside it. It takes her another minute to realize they are ordered alphabetically and her laugh echoes a little off the high ceiling.

But it’s the paintings and maps that truly take her breath away. The ones depicting the depths of the ocean manage to conjure up a ball of awe and unrest deep in her belly and she finds that she can’t stare at the almost black blues and greens that hang in the drawing-room without starting to imagine all sorts of creature lurking within them.

There is a world map in the captain’s sprawling library that takes up almost at entire wall and that’s the one Killian finds her sitting on the floor in front of, her legs crossed and her skirts spread all around her. She can’t help but smile at the way he drops to his knees and carefully rearranges the fabric so that he can sit beside her without trampling on her gown.

She turns around and cups his chin in her hand, bringing his mouth to hers.

“Did all go well?”

He nods against her, his nose brushing her cheek as he kisses her one more time before pulling away.

“Our dear host has declared that, if my naval skills were as good as my business touch, I would’ve never made it past a midshipman’s post.”

In the absence of anyone else, Emma sees no reason to restrain her eyeroll but Killian continues with a smile.

“I pointed out that I do not make a habit of coming into a man’s home to eat his food and drink his whiskey and then try to cheat him out of his money. On the whole, I believe he was left thirsty for some good old-fashioned bargaining and squabbling,” Killian sighs with regret that his twinkling eyes tell her he doesn’t feel in the least. “If it were Liam who entered that room with him, you wouldn’t have seen either of them until dawn broke out tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s just one more reason to be glad you’re not Liam,” Emma says and pushes lightly on his thigh so his legs open further, encasing her between them.

“I thought you liked my brother, love,” he says with a teasing grin even as his hand slips over her waist, the corset preventing her from properly feeling the touch, much to Emma’s disappointment.

“I do. I just like you better.”

She kisses his neck above the cravat he doesn’t bother with at home and grins in satisfaction when Killian tugs her closer sharply. Perhaps the floor of his dear friend’s library is not the best place for her to be reaching for her husband’s ass – their position also rather limits her success, which is, frankly, the part Emma is more upset about.

They woke up too late to do anything but get dressed and hurry down to breakfast this morning and she has tried not to obsess over their conversation the night before all day but she needs this. She needs the confirmation of coming together to know that she has truly alleviate Killian’s fears. Truthfully, she needs it to be certain that none of her own will resurface as well.

“I hope that will still be the case after I disclose what I agreed to in order to placate the old man.”

“Please tell me you’re not moving in the room across the hall.”

She feels his neck vibrate with his laughter and bites down lightly, cautious to not leave a mark and only slightly irritated that she has to make that concession.

“Eventually, you will have to let that go, my queen.”

“Eventually.”

“But, no. I am still permitted to spend the night in my wife’s arms,” Killian says and she hums in approval. “As long as I spend the afternoon in the forest.”

“In the forest?”

She pulls back to look at him in confusion.

“Aye, Nemo will have me hunting my own dinner apparently, so much for hospitality,” he jests lightly. “The man loves his sport and I promised to indulge him in recompense for making him such a fair deal on the stock.”

She would roll her eyes again, if she wasn’t so busy trying not to pout. She was saving the explorations of the grounds for when Killian was free to go with her but she tries to tell herself that it makes perfect sense that his friend would want to spend more time with him.

Unsurprisingly, he picks up on her unvoiced disappointment.

“I could still refuse him, say I—“

“No, no,” she tugs and smooths his cravat back into place, realizing that she’s left a small pink mark anyway and feeling her cheeks heat. “Don’t do that. You should go, enjoy yourself.”

“Hunting has never been my chosen pastime, but Nemo has promised that we shall just try for some birds. It’s too cold to go too deep into the forest regardless.”

That doesn’t sound as dangerous and gruesome as the picture the trophies painted in her head earlier and Emma chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her that the idea in her head is preposterous but then again—

“Emma.”

Killian’s thumb pulls lightly on her lip, saving it from getting bloodied by her teeth.

“May I come?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m sorry, that’s— Forget I said—“

“You want to come hunting with us?”

“It’s stupid, forget it.”

“Have you ever gone hunting before?”

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“No. As I said, it’s stup—“

“Love, stop saying it’s stupid,” Killian’s voice sounds just exasperated enough that her eyes snap to him in surprise – she realizes her request was obtuse but she didn’t think he would be annoyed by it. “What’s so stupid about it? There’s a first time for everything.”

Emma blinks and lets her hands drop back to her lap.

“Nemo doesn’t like having any servants around when he hunts. It will be just the three of us. He knows I was always better with a sword than a gun, I hardly think he would expect much of the outing.”

“You don’t think he would mind?”

“I don’t think he would say so even if he does,” Killian’s eyebrows fly across his forehead. “I think he finds you a little intimidating.”

Emma shakes her head in dismay, even though it matches what the captain himself told her.

“That’s just ridiculous.”

Killian hums and pulls her closer again, his hand reaching for her shoulders, working the tension gathered there.

“I don’t know about that.”

She looks at him in surprise.

“Were you ever intimidated by me?”

“I—“ Killian huffs a half-laugh and her eyes widen. “I wasn’t intimidated, per se. I just… I thought it would be rather hard to win your favour.”

“And then I fell so easily for your charms,” she sighs in faux disappointment and tries not to smile at Killian’s laughter.

“I would not phrase it like that, though, yes, I was prepared to have to prove myself to you.”

She frowns a little and finally twists around so they’re fully face to face, her hands coming up to frame his face.

“I didn’t need you to prove anything. I just needed to get to know you.”

Killian swallows audibly.

“And then?”

She smiles, her eyes flying over his face.

“That’s when the falling happened.”

The door opens exactly as Killian’s tongue slides over her lips and both of them pull back so quickly that Emma has to put her hands behind her so she doesn’t fall on her back.

“Oh,” the maid that just came in blushes in three different shades of pink and turns a little to the side, staring out of the window. “Captain Jones, Captain Nemo wanted to know if you’d like to have tea before you leave for your hunt.”

“Yes, of course,” Killian tries to cough the huskiness out of his voice but if the maid’s brand new shade of pink is any indication, he is not doing too well.

He rises with as much dignity as he can muster and hurries to give Emma a hand, helping her to her feet and, much to the servant’s further embarrassment and dismay, bending down to smooth out and arrange her skirts.

The girl seems to realize that she can run away now that she has received an answer and, even though her back is already turned, Emma is sure that her face is pinched when Killian stops her.

“Could you let the captain know that my wife would be joining us?”

“For tea? Yes, of cour—“

“No, no, for the hunt later.”

“Oh.”

Emma resists the urge to hide her face in Killian’s shoulder and tell him that it’s fine and he doesn’t have to bring her along but his hand settles comfortably on her waist, just a bit lower than it would’ve if anyone could see and she decides she would rather scandalize Captain Nemo’s staff than spend the whole afternoon away from him.

“Of course, I would inform the captain.”

“Thank you,” Killian’s smile is perfectly polite and composed, contrasting strongly with the way his fingers squeeze her in silent promise.

*****

Astride one of Nemo’s beautiful golden mares, among the vivid greenery that makes her eyes shine even brighter, Emma looks the very picture of the goddess Artemis. The wide-eyed girl that asked him to pick a gun for her minutes ago is nowhere to be seen as she spurs her horse forward and grins widely at him as the wind ruffles the hair streaming from under her hat.

They race each other for a few minutes – laughing and disorderly like a pair of children let outside after a long punishment and their host dutifully takes on the role of the exasperated governing figure, trying to get them in line. Nemo might be an excellent shot but Killian likes to think that he is the better rider. That fact that his wife whispers something about him astride a horse – that she has no business even thinking while they’re outside and in company – doesn’t hurt his confidence either.

But it’s the sight of Emma later, trying to aim at the target he sets her, that makes this outside and in public exercise so damn difficult. The way she scrunches up her nose and pokes her tongue out as he adjusts her arm is simply precious but it’s the way she pulls her shoulders back and raises her head – her neck long and slender even under the scarf he made her wear, that makes him forget most of everything that isn’t related to the image of her astride him rather than the horse she sits on.

Inconvenient as it is at this precise moment, the sensation is absolutely exhilarating. For nearly two decades, Killian has had precious little interest in knowing a woman the way he is getting to know Emma. When the notion that she wanted more than just his name and protection first introduced itself to him, he thought long and hard exactly how well he could please her with such intimacy having become so foreign to him.

It’s only the last couple of months that have made him realize that there are more than just Emma’s desires simmering between them. With certain exceptions, where he was helpless to resists her attentions, he has done his best to focus on her needs and wants when taking her to bed. Being conscious of the risks of losing control and getting her with child also put a limit of sorts to his indulgence.

Now, with her expressed desire – her assurance – that it is a limit they should do away with, with the way she holds the reins in one hand and the gun he helped her select in the other, Killian finds his own yearning running wild beside their horses.

They haven’t actually shot at anything yet, which Killian is perfectly content with – he has always preferred meeting men in battle than hunting animals for sport, but Emma is doing well enough with her practicing shots and even better with handling her weapon with care so that he feels confident they won’t have an accident on their hands.

Nemo seems to agree, if he is willing to start joking about the matter.

“I used to know a man – a sour-faced fellow, don’t think I ever heard him laugh, even when he was well into his cups – who would never take any of his wives hunting.”

“How many did he have?” Emma turns back to the captain with interest and even Killian finds himself confused for a moment.

“Five, if I’m not missing any, which I very well might be. Practically every time I returned home there will be a new Mrs Gold at the neighbouring estate.”

“Oh, that gentleman,” Killian says, aware that his tone implies that he considered the man anything but a gentleman.

“Aye,” Nemo says but his grin falls away as he catches sight of what Killian presumes is now his own very sour face. “Ah, I forgot you had some… entanglement there.”

Killian can feel Emma’s curious gaze on the side of his face but he is surprised to find the dull but deep throb in his chest that used to accompany that particular “entanglement” almost completely absent. He turns to look at his wife with an ease that he doesn’t need to fake, when he can feel the air thicken with her interest and Nemo’s discomfort.

“A long time ago I was engaged to one of those many wives.”

He sees the moment the pieces connect in Emma’s mind and her eyes widen a little – it’s not surprise so much as a question and he is glad to be able to answer it with a reassuring half-smile.

“One of the luckier ones,” Nemo supplies, obviously having decided that Killian doesn’t mind the topic enough for him to drop his story. “She ran away.”

“What happened to the others?” Emma asks with a furrowed brow and Killian starts to doubt the entertaining factor of the tale.

“Two died in childbirth and Mrs Belle Gold is now a cheerful widow and still the mistress of Darkstone. The other one... Well…” Nemo clears his throat and seems to regret starting on this path as well. “It’s somewhat uncertain. It was reported as an accident but many believe the lady took her own life.”

“And you associated with that man?”

Killian can’t really blame Emma for the indignation in her voice but he comes to his friend’s defence. Even he and Liam found themselves in a hunting party with Mr Gold once.

“The man was a snake when it came to the way he acquired his lands and treated his tenants but he was cleared of all other suspicions.”

Emma doesn’t seem placated but she shakes her head and composes her expression.

“Well, from the little you’ve said I’m not surprised he wouldn’t allow his wives to hunt.”

“And why is that, Mrs Jones?” Nemo asks with some of his humour returning.

“Why, he obviously didn’t think it was their place. Probably fancied they wouldn’t know which way to hold a gun.”

She doesn’t say it scornfully and Killian remembers her own hesitance to request coming along just hours ago but there is a note of impatience in her tone nonetheless – an indignation that she might think unreasonable but feels regardless. By all means, Killian shouldn’t like that but he does. He silently marks the occasion for the next time she asks him how anyone could think her intimidating.

Nemo just grins widely.

“Quite the opposite. He was afraid they would know just which way to hold it and turn it on him.”

“Oh.”

“Load of good that did him.”

Emma tilts her head in obvious confusion.

“He got mauled by a bear,” Nemo says breezily and seems almost amused by the way Emma’s eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth.

“My God.”

“Are you trying to scare my wife, old man?”

“Not at all, you know there aren’t any bears for miles. Just keeping her entertained.”

Killian shakes his head and urges his horse between Emma and Nemo’s, catching her eyes and trying to bring some levity back into the day.

“You should be very flattered, love, tis not one or two men who would rather avoid arming their wives and riding into the dark forest with them.”

She continues the stare at him for a couple of seconds before her eyes roll toward the grey sky above them and she huffs.

“My, I must be doing something terribly wrong, if you think I want you dead.”

Killian urges his horse as close to hers as possible and leans over to speak directly into her ear.

“I gave you the best gun, didn’t I?”

*****

Her head connects with the door with a solid sound.

“Forgive me, love,” he mumbles into her hair but continues worrying a sizeable mark behind her ear as his hand tries to rid her of her hunting jacket.

“I’m not sure I could, if you stop.”

Killian groans and drops his own forehead to the wood above her shoulder even as his hips press harder into her through the much less layered gown that she was riding in. He bends his knees so he can get his hand under it.

He has been dying to have her since she swung her leg over her horse but is pleasantly surprised to find Emma as wet as he is hard.

“Don’t, I’m almost—“

He pushes two of his fingers inside her with ease and the only reason he hears the noise she makes is that she buries it in his face as she bites at his jaw and her hands slip down his back and below his breeches with startling speed. He teases her for a moment and is just about to pull his hand away and rid them both of their clothes when there is knock on the door they are still very intimately pressed against.

“Mrs Jones? Your bath is ready.”

He doesn’t have a hand with which to catch her head before it hits the door again.

“Mrs Jones?”

Thankfully her groan of frustration is silent, though he can feel the hum of it over her whole skin.

“Bloody hell. Tell her you’ll go to supper dirty.”

“Killian,” she hisses and then calls out that she will be there in a minute.

He can’t do what he planned to in a minute but he still manages to do something in five.

*****

In hindsight, Emma should have realized that Captain Nemo wouldn’t bring up a man that both he and Killian clearly disliked for no reason at all, she just never could’ve imagined that the reason would be Mrs Belle Gold’s presence at dinner that night. So Emma is going to choose surprise as justification for the tightness in her chest as she watches Mrs Gold beam at her husband.

The fact that Killian calls her “Belle” instead of “Mrs Gold” doesn’t escape her attention. The justification here is that he obviously held less than amiable feelings towards Gold and Mrs Gold was once upon a time a woman that he hoped would be Mrs Jones instead. That train of thought doesn’t reach nearly as reassuring of a destination as she hoped it would.

The fact that Belle looks absolutely resplendent in her golden gown as Captain Nemo helpfully points out also doesn’t escape her attention. No justification is needed. It is simply the truth.

Belle’s impeccable manners, her shining hair and perfect hourglass shape, her bright and clever eyes and the way she has a masterfully-worded opinion on every topic that Nemo introduces also makes an impression. On everyone in the room, she is sure.

It is her own silence and the frequency with which Emma lifts her wineglass to her lips to avoid the awkwardness of just sitting there that does escape her attention.

“Are you alright, love? You were very quiet through dinner.”

She allows Killian to take her arm and lead her into the drawing-room, leaning into him both to reassure herself of his presence beside her and to counteract the effects of the wine.

“Just tired.”

It’s not a lie but it also fails to mention that, unlike the previous night, Killian didn’t try to draw her into the conversation earlier, seeming perfectly content to sit back and admire Belle’s knowledge of books and architecture and the Fairy Islands apparently.

When glasses of Captain Nemo’s “above mediocre” whiskey – she supposes this was brought out in honour of Mrs Gold and cringes only a little at how bitter the thought is – are passed around, Emma knows she should refuse, a proper lady would refuse. A proper lady would excuse herself at the pretext of being exhausted after the hunt and retire for the night so nobody notices that she is already less than perfectly sober. No, no, a proper lady would never be anything but perfectly sober in the first place. Mary Margaret would never be anything but perfectly sober. Elsa might indulge herself but never in public.

The thought makes her throat feel tighter still and she takes a glass.

At some point she thinks she notices Killian’s confused and concerned eyes on her but what she certainly notices is the way Mrs Gold pulls him to the side when Captain Nemo somehow manages to engage Emma in conversation. She is not entirely certain what they are conversing about. Piano playing, she believes. She doesn’t play, of course, but she is certain that Mrs Gold does so beautifully – Mrs Gold whose hand is definitely on Killian’s arm and has been for a while now. Captain Nemo readily agrees and begs the woman in question to regale them with a performance. For a moment, Emma thinks she might be sick.

But the moment after that, Killian is kneeling by her chair.

“Emma? Would you like to retire for the night?”

Belle is playing and Captain Nemo looks for all the world like he has never heard anything better. She plays marvelously, of course. Emma doesn’t know what she is saying as she lurches to her feet.

“Yes, of course, I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re not—“

She thinks Killian was trying to take her hand but she starts moving toward the door before he can do so. She hears him making excuses behind her – she forgot to take leave of their host and his guest. Of course, she did.

When Killian catches up to her and sets his hand on the small of her back, she can’t make herself pull away.

“You don’t have to see me to my room.”

“I’m not seeing you to your room, love, I’m coming up with you.”

She turns on her heel and loses her balance a little. Killian’s left arm wraps around her waist and her chest is suddenly pressed to his. She looks down at herself. She doesn’t like the cut of the dress she is wearing, she doesn’t know why on earth she put it on. Likely because she liked it just fine before she came down to dinner and met the “resplendent” Mrs Gold.

“You don’t have to do that. You were enjoying yourself. Go back.”

“Emma,” Killian’s fingers settle under her chin and urge her head up. “I always had in mind for us to retire early. For a number of reasons. But now I have a slightly more pressing concern, namely the fact that you most certainly did not enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, you noticed that?”

Killian reels back as if she’d slapped him and his hand falls away from her face as she feels her features crumple.

“I’m sorry, I—“

It surges up from the back of her mind – the knowledge that Killian hasn’t done anything wrong, that he would never do anything to hurt or shame her. It’s not his fault that women smile at him in a way that she doesn’t like, or that they are more beautiful and more accomplished than her.

“No, I’m sorry,” Killian swallows and she feels the overwhelming urge to slap her hand over his mouth, to stop him from saying whatever it is he is about to say. “I got carried away in—“

He looks around, realizing that they are still in the hallway, the fact had escaped Emma’s attention as well.

“Please, let’s go upstairs.”

She nods and lets him lead her to their room, her body feeling a bit numb even as her head is buzzing incessantly. The sudden instability of the world around her is making it very hard for her to steel herself for whatever Killian has to say, still she tries to remind herself that she should not be angry or upset about anything that might have transpired before they were wed. Perhaps even— No, no, she doesn’t believe that and it’s not—

“Emma. Drink this.”

She blinks, surprised to find herself sitting on the edge of their bed. Killian is kneeling in front of her again and urging her to take a glass of water – the fire behind him makes his hair seem darker than usual but his eyes look older, troubled. The cool liquid makes her realize how thirsty she was.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“A little dizzy.”

“Have you ever been drunk before?”

The question is not accusatory but Emma finds herself blinking back tears suddenly.

“No,” her voice sounds small and choked and in the next second Killian is sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s alright. It will pass. You’ll get some rest and it will pass.”

She slips her arms around his waist and squeezes him hard, Killian just runs his hand up and down her back for a few moments, whispering words she can’t quite comprehend in her ear and Emma thinks she would’ve fallen asleep if the darkness didn’t swirl around every time she closed her eyes.

“Let’s get you into bed, alright?” Killian pulls back and moves around her and she feels him start working on the laces of her corset.

She lets him work in silence for a few minutes, while he loosens her corset and helps her out of her dress and takes off her shoes and her stockings. It’s when his hand slips into her hair – only half a dozen pins holding a few strands together while the rest of it she left down – that she feels something inside her pull and release. She turns in his arms and slips her hands into his hair, pulling him closer and slipping her tongue inside his mouth without preamble.

He is hers, he is in her bed, he is taking her clothes off, he is— pulling away.

“Stop. Emma, stop.”

It takes her longer than it should to peel her eyes open – his lips are very pink and kiss-swollen and she tries to capture them again but Killian pulls back and that’s when she realizes he is holding both of her hands in his own large one. He is holding her away from him.

“W-what?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Let’s just go to sleep and—“

“Why not?”

Her voice is a mix of angry confusion and something heartbreaking and the look on Killian’s face tells her he hears it too.

“Emma. Emma, I love you very much, but I’m not going to bed you when you are drunk.”

“I want you to!”

“No.”

“Why?!”

His brows furrow and the heartbreaking bit is in his eyes now. He sets her hands on her lap and gets off the bed, glancing at the door in hesitation. That gets through the haze in her head.

“Oh.”

Killian turns to her and she watches his shoulders relax at the realization on her face.

“I’m sorry.”

The moment she says it she feels something around her heart break off and she falls forward on the bed, burying her face in her hands as she cries. When she feels his arms around her again, she just shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, love. It’s alright, we’re alright.”

This time she lets him soothe her and undress her completely, slipping her nightgown on and tucking her into bed. She doesn’t try to kiss him again but she doesn’t let go of him either and, thankfully, Killian seems fine with that. She also can’t seem to stop saying how sorry she is – he is less fine with that but she is still mumbling apologies as she falls asleep in his arms.

*****

She wakes up feeling like she has slept the day away but it’s hard to tell with the curtains pulled closed. There is light, sneaking between the petals on the fabric but she can’t tell if it’s morning light or early afternoon. She is warm, can hear the crackling of the fire that is keeping the room at a temperature that makes the two blankets she is under too much, and her head feels fine but she is uncertain if that will still be the case once she lifts it from the pillow.

When she does, her eyes immediately land on Killian, sitting on the rug before the fire and using the perfectly comfortable armchair behind him as a backrest. Part of her feels guilty that he has stayed to watch over her but most of her is just glad that he is here.

She takes a moment to recall the night before and swallow her shame.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends,” her voice is rough and the words catch in her throat but they are audible enough that his head shoots up.

He gets up with a little grunt, rubbing at his knee, and goes to the table by the window. There is a tray of food but he just fills a glass of water from the decanter and Emma sits up, leaning against the headboard as he brings it to her. She drinks the whole thing and when she hands it back, he presses a kiss to her forehead that makes her squeeze her eyes shut.

“You didn’t embarrass me in front of anybody.”

“Of course, I did.”

“No. And I’d hoped you wouldn’t wake up just to keep apologizing.”

Killian sets the glass on the floor and settles on top of the covers, wrapping his left arm around her legs.

“I’m the one who should apologize.”

Emma frowns and goes to shake her head and that is certainly not her brightest idea. She feels Killian reach up to cup her cheek, stall the movement and comb her hair behind her ear before he drops his hand to take one of hers.

“I was so focused on my ridiculous ideas that I realized you were having a miserable time much too late.”

“I wasn’t—“ his look makes her swallow the lie. “I was just…”

She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand, she means to look into his eyes but that seems to be asking too much of herself so she addresses her question to his fingers.

“When were you— were you… together?”

“Pardon?”

She looks up and down again, catching a glimpse of Killian’s confused look.

“You and Belle.”

“Me and… Belle? Emma, why would you— Of course not. She was married when we— but that’s no matter, I’ve never— love, I am under the impression that Nemo has set his sights on the lass and, knowing them both, decided to promote the match.“

“Oh,” things shift and rearrange themselves in her head. “Oh.”

“Bloody hell, did you think—“

“Not now,” she says helplessly, the only accusation she is innocent of. “Just… she is very— she is quite lovely and you seemed very close and…”

“Christ.”

Killian lets go of her hand, wracking his fingers through his hair before he leans forward, his mouth stopping a breath away from hers.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

She’d laugh but her throat is rough and she still might cry and that will only waste time that he could be kissing her.

“Of course.”

His lips are gentle at first but then his hand wraps around the back of her neck and his tongue finds hers and that’s better. The idea that he is anything but hers seems preposterous when he is kissing her like this. Still her hands remain in her lap, her eyes half-open, and she doesn’t feel like she deserves to have him in this moment. But Killian kisses her long and thorough, his fingers digging into her neck where at least half of all the tension inside her body seems to have gathered.

“Emma,” he pulls back, kisses her shoulder and looks up – something almost indignant in his eyes. “How could you think I’d want anyone else when I have you?”

“I…“ she groans and finally lets herself reach for him, her nails digging into his forearms even through his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, stop saying that.”

“I—“ she swallows the apology and laughs mirthlessly at herself.

“I’ve never even looked at Belle that way,” he says earnestly and she tries to avert her eyes, ashamed that he has to say it at all but Killian presses his forehead to hers and it’s hard to hide behind the single strand of hair trapped between them. “No, sod Belle, I’ve never— Emma, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”

She feels her next breath cut short at that.

“Not even—“ she swallows the question quickly, chides herself for continuing to interrogate him when—

“Not even then,” Killian says calmly and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t. Don’t do that, love. I— I want you to know that. I want you to know I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you.”

It should be impossible for one sentence to fill and pierce her heart at the same time.

“I trust you too,” she means it with her whole being but the words come out more as a plea than a statement. “I swear, my heart, I—“

“I know. I know you do, love.”

“Can I say I’m sorry again?”

“No.”

“No?”

He kisses the tip of her nose and shakes his head.

“I love you,” she says instead.

“I know that as well,” he grins and she pinches his side, feeling the fog start to clear from her head as his face grows serious again and his knuckles stroke her cheek. “And I hope you know I wouldn’t love you more, if you played the piano brilliantly, and I wouldn’t love you less, if you couldn’t so much as get on a horse.”

Air rushes into her lungs much too fast and Emma is not surprised that he understands something she doesn’t even want to explain. She is also not surprised this is the moment she loses the battle with her tears.

“I don’t want you to ever doubt that, Emma.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” he says simply, honestly, and it just creates more tears for him to wipe away.

“It’s not your fault.”

It’s the most she can give him in this moment, little as it is – that the wreckage he is trying to salvage is not of his own making and he has just been doing so well that even she forgot how absolutely demolished some parts are.

Killian doesn’t seem terribly surprised, he doesn’t seem uncomfortable or disappointed, his eyes are full of love and sadness that make them seem even deeper than usual. He looks thoughtful for a moment, his head tilted to the side and studying her as his hand continues to comb her hair and wipe her cheeks.

“It’s like your drawings.”

“My drawings?”

He ducks his head for a moment but when he looks back at her, she feels like he’s pulled back the curtains and let the sun fully inside.

“Aye. The ones you leave everywhere at home.”

“Oh. I thought Mrs Lucas threw those away.”

“No. I have them.”

“You have them?” she can’t hide her surprise or the little hitch in her breathing, in her heart.

“Aye, I have them all. I love them all. And yet… it doesn’t matter if there will be one more or one less, all that— all that matters is that they are yours.”

She swallows heavily and feels her heart beat hard against her chest, trying to get to him. The knowledge that he loves her is still the most wonderful and overwhelming thing she has ever experienced, acquiring an understanding of why and how he loves her feels – much like him – like more than she deserves, and yet, she cannot help but listen and look at him and realize that nothing else could quite soothe her soul like this.

“What I’m trying to say – very badly,” he chuckles and she shakes her head, slips her hand up his side, caressing the scars there. “It’s that… there are a hundred things I love about you, Emma. I love each of them and yet, in the end, none of them truly matter. Only you matter. The entirety of you.”

She feels her mouth open a little but no sound comes out – she is unsure if she will ever be able to produce another sound that isn’t her soul sighing and her heart beating for Killian Jones and for him alone.

“Does that sound completely mad?” he chuckles again and it’s soft and nervous and this time she slips both arms around him and pulls until he is close enough to feel the heart that she has given him.

“No. I understand perfectly.”

He looks at her for a moment before his face breaks into the most beautiful smile – he presses it into her lips and she takes it happily.

*****

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