CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}
Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.
In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.
Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.
Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks
The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.
Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.
Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.
Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.
What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”
Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.
Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”
Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.
Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”
Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’ But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.
“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”
Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact.
“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”
If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”
Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.
Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”
The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.
*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*
Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.
She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind.
Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”
Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”
Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.
She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”
As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”
Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”
Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.
“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.
Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”
“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”
She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.
“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”
Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”
Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”
“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.
“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.
Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.
Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.
If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”
That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.
David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”
Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.
“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”
The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.
She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”
She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”
“What?!” David burst out incredulously.
Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”
“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”
Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”
Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.
“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”
David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”
“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.
“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”
“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.
Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”
She’d placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”
“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”
She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.
“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”
Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door.
Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.
She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.
If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.
Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”
There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.
Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.
Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.
Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart.
He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault.
Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.
At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.
She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.
Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.
It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.
Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”
Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.
“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing.
Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.
Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.
“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”
But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road. He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away. I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before. That monster killed her. I saw it.”
The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”
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