#and Regina getting to flex her muscles with the sword

[foxofthedesert]

RQ OUaT FF | OGA: Ch. 20

Chapter 20 – A Journey Interrupted

Now halfway between the idyllic lake and the outskirts of the sprawling forest they have been venturing through, Regina can still feel waves pure frustration wafting from Snow.  For just a moment, Regina had let down her guard, allowing Snow nearly bypass her defenses than she had in a very long time – not since that last futile attempt to persuade Regina to drop their feud rather than be executed.  To sneak so close to victory only to have it snatched away at the last second had to be a kick in the teeth from a bucking stallion.  Imagining the metaphor as reality makes Regina smile.

Maybe she won’t be so quick to take a mile when given an inch, she thinks, then immediately dismisses the possibility as highly unlikely.  Snow has yet to learn when to give up on anyone or anything, especially Regina, therefore asking her to now seems as rational as asking ice to not be cold.  Frankly there seems more chance of hot ice than Snow giving up on mending their broken relationship.  

“We’re almost there,” she yells over the clap of Lucas’s hooves upon the golden thoroughfare. When Snow’s grumpy grunt of acknowledgement is not followed up by a snarky comment, Regina settles back in for the rest of the ride, content to revel in the petty amusement her companion’s discontent inspires.

No more is said for quite some time.  Minutes pass by as if seconds and then an hour as if half that.  Lucas makes good time upon the Yellow Brick Road, having really hit his stride upon the increasingly smooth surface, which is owed both to the forest starting to thin and their encroaching proximity to the capitol.  For that reason, they emerge into a wide, rolling plain just in time to catch the nethermost rim of the sun dip down below the inverted earthen bowl that conceals it each and every night.  Regina reins in Lucas to momentarily enjoy the breathtaking panoramic view.

In the near distance, the Emerald City is nestled within a crescent valley encircled on three sides by a towering mountain range that eclipses anything to be found in the Enchanted Forest.  Tall jade spires jut into the air like tapering fingers raised in greeting to those who have just broken free from the oppressive darkness of the forest.  An enormous wall dotted with siege towers encircles the entire city, so vast and high as to defy the imagination.  Meanwhile the Yellow Brick Road, which snakes a sinuous path through a lowland dotted with hedgerows and modest copses of oaks and cottonwood trees, slithers ever onward until terminating at the great gate towers buttressing the central portion of the wall.  As long as Regina lives, she will never forget this moment and how tiny and insignificant she felt in the face of such magnificent splendor.

“Wow,” Snow says, equally awestruck. “That’s a really big city.”

Regina chuckles.  “You have a gift for understatement, dear.  But yes, it is quite impressive is it not?”  

She feels rather than sees Snow’s answering nod as her eyes settle upon the great domed palace situated at the center of the Citadel’s massive commons.  Her heart speeds up and her muscles flex in anticipation.  Their target is at last in sight.  Somewhere within those walls they will either find a map detailing the exact location of the Grove they are seeking or else ferret out someone who has been there.  And then they can get on with the business of saving Red.  

A jubilant smile spreads across her lips as she makes to spur Lucas on toward their next objective on this all-important quest.  But just before she kicks, Snow gasps and tightens her arms reflexively tighten around Regina’s waist.  She cranes her neck to the limit to see what’s wrong only to find Snow staring out to the right. Regina follows her companion’s eyes and echoes the surprise she heard moments ago upon glimpsing a line of horsemen approaching their flank.  Soldiers in chainmail and tabards of green and gold with longswords at their hips.  Regina curses herself.  In her exuberance at being so near to the Emerald City, she had failed to spy out their surroundings upon exiting the forest.

For a split second she considers spurring Lucas onward and racing the mounted squad to the gates of the city but dismisses the idea as impractical.  Not only is Lucas unaccustomed to such lengthy gallops and is unsuited to the task of outpacing military-bred horses, fleeing now will attract the sort of unwanted attention they have been trying to avoid.  Her actions back in the village with Darion withstanding, stealth is by far the preferable approach to entering the city without prompting any suspicion.  If they do not face these men here and now, either to explain their presence in a satisfactory manner or dispose of them by other means, they will be chased all the way to the gates.  In which case their journey would come to an abrupt end.  Regina is powerful.  Powerful enough to take this squad without breaking a sweat.  But the garrison housed within the Citadel is another matter entirely.  In other words, there is no choice but to stay and handle the situation whatever it takes.

“I’m going to try and talk us out of this,” Regina tells Snow as they watch the handful of men dismount thirty yards or so away then begin to approach on foot.  “But if I can’t, be ready to fight.”

“Alright,” Snow replies, tension radiating from her frame as she slips her arms from around Regina’s waist.  “Just try to be nice this time.”

Regina plasters on a politicking grin.  “I was nice last time.”  She then fixates on the soldiers before Snow can say another word and guides Lucas to turn toward them.  “Greetings, gentlemen.  My name is Regina and my companion here is called Snow.  We’re here to visit family in the Emerald City.”  The swiftly conjured lie flows as naturally as honey from the comb.

The squad leader deliberately locks on to their weapons as he and his men form a perpendicular line to them.  “Visiting family in the city armed to the teeth?  I find that interesting.”  

A man of middle age, the captain is of average height and is well built with long, flowing raven locks and a neatly trimmed beard.  Fox-like eyes peak out from beneath thick brows, clever eyes that are adept at spotting untruths if Regina is any reliable judge.  His expression conveys a cynicism that is unlikely to be swayed with words alone. As subtly as she can, she starts gathering magic at her fingertips.

“You shouldn’t,” she answers.  “Our weapons are merely for our protection.  Surely you understand there are many dangers out there for two women far from home and traveling alone.”

The captain rests his hand on the pommel of his sword.  “Of course. Then again, my men and I patrol this area daily and I’ve had this post going on a decade.  Never seen you two before today.  That makes me inclined to be suspicious.  Surely you understand.”

Regina grits her teeth at having her words so casually tossed back into her face.  Mastering her emotions, she nods a concession.  “Certainly. You have a job to do and you are doing it well from where I sit.  As for your other concern, you wouldn’t have ever seen us before.  Our relatives only recently moved to the City.  This is our first visit.”

The captain’s dark brows arch with unconcealed interest.  “Oh?  Where are you from then?”

“A little backwash village to the south far away from here.  You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“Ah! What a pleasant coincidence.”  The captain’s expression melts into a smarmy, reptilian smile. “I also hail from the south and know every hamlet between here and Quadling Country.  What’s the name of your village?  I might even have visited during my youthful adventures.”

With every word, Regina feels the noose tightening around their necks. She’s talked herself into a corner now and knows she probably won’t be able to wiggle out without giving them away.  Though their intentions being sussed out is probably a mere formality now.  The captain clearly has already taken their measure with great accuracy. All that remains is for someone to make the first move.  

“Unlikely,” she says, using her peripheral vision to watch for any hint of movement from the other men lined up before them.  “As I said, it’s a nowhere village several miles west of the Green Lake.  Not many come through our parts.  Which is the reason our relatives relocated.”

“Hmmm. As of two years ago, there were no villages west of Green Lake.  I think you’re lying.  That said, I’m a reasonable man.  Tell me why you’re really here and I might just be persuaded to let you go.”

Regina is also good at spotting lies, and that is as surely one as those she has been spouting.  She also does not need an interpreter to translate the greedy way she and Snow are now being eyed by the captain or the rest of his men.  Their mouths are practically watering like a pack of starving hyenas who fortuitously stumbled across two fresh doe carcasses.  There will be no convincing these men to let them go without purchasing their silence with gold or their bodies, and neither of those options are up for discussion.  Only one avenue of escape remains.

“Somehow I doubt that,” she says, a spell already formulating in the back of her mind.  “However, in the interest of expedience, I’ll tell you why we’re here.”

“Regina...”

Regina cuts off Snow’s objection by reaching back and grasping her arm tightly.  “Quiet now.  Remember what I said?  We’ll be going with option number two.”  Although Snow returns the grip on her arm with as much force as she can muster, she obeys Regina by surreptitiously sliding her left hand down to grasp at her sword only to stiffen upon remembrance that she’d loaned it to Jefferson.  Not rubbing Snow’s nose in the stink of that foolish decision will be very difficult for Regina should they survive this encounter.

To the Captain, she then says, “Forgive the interruption.  Where was I?  Oh, yes.  I was about to tell you that I’m here to kill that green-skinned bitch you call a ruler.”  

Widening eyes and the flinching muscles of a forearm grasping a sword handle provide Regina all the impetus she needs.  Without warning, she summons a fireball and lobs it at the Captain, only for him to swerve out of the way at the last second.  His men scatter like rats shouting at the top of their lungs, “Sorceress!  Sorceress!  She’s gonna roast us all!”  Only his iron will in the form of sternly barked commands corrals them before they scamper away, leaving him to Regina’s mercy.

While this is happening, Snow deftly rolls off of Lucas, slides her bow off her shoulders, nocks her first arrow, and takes up position at Lucas’s wide rear flank.  Regina joins her companion on the ground, albeit wedged between Lucas and Snow and their foes.  As the soldiers begin to charge over the thirty yards separating them, she unsheathes her sword in preparation for combat. When the squad is halfway across, a breath of air gusts past her cheek, preceded by the thwap of a bowstring against leather bracers.  An arrow lodges into the eye of the man to the Captain’s left.  Five heartbeats later, another thwap and the man at the Captain’s right falls with an arrow shaft through his throat.

Two down, four to go.  Save some for me, Snow, Regina thinks, sneer in place as she tightens her grip on her sword.

One more assailant dies before Regina enters the fray, the leftmost man who takes Snow’s final arrow to the temple.  He drops like a felled log to the enraged cries of his comrades.  And then surge at Regina, who grins as the rush of combat descends upon her.  Springing forward, she meets them a few feet in front of Lucas.  The men now flanking the Captain advance on her first, hoping to corral her and then push her back until Lucas’s massive bulk is hemming her in so that they can finish her off much more easily.

Fat chance of that.  I’d rather die on the attack than be transformed into a human sieve.  

Needing to take the initiative, she remembers the advice of her old fencing instructor.  A veteran of many wars, he used to regale Regina with tales of his battlefield exploits as he put her through the paces with a grueling intensity she would later learn to appreciate.  Normally, as per her parents’ instruction, he only focused on the mano a mano engagements typical of fencing competitions, but there were exceptions.  In addition to being hyper-competitive Regina is a curious soul by nature, so she kept imploring him for massed combat training until he eventually caved to her stubbornness.  His first lesson included roping in a couple of stable hands that were decent swordsmen to teach her several methods to overcome disadvantageous odds.  The one she came to prefer was striking out immediately and aggressively at the most formidable opponent in the hopes that eliminating them would demoralize the others, thus creating holes in their defenses via rage or fear or rendering them ineffective altogether when her attentions turned to them after the main target was down.

Utilizing that tactic is a giant risk, but it’s one I have to take.  Regina grits her teeth as dreadful resolve spurs her forward.  In a matter of seconds, she will either have dispatched her enemies or she will be dead.  And that’s just the sort of high pressure, zero margin for error environment she was bred and painstakingly prepared to thrive in.

Ducking under a swiping blade as she closes in, she rolls forward head over hell, pops back up on her feet agile as a cat, and cuts through the Captain’s lagging defenses before his men can even respond to her unexpected offensive.  Two parries of sideswipes, one block of an overhead swing, and a sidestep of a slash at his gut are all the veteran soldier can muster before Regina neatly skirts his clumsy, rushed reply and slides her blade into the left side of his chest.  After a choked groan, he falls backward to the ground with a great thud.  

Everything stops for several heartbeats.  Regina surveying her kill with prideful satisfaction and the remaining soldiers looking on in shocked dismay.  Then a voice in the back of her head starts screaming that the fight isn’t over yet.  Turning back toward the two men left standing, she levels them with an inviting smile.

“Who’s next?” she says, then assumes her favorite pose, knees slightly bent, sword arm at a ninety degree angle over her head with her other arm extended out.

And then something unexpected happens.  The two men glance at one another, a frenzied conversation taking place in the midst of the tense silence.  One of them cuts eyes back toward the forest, the other nods, and a split second later they are both sprinting away as fast as their feet can carry them.

Ordinarily, Regina might have let them go.  But this mission being what it is means she cannot afford to leave survivors of this encounter to potentially spread news of what has happened back to the city.  Back to Zelena.  That can’t happen.  Red’s life depends upon it.

The men are barely away when Regina casts a spell that binds the legs of one, sending him careening forward into the dirt.  The other she spears through the spine with her sword in one clean toss, a skill she has always been rather proud of.  He falls in a heap of jellied limbs then goes still.  With the final remaining opponent disabled, Regina takes her sweet time fetching her sword out of the back of the man she skewered and then saunters over to the remaining victim waiting to be dispatched.

“She’ll stop you,” the man says, eyes wild with terror and rage.

Regina smiles confidently, all teeth and no quarter.  “I don’t think she will.  You’ve seen what I can do.  I’m her equal in magic and no one here is my equal with the blade.”

“You haven’t met Jilly yet.”

Regina’s brow quirks up.  “Who?”

“The most dangerous and beautiful woman in the realm.  She’s killed more men than anybody but the Witch since she came here.  Best with the sword, too,” the man boasts, clearly believing his assertion.  

She has never heard of such a person, which is not that surprising seeing as she knows next to nothing about Oz except what little her prior research and her experience to date traveling through this strange world has yielded.  Not that it would matter if she had anyway. Whoever should oppose the mission to save Red will meet the same fate as these men.  Be it Zelena or this Jilly character.

“Not anymore, she’s not,” she says.  “And I’d wager her kill count pales in comparison with mine.”  That old, familiar streak of malice creeps outside of its container then, and as Snow lingers hesitantly behind her shoulder, she strides up into the soldier’s personal space.  “When the Witch came to my realm, cursed my wife and killed our friend, she awakened a monster that has been sleeping for a very long time. Well, she’s awake now.  Awake and thirsty for blood.  So I do hope I come across this Jilly person while I’m here.  I’d love to add another trophy to my already impressive collection, which is about to grow by one.”

Just as the man opens up his mouth to reply, Regina flicks her wrist, a grotesque sneer twisting her lips, and spears her razor sharp blade upward through the soft tissue of the man’s underjaw.  Eyes blowing wide, he gurgles helplessly as blood gushes from the wound.  Upon encountering the expected resistance of bone at the top of his mouth, she pushes harder until she feels his palate give way to inevitability.  And then the blade slides home into gelatinous gray matter.  She watches with grim satisfaction as her victim’s eyes glossify, he twitches a time or two, and then goes limp as a ragdoll.  To prevent herself from being knocked over along with him, she swiftly slides her sword free then gives him a helpful shove backward.  The ground thuds with the impact of the sixth man to be relieved of the pains of life in as many minutes.

“Regina...why?  He was helpless!”

The disgust evident in that question is enough to provoke Regina’s fury.  She swirls on Snow, blade dripping blood, eyes flashing with an animus that refuses to abate after the excitement of the kill.  

“Don’t you dare question my methods.  If I had let him go, he would’ve run to the first village, saddled a horse, and rode straight for the City.  And then what would have become of our quest?  I could not permit that to happen.  I did what I had to do, just as I warned you I would before we departed.”  When Snow does not respond, appearing far too terrified, she glances around at the bodies strewn about the field and realizes they cannot afford to leave them there.  Discovery would surely sound an alarm that might end their expedition prematurely.  “Now, help me dispose of these bodies.”

Snow gapes at her a heartbeat before squawking out her reply.  “How are we supposed to do that?  Last I checked we don’t have any shovels.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Regina glimpses the line of trees and shrubs announcing the forests end.  A fantastic plan then pops into her mind.  “Who said anything about burying them?  There’s a perfectly good forest nearby teeming with all sorts of creatures, many of whom I’m sure are quite famished.  We’ll simply load the bodies up on Lucas here and deliver them a hearty meal.”

For a second it looks like Snow might object to the callous but efficient plan, but then she catches Regina’s glare and wisely thinks better of it. “Fine.  Let’s get this over with and be on our way.”

“I couldn’t agree more, dear,” Regina says, smiling, and then they go about the unwholesome business at hand.  

The process of dragging six bodies over to Lucas, hoisting them with great difficulty up and over his back two per load so that they are draped over him like fleshy blankets, and then guiding Lucas back into the fringes of the forest where they quickly unload them takes far longer than Regina would have preferred.  But Snow does not complain any more and they get the job done, so she is rather happy with the results.  By the time they are done, the sun has nearly disappeared, leaving them little time with which to complete the journey to the Emerald City.  While would be more prudent to camp out in the forest for the night and wait until dawn to resume the journey, Regina is uninterested in prudence.  

They set out back down the Yellow Brick road immediately after making their last deposit within the forest.  As Regina spurs Lucas into a steady trot, she offers an earnest prayer to any gods that may be listening that the rest of the ride prove uneventful.  And for once, miracle of all miracles, they actually listen.

It takes another two hours and change for them to reach the outskirts of the Emerald City on horseback.  The ride is accomplished in total silence, for which Regina is eternally grateful.  Any more of Snow’s uppity lip and she’d have seriously contemplated unseating her with Lucas at full gallop.  

Once right outside the city gates, they find an available hitching post where Regina carefully ties Lucas.  Before leaving him, she casts wards over him just in case.  She can’t have any harm coming to the beautiful creature who is fast burrowing into her heart.

With their transportation secure, they spend another half-hour attempting to infiltrate the loosely guarded entrances.  Night has fallen in earnest, so only a skeleton crew is left to man the posts at each lofty gate within the city’s impressive siege walls.  After much frustration, they are finally able to slip through by feigning they belong to a party of bedraggled merchants.  Regina aids the disguise by magically altering their clothes to appear more dirty and crude. The road-weary group are filtering into the city to sell their wares when the markets open on the morrow at dawn, which is drawing much nearer than Regina would have preferred.  Already the faintest hints of red and orange can be seen over the horizon.  They must hurry if they’re to use the cover of night to slip inside the castle.  

Once through the gates, they immediately make their way toward the palace from whence Zelena has long ruled Oz unopposed.  As they arrive at a row of bronze statues nearby a large courtyard surrounding the Palace, Regina spots their hired hand awaiting them.  

Darion is nonchalantly leaning back against a depiction of a stout, bearded human man clutching the hand of a tall, lithe faerie woman with pointed ears that curve slightly backward rather than straight up as those of the elves.  Each holds a bejeweled eagle scepter in the outer hand, arms extended toward the sky.  The engraving on the pedestal is barely visible with the low light of the many wrought-iron lamps lining the street.  It reads:

KING PASTORIA AND QUEEN LURLINE

VICTORS OVER THE DARK ELVES AND VANQUISHERS OF THE BEAST FOREVER

MAY THEIR REIGN BE PEACEFUL AND PROSPEROUS  

“I've done as you asked,” Darion says in lieu of greeting, arresting Regina’s attention from the marvelous statue.  “The Witch departed hours ago.  Now, release me from my oath and pay me what I’m owed.”

Regina appraises him slowly, pleased that he squirms uncomfortably under her gaze.  “Not until you've done one last thing,” she says, no quarter to be found in her tone.  “Is there a way in to the palace we can use to avoid detection?  Zelena may be gone but I'm sure she has alerted her servants and guards to be on the lookout for us.”

Darion narrows his eyes, looking like he wishes to refuse.  His resolve wavers under Regina's relentless glare.  “There is a way,” he sighs.  “A servant’s entrance to the east is attached to the scullery.  Maids and guards are almost constantly milling in and out of it at every hour.  This late, it will not be heavily guarded. Most of the garrison is either asleep or on patrol about the city or outside the walls.”

She hums her assent, then taps her chin a few times.  “What about once we're inside?”

“Go through the scullery.  It will take you into the main hallway,” Darion replies succinctly.  “Follow that north through a series of corridors that will eventually lead to the Royal chambers.  That is where the Witch has taken up residence.  If there are any maps of the Grove, you will find them in her chambers.  You will know them when you see them.”

Satisfied she has the information that she needs, Regina gives him a condescending smile.  “Thank you, Darion,” she drawls.  “Your help has been most appreciated.”  She produces a sizable pouch of gold from her belt, his promised payment, and then tosses it to him before waving off into the distance.  “Scurry away now like the rat you are.  I release you.”

Darion makes a noise of offense as he catches the pouch, but does not comment as he pushes off from the wall.  He sulks off into the city beyond, his reward jingling with every step.

“Do you think that was wise?  Letting him go?” Snow asks, seeming apprehensive.

Regina looks at her with unveiled surprise.  “Would you have rather I killed him?”

Snow's eyes grow wide.  “No!  Absolutely not!  I just...” she sighs and scrubs her forehead.  “I worry about whether he will find the nearest patrol and report us.”

“He won't,” Regina assures her with a secretive smile.  “When I waved in his direction just now, I cast a spell on him that will block his memory for at least three hours.  It should be taking effect right about now and will buy us enough time to do what we must and get out.”

While Snow looks a tiny bit sick at Regina possessing that kind of power and the ability to use it without being detected, mainly she appears relieved.  “Well, that's a relief,” she breathes, and Regina smiles internally at her accurate diagnosis of Snow's moods.  “Let's get on with it, then.  I don't want to be around when that spell wears off.”

“A splendid idea,” Regina chirps, and then moves away from the shop and tentatively toward the large, open courtyard which is not even obstructed by so much a single tree. 

Because of how risky it is to cross, even at night, she decides to circle around the palace along the edges of the developed section of the city which would normally be alive with bustling activity in the daylight.  What few nocturnal citizens prowl the streets are either ambivalent to the presence of two strange women or ignore them altogether.  That their presence here is unremarkable indicates that Zelena has not instituted any sort of curfew, which works in their favor. To further blend in and deflect suspicion, she takes Snow's hand, much to the surprise of her diminutive companion.

As she leads them around the circular outskirts of the commercial portion of the city, Regina explains herself to Snow out of the corner of her mouth.  “Act like we're relatives traveling together.  It didn’t fool the soldiers but it should work well enough here.”

“Got it,” Snow nods curtly.  When they pass by a middle aged woman flanked by two hawk-nosed men who peer at them curiously, Snow elbows Regina and points to one of the towers rising up above the Palace. “Look, cousin,” she says with exaggerated excitement, “the tips of the towers are like glowing emerald onions!”

“So they are, cousin,” Regina replies, smiling down at Snow, and it turns more appreciative when she notices the woman give them a welcoming smile of her own before passing by.  She winks at Snow, in good spirits.  “Well done.”

“Thank you,” Snow beams, but her joy is short lived when she turns and spots something in the near distance.  She indicates toward it discreetly.  “Look.  It's the scullery.”

Regina follows the direction of Snow's finger and sees that they have rounded the palace to a portion containing a door that is currently closed.  She recognizes it as the scullery door by the maid that comes out a second later carrying a large basket, presumably to pick up supplies ahead of another long day of grueling labor or perhaps a load of laundry from some important citizen who is afforded the privilege of the highly skilled Palace staff caring for their linens. The woman, in her overconfidence born of routine, leaves the door propped open.  It is an opening Regina cannot allow to pass by without seizing it.

She takes a quick look around, and when she sees that there are even fewer people out and about in this section of the city, she tugs Snow by the hand and all but drags her across the courtyard.  By the time they step through a servant entrance left open by the careless maid, the sun has inched over the horizon so that it casts a faint orange onto the pavement and buildings of the still brilliantly shining city.

Once inside, she whispers at Snow, “Stay close.  I can conceal us with my magic, but it works best at proximity.”  Snow nods and shuffles up to Regina's side.  Summoning her power, Regina casts a spell that slightly alters their visages and transforms their clothing into the garb similar to that worn by the scullery maid she’d seen exit just moments before. 

“Come,” she then instructs, pushing away from the wall, “we've no time to dawdle.”

To further sell their disguise, she pilfers an empty linen basket, and then maneuvers through the scullery into an abandoned hallway.  The lack of servants milling about is worrying, but Regina does not allow that unfortunate detail to deter her.  Waving Snow on behind her, she steps out and makes her way down the northernmost hallway. Thankfully her lucks holds true, and after rounding several corners, they arrive at what appears to be the royal wing of the palace.  It is a far cry from what she had expected given the grandeur of the Emerald City.

The hallway belonging to the Royal Family of Oz is permeated in shadow, quite unlike other corridors which are at lit by candlelight and seem regularly polished and cared for in spite of the current occupant, and appears strangely dead considering it is made of brick and mortar and wood and metals which do not live.  Nevertheless it is dreary and sorrowful as if having been sucked dry of what scant expressiveness belongs to such inanimate materials.  There was once a time Regina's own wing of the Dark Palace had resembled this mournful hallway.  As with everything else in her life and kingdom, Red has breathed new life into the castle, in the process banishing many of the shadows Regina cast over it during her precipitous descent into madness. This hallway reminds her of that dark era that she has unkindly dubbed The Dark Days.  It is disturbing in a way that makes her aware of just how hopeless she'd once been and how she might again be should the mission fail.

With reinvigorated determination, she squares her shoulders and begins her search with Snow following close behind.  It takes inspecting nearly every room along the corridor before Regina sticks her head inside the last chambers and spots the ostentatious green and black décor. She knows in an instant she's in the right place.

After a preparatory breath, she slips in through the door and then shuts it behind her once Snow joins her inside.  Turning toward a nearby sconce, Regina snaps her fingers, and it comes to life, bathing the room in a soft orange glow.  Her purpose for infiltrating Zelena's chambers is to find something, anything that could provide a clue as to her sister's plans or perhaps give an insight any potential weaknesses.  But before she can even begin the search, she sees something glinting in the corner of the room, something large and green and shrouded in shadows. 

“Zelena,” she growls, her magic flaring to life on instinct.  She reflexively raises her hand to summon a fireball and wastes no time in launching it in the direction of her sister.  

[mrsbhandari]

The First Mate’s Cabin

A/N: hi!! I don’t really have much to say about this one besides that I hope you like it!!! 

Word count: 2.4k 

Warnings: SMUT, language

Summary: Captured by a crazy Admiral with a hot Lieutenant and a dying pirate captain. Totes casual.

Tagging: @anotherbeingsworld, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @regina-and-happiness, @furiouscloddonutpeanut, @tyrilstarfuriesm, @my-name-is-lumien, @chiaras-choices, @courtesanofedenbrook, @mikealisgay, @arfeiniel, @jaxsmutsuo, @undermounts

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The panic was rising, crashing like the waves against the sides of the boat. There was chaos, fighting, struggle, and then silence, save for the pounding of boots on the wood floor and the light clinking of manacles. Eden couldn’t retaliate, couldn’t shout out, couldn’t find a way to revolt without getting a hilt to the head and a sword to the neck. 

If only my New York friends could see me now. The thought was accompanied by a bitter chuckle under her breath. I’m going to die here. Then she saw Edward, bloodied and battered, in his cell, and all thought outside cleaning his wounds left her head. 

“Oliver!” A swift hand to face shut her up, but stoked her rage. 

“Move along! I’ll take her from here.”

“But, sir--”

“Am I or am I not your superior officer?” Oliver’s sharp words complemented his sharp glare, icy and paralyzing. How the other officer wasn’t writhing on the ground in pain from it, she didn’t know. Sparing a glance toward the officer, she saw a frustrated look and reasoned that he must have been on the receiving end of the stare enough times to become immune. 

“Yes, sir.” He walked off after sending a tasteless comment about “her kind” over his shoulder and Eden turned her own glare on him. 

“You--”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes softening and hands reaching out to touch before he thought better of it and let them fall to his sides. Eden’s anger morphed into surprise at the ease in which he put his mask on and took it off. It was this that made her more wary than ever. “I hate how violent they are with you.”

“Well then, fix it! Tell them to stop! Are you or are you not their superior officer?” she demanded, echoing his words. His eyes flitted between hers, searching for something with a quiet intensity that knocked her breath out of her lungs. She took a deep breath, refusing to show him the effect he had on her. “Just...let me help Edward.” His gaze fell to the ground, but she craned her neck so he could still see her. “Please.”

“Granted.” He nodded and turned her around, the tips of his boots touching the heels of hers as he unlocked her binds, pushing her forward into the cell. When she turned back to look at her captor, his mask was back on and unreadable. 

“You have the power to help, you know.” His expression remained the same, but he shifted his feet. “Yet you do nothing.”

“I’m just following orders. It’s all I can do.”

“No. It’s not. It’s all you choose to do. Learn the difference.” He walked back up to the deck without replying. 

“Edward, Jesus, what did they do to you?” She fell to her knees and crawled to him, gently pulling his jacket off to get a better look at the deep cut through his shoulder. 

“Few punches, some light stabs. Nothing I can’t handle.” He hissed when her fingers brushed the wound. “Well, that hurts like a bitch.”

“I need supplies, antiseptic, stitches, painkillers…” she muttered, reaching through the bars for a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. “Assholes...taunting him with this.”

“Antiseptic?” Edward asked, eyes closely watching her as she raised a sponge to his skin. 

“It’s not important. Did I ever tell you how I broke my ankle in kindergarten?”

“In what?” 

“Oh..uh, like baby school,” she said it quickly and pressed the sponge to his wound, drawing out a pained groan. She quickly dove into her story, drawing out little laughs and more hurt grunts. 

“You’ve done enough for me.” He was looking at her with wide eyes rimmed with pain but filled with...something else. Eden leaned forward, lips growing closer to Edward’s until they were interrupted by a cough. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but the Admiral wishes to see you, Eden.” Oliver was standing with a straight back and a heavy glare centered on Edward, who returned it from the floor. 

“I’d get up to shake your hand for an official introduction, but I seem to be incapacitated at the moment,” Edward snapped, giving Oliver a wry smile.

“How unfortunate,” the Lieutenant retorted, seemingly uncaring. Eden, sensing the palpable tension, stood and walked over to Oliver. 

“I’ll be back soon,” she soothed, easily seeing the concern in her captain’s eyes. Oliver took hold of her wrist and pushed her up to the deck, but steered her into the first mate’s cabin instead of the Admiral’s dining room. “Wha--”

And then he was looking at her, their faces close, his lips wet, his brown eyes flicking to her mouth with the proximity. It was...suffocating and dangerous, sending a thrill to Eden’s heart and a shiver down her spine. His grip was tight on her wrists and he looked down at her, never bothering to even their height difference with bent knees. He always needed to be tall, and she felt little under his gaze. 

“I wanted to warn you about my father.” A quick bit of snark almost escaped her lips. Is that really all you wanted to do, Lieutenant? She held her tongue. “And provide an attire change. Admiral is particularly...hard to please.” He held up a large parcel. “Wear this to make him like you more.”

“I don’t need him to like me, I need your help to get the hell off this ship.” Oliver winced. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“So giving me clothes is in your duties but providing an escape from your murderous father isn’t?”

“I--”

“Don’t.” She snatched the parcel out of his hands and opened it, running her hand down the expensive fabric. “Wow.” 

“Admiral will like it.” He swallowed. “As will I.” 

Her eyes snapped up to his, something like anger and confusion clouding the iris, but it melted away when she saw how soft he was. His switch was flipped, and his human side was showing, and it made her heart beat fast in her chest. This wasn’t the Lieutenant; it was Oliver. His eyes were shining, searching for something he hoped she could find in herself to give. 

He wanted love.

She placed the package back into his hands and just as he had begun to regret giving her the dress, she let her jacket slide to the floor. There was a curiosity in his face, but she let nothing show on her own as she undressed, letting inch by inch of her body be exposed with every piece of fabric piled next to her feet. When she was only dressed in her undergarments, she looked back up at Oliver to see his eyes roving in wonder over her body, soaking in everything revealed to him. She walked forward and indicated for him to hold out the dress, trying to step into it on her own. When she found she couldn’t, her hand found his bicep, warm under the clothes covering his own skin. His breath caught and the muscle involuntarily flexed under her touch.

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head slightly when she was fully dressed again. Oliver was disappointed to see her completely covered, but tried to hide it. His blush gave everything away. 

“‘Twasn’t an issue.” She gave him a smile and reached her hand up, letting her fingertips run across his cheek. Her touch was featherlight and he sighed, closing his eyes and allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of her. All too soon, she pulled away and left to speak to the Admiral. 

The door was closed behind her, allowing him to fall against it with his head in his hands. His pants were embarrassingly tight after their encounter, and he shifted the fabric to give him the slightest relief. It barely worked. He closed his eyes, but the image of Eden, staring him down while revealing her naked body to him was burned into his brain, prompting even more naughty images to run through his mind, wreaking havoc on his impulse control. How badly he wanted to fuck her against this very door, how he wanted her to scream his name for the ship to hear, for his father to hear; it was bordering on too much. 

Yet the fact that she wasn’t in his arms this very second made it all seem like not enough. 

A knock on the door distracted him from his fantasies. “Sir?” He stood and collected himself with a deep breath before stepping out. 

“Apologies.” He walked off to his own quarters, eagerly awaiting for Eden’s meeting with the Admiral to end. 

---------------------------------------------

“Take her to the first mate’s cabin! I don’t want her interfering with Mortemer!” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Oliver’s ears perked up as he saw a struggling Eden being dragged into the room they had just shared their intimate scene in an hour prior. Leaning to one of the crew members, he kept his voice low to avoid his father’s suspicion.

“What happened?”

“Why, she flipped her lid! Began yelling at the Admiral and even threw her wine on him!” Admiral emerged from his dining room, dripping physically with wine and metaphorically with anger. 

“Don’t let her out!” he spoke louder than necessary to the guard standing by the door so his voice would carry into the room trapping her. A swift punch from the other side rattled the wood, but Admiral only laughed. “Keep trying!” His father offered a curt nod to his son before returning to his office, no doubt to deliberate a more specific area to comb through on the island indicated to hold the compass. Oliver waited until he was out of sight completely before turning to the soldier guarding Eden’s door. 

“I’d like time with the prisoner.” Oliver’s tone and icy air granted him passage. As he stepped into the room, Eden stood and prepared for a fight, but sat back down on the bed when she saw that it was just the Lieutenant. Her gaze was troubled and she fiddled with her hands in her lap, eyes turned to the floor. The mattress dipped when Oliver sat next to her. “I’m--”

She was kissing him. Her soft lips were on his, bringing back his memory of when they first met and they both had lied about their identities. It already seemed like a lifetime ago. But now, she was kissing him and running her hands through his hair and knocking his hat off and it was...breathtaking. There was an emotion behind it, one of deep fear. This could be the last time they could do this. She wanted to make it count. 

His fingers found their way to her back where they played with her corset strings until her hands joined his in tugging at them. She barely broke the kiss as she stepped out of the dress, and he still found his mind blanking at the sight of her. Taking his hand under hers, she ran it around her back and up her sides before settling on her right breast, kneading the skin beneath his fingers and relishing the sweet sounds that spilled into his mouth. She moved to straddle him, pressing her hips down into his and making him gasp. She needed him to help her forget, and it was becoming an increasingly easy task. 

“Tell me what to do, Lieutenant.” He felt his dick twitch in his underwear at her breathy lilt and his powerful rank, effortlessly slipping into the role. 

“Get on your knees.” She whimpered and followed his orders, sinking down to the floor and palming his erection through his pants. He let a groan fall and quickly undressed, exposing himself to the cold air of the cabin. He knew that the soldiers on the other side of the door could most definitely hear what was going on, but as she looked up at him with those big eyes and twitching hands, eager to please him, he couldn’t have cared less. Her fingers grabbed his cock and she wasted no time in wrapping her lips around him, taking him in to the hilt and letting his tip hit the back of her throat. He gasped and let his head fall back, wild colors exploding behind his eyelids as she began to move, hollowing her cheeks and running her tongue along a prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. She traced the slit of his cock with her tongue and he was gone, gripping her hair as she swallowed load after load of his cum. “Fuck.” 

She pulled off him with a pop and climbed back up on the bed, straddling one of his thighs and kissing him with an intensity strong enough to nearly knock him back. Her lips moved down to his jaw and neck, biting just hard enough to jolt some nerves, but not enough to leave marks, even though she really wanted to paint his skin as the ultimate fuck you to the Admiral. Her hips ground down on his thigh, prompting moans that were muffled into the skin of his throat. After hearing the smallest of whimpers, he lost nearly all control and gripped her hips, moving her body for her and flexing his thigh. She nearly screamed as she came, and he swallowed the sound with a deep kiss as she writhed against him, coating his thigh in her slick. 

“Oliver…” she gasped, still sensitive, and he gently helped her up to lay on the bed. He dressed before handing Eden her old clothes, only helping with her underwear and pants while she pulled on her shirt. “C’mere,” she beckoned, giving him a searing kiss when he got close enough. He smiled into it, briefly forgetting the world outside the door of the cabin. 

“Load the cannons!” a muffled voice on the deck shouted, and Oliver immediately left the room, closing the door behind him for Eden. 

“What’s happening?” 

“The Poseidon’s Revenge is going down, that’s what.” 

In the chaos, Eden was left unguarded in her cabin and walked out, watching as the order for the cannons was received. She leaned over the railing and nearly fell overboard before two soldiers pulled her back, holding her arms tight in their grip. She looked on, helpless as her ship was engulfed in flames, slowly falling into the sea.

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.20

Camelot. Valley. Continued. (Queen Annis heads toward her niece as Morgana turns with a scowl and disappears into Caerleon’s army.) Merida: "What in heaven's name have you done?" Queen Annis: "Hello, Merida. What a pleasant surprise to see you." Merida: "You cannot trust Morgana, she's-" Queen Annis: (Interrupting:) "Allowed me to do what you could not? The once mighty Arthur Pendragon lies dead at my command, not yours. I should always have been the one to claim Dun Broch's throne after Fergus' death." Merida: "I am his daughter and rightful Queen of Dun Broch." Queen Annis: (Scoffs:) "Your people are welcome to you. I have just claimed half of all Camelot in Caerleon's name. You can barely control the members of your own clan." Merida: (When Annis turns to leave:) “Don’t be taken in by Morgana’s fine words. She is consumed by bitterness, it spreads within her like a disease.” Queen Annis: “Have you forgotten how Arthur killed your father? Do you not deny that you sought revenge?” Merida: “Yes, I sought revenge. But that doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do.” Queen Annis: (Laughs with derision:) “You are weak, Merida, as I always thought you were.” (Annis walks away. Hidden in the crowd, Morgana sees Xena and Gabrielle searching for someone. Suspecting that they mean her harm, Morgana turns her attention to Darian and, her eyes glowing, uses her powers on him. Grimacing momentarily, Darian shakes his head. Looking beside him, Darian pulls his long sword from Arthur’s chest and stalks toward his new targets. Spotting Morgana before she disappears further into the crowd, Anastasia turns to see the giant about to split Xena in two with an overhead swing. Thinking quickly, Anastasia uses her powers and Darian's sword disappears mid-swing. Turning to face their attacker, both Xena and Gabrielle draw their weapons.) Gabrielle: "By the gods, he's almost as big as-" Xena: "Grinhilda, I know!" (Ducking a fist from Darian, Xena rolls out of the way. Gabrielle fearlessly jumps onto the behemoth's back but is flung to the ground for her trouble.)

(Xena runs up behind Darian and slashes him across the back. The giant falls to his knees and Gabrielle kicks him down. Xena is poised to strike when soldiers surround them, aiming their crossbows while Agravaine looks on from above. Seeing Xena and Gabrielle stand back to back before being restrained and shackled, Merida surges forward, but is held back by Anastasia.) Merida: (Struggling against her:) “Let me go! We have to help them!” Anastasia: “No! No! We can't help them now. But we can help each other!" (Anastasia waves her hand and they disappear in a cloud of smoke.)

Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. (Returning from the station, Regina walks along the pathway to admire Emma's handiwork.) Regina: "Hey." Emma: (Turns:) "Hey. Be careful not to trip over any branches." Regina: (Smiles, looking around:) "I'm very impressed." Emma: "Thanks. It's been needing a good going over for awhile now." Regina: "Haven't we all." Emma: (Chuckles:) "You're insatiable." Regina: "Only for you." (They kiss.) Emma: "I've raked the leaves, mowed the lawn and now I'm just finishing up with the hedges." Regina: "Well don't work too hard, you can always just do all this magically." Emma: (Wipes the sweat from her brow with her arm:) "Yeah, I know, but sometimes it's nice to do things the old fashioned way, get a good sweat going." Regina: "I can see that." Emma: (Smiles:) "Don't worry, now that you’re home, I'll use my magic to clear the rest up once I'm done." Regina: "Okay, good. Is Maria sleeping?" Emma: "No, I've got her picking apples from your tree. (When Regina raises an eyebrow:) Relax. (Leans down and picks up the baby monitor:) She went down about half an hour ago." (Tosses it to Regina.) Regina: (Catching it:) "All right well I'll leave you to it. But you know... (Curling her finger into one of Emma's belt loops and pulling her close:) if this is the kind of thing I'm going to be coming home to, I think our retirement is going to be pretty sweet." Emma: "Oh, you have no idea." (They kiss once more, pulling each other close with their free hands as Emma holds the chainsaw in one and Regina cradles Maria's baby monitor in the other.) Forest. Stream. (Lancelot and Guinevere walk along the forest path beside a stream.) Lancelot: “We’re not far now. This stream leads to the lake.” Guinevere: “How did you know?” Lancelot: “I’ve been here many times.” Guinevere: “No, not about the lake. How did you know my feelings for Arthur weren’t real?” Lancelot: “Well... because he’d only been back a day and there was no way you could have possibly forgiven him for those years he kept you by his side against your will.” Guinevere: “Did you suspect, even back then?” Lancelot: “I suppose I always held out hope that you would one day leave him, but I couldn’t have imagined Arthur capable of such an evil act.” Guinevere: “Well, they do say love makes you do strange things. Despite everything that came after, I believe Arthur truly did love me in the beginning.” Lancelot: “What he did to keep you was not an act of love. It was cowardly and unforgivable. Love is about finding someone and thinking about them all the time. It’s about caring about them more than anyone or anything. The Arthur I knew was only ever concerned about his destiny. He never deserved you, Guin.” (Their conversation is cut short at the sound of a rider approaching. Morgana rides through the woods and pulls her horse to a halt at the sight of them.)

Morgana: (Smiles:) “My my. What a delicious coincidence?” Lancelot: “Run Guin! I’ll hold her off.” Morgana: “Aw. How sweet.” (Guinevere begins to run as Lancelot pulls his sword and charges at Morgana. Urging her horse into a gallop, Morgana rides straight at Lancelot. Conjuring a lance into her hand at the last moment, Morgana almost decapitates Lancelot with it, knocking him down to land hard on the forest floor, unconscious. Laughing, Morgana drops the lance and turns her attention towards Guinevere.) A Short Distance Away. (Guinevere dashes through the forest, passing a tree and inadvertently snaps one of its branches in her rush. Morgana continues her pursuit and stops to look for any signs. Spotting the snapped branch, Morgana smiles and heads off in that direction.) Storybrooke. Granny's Diner. (Snow White and Henry sit together in a booth while Henry wears a stunned expression on his face.) Henry: "You're not serious?" Snow White: "Well why not? I'd say you'd be uniquely qualified for the position." Henry: "How did you come to that conclusion?" Snow White: "Henry, you've literally written the book on everyone in this town. Plus, growing up with Regina, you must have sat in on your fair share of Town Hall meetings?" Henry: "Yeah and I was bored out of my mind through all of them. I'm sorry, Grandma, but I'm not the guy you want to run as mayor." (Henry stands.) Snow White: "Promise me you'll at least think about it. It would mean working shorter hours and a heck of a lot less time spent in your car." Henry: "Hey, the taxi service might be a dead end job but at least it has the possibility of excitement. Listening to people complain all day and then going blind doing paperwork is about as far from where I wanna be as I can think of." Snow White: (Slides out of the booth:) "All right, so where do you want to be?" Henry: "I don't know... off on an adventure with my fiancee somewhere. As a matter of fact, I'm only back driving because Ella and I couldn't decide on where we should start looking for one."

Merlin: "I might be able to point you in the right direction." (Snow White and Henry both turn to look at the Sorcerer who sits alone at a table.) Henry: "You know where Ella and I can find ourselves an adventure?" Merlin: "Yes. I believe I know just the place." Henry: "That's great. Where is it?" Merlin: "Ah. Before I tell you, you must first do something for me." Henry: (Looks to Snow White who is unsure about this:) "All right, what is it?" Merlin: "You must promise me that you won't tell your mothers I had anything to do with aiding you on your quest." Henry: (Smiles:) "Deal." Swan-Mills House. (Regina checks in on Maria who's still sleeping soundly, laying on her back with her arms up over her head. Smiling, Regina wonders just what her child could be dreaming about. Although not prone to crying like her big brother was at this age, Maria would nevertheless refuse to sleep alone during Emma's prolonged absence. Indeed, Regina would often find herself watching Maria drift off on those sleepless nights they shared a bed. The fact that on the night of Emma's return, Maria resumed sleeping in her cot without fussing once, only helped confirm Regina's theory that her daughter didn't much like the idea of her mother spending her nights alone. Backing out of the room, Regina leaves the door ajar and heads towards the staircase. Stopping at the large window that overlooks the garden, Regina notices that Emma is still hard at work. Captivated at the sight of the muscles in her wife's arms flexing, accentuated by the perspiration glistening in the sunlight, Regina sinks down onto the window seat to continue watching the show.)

Forest. Continued. (Guinevere runs at full speed now as Morgana gallops through the woods. Guinevere falls, but gets up quickly and keeps going only for Morgana to catch up and cut her off.) Morgana: “Guin. Nice to see you again. Oh, you’ve forgotten. I’ve hunted these woods since I was a child.” Guinevere: “Morgana, please, we were friends once, were we not?” Morgana: “You misunderstand me. I only wish to help. The path to Camelot is that way.” (Morgana points.) Guinevere: “It’s you who has forgotten it seems. I know these woods, too.” Forest Road. Past. (Morgana and Guinevere ride through the woods with an escort.) Morgana: “You look troubled, Guin.” Gunivere: “I’m fine.” Morgana: “You’re very secretive these days. I’m beginning to think there’s a man involved.” Guinevere: (Scoffs:) “When do I get to meet any decent men?” (Suddenly, their party is attacked.) Sir Robert: “My ladies, you must follow me!” (The knight is shot in the back. Guin and Morgana are pulled off their horses. A knight kills the men holding them.) Morgana: “Guin! Head for the path! Go! (Guinevere and Morgana run up the hill, but Kendrick is waiting for them:) I warn you. I am the daughter of Uther Pendragon. He’ll have your heads if any harm comes to me.” Kendrick: “I have no intention of harming you. At least not yet. You’re much more valuable to me alive, Lady Morgana.” Bandit’s Camp. (Morgana and Guinevere observe the bandits from inside a tent.) Morgana: “He’s coming. You know what you must do?” (Guinevere nods.) Kendrick: “I trust you are comfortable?” Morgana: “I demand to know where you’re taking us.” Kendrick: “You’ll find out soon enough. We’ve a long journey ahead of us. Get some rest.” (Kendrick turns to leave, but Morgana walks out of the tent after him.) Morgana: “I wish to bathe.” Kendrick: “You wish to bathe?” Morgana: “I am the King’s daughter and accustomed to certain standards. I am sure you are quite contented to stink like a pig, but I am not.” Kendrick: (Speaks loudly so his men can hear:) “The Lady Morgana wishes to bathe! Who wants to help me guard her?” (Coarse laughter rises from the men.) A Short Time Later. (Morgana begins to undress by a stream, two men guarding her and Guinevere.) Kendrick: “You may find the water a little icy.” Morgana: “I’m sure I’ll manage. (Glances over to see one of the men holding on to Guinevere’s arm. To Kendrick:) If you were any kind of gentleman, you’d give me some privacy.” Kendrick: “Well, unfortunately for you I am no kind of gentleman. Now get on with it.” (Kendrick chuckles and moves closer to her. Morgana removes her outer garment and the second bandit lets go of Guinevere to get a closer look himself.) Morgana: “You can at least turn your backs.” Kendrick: “So you can make a run for it. Do you think I’m that stupid?” Morgana: “I think you’re very stupid. (Guinevere pulls Kendrick’s sword and Morgana hits him, Guinevere tosses her the sword and Morgana slashes both men. To Guinevere:) Run! (The men pursue them through the woods:) No, no, this way!” (Guinevere stumbles and twists her ankle, Morgana stops and goes back to her.) Guinevere: “Run!” Morgana: “Put your arm around my shoulder, come on!” Guinevere: “No, no, no. We’ll never outrun them, you must go on without me!” Morgana: “I’m not leaving you behind!” Forest. Present. (Morgana smiles at the memory.) Morgana: “I remember very well. Truth is, it doesn’t matter which way you go. As long as you’re around, the people will always love you more.” Guinevere: “Morgana, please...” Morgana: “I can’t say I blame them really. You are far too delicate a soul to be mixed up in all this, Guin. I think it’s time to take you off the chessboard and release you from your burdens. (Not sticking around to find out what Morgana means by that, Guinevere starts running. Morgana’s eyes glow and Guinevere screams as she is thrown against a tree. Guinevere falls to the ground, unconscious. Moving her horse to stand over Guinevere:) Nu bebiede ic þe þæt þu lætest þine flæsc sclice gelic nysse. Wyrþ deor!” (Morgana’s eyes glow and a golden shimmer glows over Guinevere’s body. Morgana leaves with a smirk.)

Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. (Pleased at a job well done, Emma waves her arms in all directions, magically sending all the garden debris into the recycling bin. Brushing her hands together, Emma starts whistling a familiar tune while she gathers up her gardening tools. Her arms now fully laden, Emma turns around to walk back up the path when she catches sight of a vision sitting in the upstairs window. Emitting a long appreciative whistle, Emma drops the tools noisily to the ground as she stares up at Regina, who is clad only in her underwear where any passerby could see her.) Window. (Smiling at Emma's reaction, Regina crooks her finger at her, indicating that she should come inside.) Outside. (Smiling at her wife's brazenness and not needing to be invited twice, Emma walks towards the house.) Forest. (Merida walks several paces ahead of Anastasia, clearly agitated.) Anastasia: (Stops walking:) "So you're pissed at me, is that it?" Merida: (Rounding on her:) "I am furious at you. How could we just leave them there?!" Anastasia: "If we had stayed, we'd be prisoners too." Merida: "Not necessarily. We could have fought. You could've used your magic to-" Anastasia: "To what? Blast the soldiers out of our way?" Merida: "Well it would've been something!" Anastasia: "I understand full well that you only invited me into this little gang of yours because I have magic. But if I used it as callously as you think I should, wouldn't that make me just as bad as Morgana? (Merida says nothing:) You know I'm right." Merida: "Yeah, but I don't have to like it." Anastasia: (Smiles:) "Come on, it'll be getting dark soon and I'm starving. What say you catch and I cook?" Merida: (Softening:) "I wouldn't hold your breath, there doesn't look to be any signs of life out here." Anastasia: "Well, I could always give you a five minute head start, Merida." Merida: "Funny." Anastasia: (Spots movement in the bushes:) "Deer!" (They chase after a doe running through the woods. Splitting up, Anastasia slows to a walk while Merida carries on ahead. She spots the doe and it looks at her. Anastasia senses something and hears Guinevere’s weeping. Anastasia realises what’s happened when she sees Guinevere’s running reflection as the doe passes by a small puddle. Merida arrives and passes Anastasia before taking aim.) Merida: “Well aren’t you a beauty?” (Coming to her senses too slowly to react, Anastasia watches in horror as Merida fires.) Anastasia: “No!”

[welllpthisishappening]

All Was Golden in the Sky (5/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Hey, thanks for reading. It’s real nice. Here you’ll find: more memories, queen-esque Regina, an actually researched history of obscure knights of the Round table and my thoughts on pizza crust. @resident-of-storybrooke​ @distant-rose​ and @bmbbcs4evr​ continue to be the best.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

—

Regina’s eye keeps twitching. 

It’s happened six times in the last five minutes. It’s unnerving. 

“You’re sighing very loudly, love,” Killian mutters, the words pressed against the side of Emma’s arm. They’re more or less sharing the same chair, Emma perched on the side with Killian’s fingers tracing absent-minded patterns against her back. 

She tries to focus on that. And sighs again. 

“It’s because she keeps making that face,” Emma reasons. She does her best to keep her voice down – Ruby on the phone with the contingent from Storybrooke because they’d spent no more than a few moments processing the idea of Excalibur before they realized they needed to come up with a plan. 

And confirm that Excalibur was a real thing. 

Regina is the only person who would know that. 

“Yeah, she does have that eye thing happening quite a bit, doesn’t she?” Killian asks. “Is that a normal thing for her?” Emma makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat. “She’s always kind of...I don’t know, is tense an insult?” “Depends on the context, I suppose.”

“Very much so in this context,” Regina snaps, and Emma winces. She clearly was not doing a very good job of keeping her voice down. “Yeah,” Regina nods. “Strangely enough, I can still hear you.” “I didn’t want to bother you,” Emma says, but that’s an excuse and a lie and neither one of them are very good. 

Regina’s eye twitches again. “Sure you didn’t. You just called after several days of rather resounding radio silence and--” “--Silence can’t be loud, Madam Mayor.” Her eye stops twitching. It narrows, instead. That’s ten-thousand times worse. “Whatever, I’m just saying.” “And I am just saying that the idea of Excalibur is more of a myth than the Dark One. It’s…” Regina shakes her head, waving both hands in the air and that might be more disconcerting than anything else that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. Which is saying a lot. 

She looks worried. And incredulous. And there’s just a hint of terror on the edge of her suddenly-still eyes. 

“I don’t think we can deny the existence of the Dark One, right?” Will asks. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, back leaning up against Belle’s bent legs because they might have gotten out of the kitchen eventually, but she resolutely refused to stop researching. 

Emma’s fairly certain she’s looking up the history of every single knight of the round table. 

There are, apparently, quite a few. 

The phone in Storybrooke changes hands, more than a few mumbled curses and actual curses of the magical variety. There’s still a bruise on David’s cheek. “Who are you again?” he asks sharply, lips going dangerously thin. 

Emma’s whole body shifts when she sighs that time.

“Don’t do that, Em,” David chastises. “This is...I mean, that’s a fair question right? Regina’s got a point. We’ve barely heard from you for days, which, you know, we weren’t worried you were dead or anything.” Emma scrunches her nose, something that feels a hell of a lot like shame slinking down her spine. Ruby lets out a low whistle. “Jeez, Deputy, laying it on almost a little too thick, huh?” “He’s your Deputy?” Killian asks, genuine interest in the question. She shrugs. 

“Don’t let him hear you call him that. I think he secretly hates it.” “Oh my God,” David groans. “I do not hate it. I--you know what? That is not the point. The point is that a million things have happened here and now you’re calling from some stranger’s apartment telling us that you got attacked by minions and were told the only way to defeat the Dark One was to find some sword that shouldn’t exist.”

He makes an absolutely absurd noise as soon as his jaw snaps shut – all frustration and fury and his fingers flexing quickly, a move he’d been using as long as Emma can remember to help funnel his magic. It’s oddly similar to what Ursula claimed Killian was doing in the bar. That’s probably not important. 

“Should I repeat myself about the obvious status of the Dark One?” Will asks again, and Emma lets her head fall forward. 

She’s exhausted, drained, like her muscles are overstretched and hanging off her bones and every visual her brain comes up with is worse than the last. The weight of the world is, in fact, incredibly heavy. 

“I don’t think you have to do that,” Mary Margaret says reasonably, moving into the frame with a soft smile that almost helps Emma’s magic settle. “Also, um...because we have some news too.”

Emma’s head snaps up as quickly as it fell, every single inch of her spine cracking in the process. She almost falls off the chair, any other emotion she’d been feeling a moment before immediately transforming into pure, powerful magic. 

There are sparks at the ends of her fingers. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Emma mutters, shaking her hand like that will help. It does not. If anything it makes it worse, light and heat flying off her in equal measure and threaten to set Belle’s area rug on fire. 

That would be kind of rude. All things considered. 

“Whoa,” Will breathes, and that’s a fair reaction. All things considered. Again. “Is that normal?” Ruby shakes her head slowly, but Emma knows that’s also a fairly pitiful lie and she must have been about thirteen years old. It had been warm, sweat dotting her temple and pooling at the bottom of her spine and Emma snuck out of the house. 

She hadn’t run, couldn’t really, it was far too hot for that, but every step took her further away from the center of town, a meandering path that led directly to the harbor and the docks and the water. She can still remember the smell of the salt, stinging her nose and settling on her tongue and she hadn’t been sleeping very well. 

Her magic had been too strong for that. 

It flared unexpectedly, a burst of power and flash of light and no one seemed to know what to do with it. It scared her. Because she scared everyone else. 

And Emma doesn’t really remember much, but she knows she sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the top of barely cresting waves, trying to fix herself. She was positive there was something inherently wrong with her. 

She needed to do something. 

Of course, she couldn’t do anything. Magic doesn’t work like that. It appears and exists and has to be accepted to be understood, but Emma was thirteen and no one told her any of that and she never really understood what happened next. 

The memory is hazy, like she’s staring at the scene through warped glass, but she knows there were sparks at the ends of her fingers, an energy that surged through her – from the tip of her head to the heels of her feet and she was positive she was only a moment away from combusting. Until she wasn’t. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, salt-filled air and heat that left her cheeks more than just a little red, letting herself be. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just Emma. 

As if that was enough. 

And she knew –  knows, present tense – it was impossible, there was no one else there, but Emma can’t shake the feeling, the brush of fingers against the back of her hand and a quiet it’s ok, you’re ok that settled in the back of her consciousness like it was, simply, waiting for her to remember it. 

That may, however, have something to do with the voice saying those exact words in this exact moment. Presently. Again. 

“Hey, hey,” Killian murmurs, crouching in front of Emma with his thumb on her lip. She’s biting it, that’s why. “It’s ok. You’re ok. Just breathe, love.” Emma nods, not sure if she’s agreeing or just hoping that she can agree. “Is the rug on fire?” “No. And it’d be a mercy killing if it was.” “Hey,” Belle says. She’s still typing. “I mean--ok, that’s actually kind of fair.” Killian hums, and Emma doesn’t have to open her eyes to know that he’s smiling. She does anyway. “No burns, right? Not to the rug. You. I’m…” “I know what you’re asking, Swan,” Killian cuts in, and Emma can barely make out Mary Margaret’s quiet questions from the phone Ruby is still holding. “And also no. I’m fine. We’re fine, ok?” She nods again, shaking her hair off her shoulders like that will get rid of some of the excess heat lingering around her. Emma feels impossibly warm, like the goddamn sun or something. 

Like someone whose magic is freaking the fuck out. 

“So, uh…” Ruby starts, barely moving her lips when she speaks, “when’s the last time you lost control like that?” “Years,” Emma answers honestly. “Not since I was a kid. God, that was horrible.” “Yeah, it wasn’t the best to watch if I’m being perfectly honest.” “That’s not helpful,” Killian hisses, and his knees have got to be killing him. That position doesn’t look comfortable at all. 

“Ok, who did the seeress refer to as protector before, sailor?” Killian glares at her. “Yeah,” Ruby nods. “That’s what I thought. I win or whatever.” “Whatever,” Emma echoes. She inhales sharply, letting it out almost immediately and that’s probably a mistake. Her vision is still a little fuzzy, but they’ve got a world to save and maybe her magic will be normal if they do something about the several imminent threats bearing down on all of them. 

“Wait, was that a joke?” David asks, disbelief in the question and his eyebrows pulled low. “About the guy?” “Which guy?” “He’s the hallway guy, isn’t it he?” Regina mutters knowingly, and Emma should not still be able to feel embarrassment after spending the last few seconds lighting up like several fireworks. The world, however, does not seem to care. Will snickers. “Look, Jones, it’s cool that you were so weird about it, Emma’s fighting super evil and she’s still talking about you with her friends.” Maybe Emma’s face is the thing that caught on fire. 

She refuses to make eye contact with Killian, but...something, something, it doesn’t matter. Her gaze pulls up anyway, and he’s not smirking at her the way she expects. He’s staring at her, heavy and intent, like she’s the single most important thing in however many realms there may actually be. 

They’re all very bad at having a concise conversation. 

“Yeah,” Emma says, but the word doesn’t really sound like it comes from her. It sounds a little breathless and a little hopeful and she’s not either one of those things. She’s alone on the edge of the Storybrooke dock with magic roaring through her and the fear that no one will ever be able to contend with the loneliness that wraps itself around her like heat on a summer day. 

Until…

She’s insane. 

“You’re thinking something, David,” Ruby accuses. “What is it?” David shakes his head. “I’ve got no idea. I thought I--let Mary Margaret tell you, she’s the one who talked to the guy.” “A different guy than hallway guy?” “Obviously,” Killian grumbles. “I’m sitting right here.” “Also, crouching if you want to get technical.” “I do not want to get technical.” “At least about this, maybe,” Belle adds, fingers flying across keys. “Hey did you guys know that Sir Gawain had a brother?” No one answers. That doesn’t deter her. Emma is not surprised. “Yeah, yeah,” she continues, “he was named a Knight by Lancelot after he won a sword in a jousting competition. That’s a fun fact, right?” “What happened to him?” Killian asks, and Emma gets the very strong feeling he already knows the answer. 

Belle grimaces. “He, uh...he died. Lancelot kills him. By accident though, so, you know, that’s kind of nice!”

“Does this have a point?” Regina hisses. “We are a little strapped for time.”

“I’m just trying to find something that may help. If we’re going to try and get Excalibur sooner rather than later, we should know as much as we can about the knights, right?” Regina doesn’t answer. Emma’s never going to stop sighing. 

Killian kisses the curve of her shoulder. 

“Not really a lot known about Gareth. That’s this guy’s name, by the way. He was close to Lancelot, though. Didn’t want to rest on his brother’s laurels, either. So, another bonus point. Wanted to prove himself and make his own name and wasn’t all that interested in just blindly following Arthur.” “Yuh huh,” Regina says. “Fascinating.” “Regina,” Mary Margaret chides. It doesn’t do any good – Emma didn’t think it would, but she’s still riding this hope thing and she refuses to be held accountable for whatever her emotions do when Killian continues to look at her like that. 

“Ok,” Emma says, hand reaching for Killian’s without much thought. He winks at her. Ridiculous. “Can we, um...can we try and figure something out? As much as I would love to know about very specific Knights of the Round Table--” “--There were only twelve,” Belle interrupts, mumbling a quick apology when Regina’s glare grows even more pointed. 

Emma’s jaw aches when she clicks her teeth together. “M’s, who is this guy you were talking to? Does it have to do with the sword?”

Mary Margaret nods, flashing Emma a sympathetic smile – and she hadn’t noticed before that there’s a fairly deep cut on the side of her face. “I’m fine,” she says, answering a question Emma hasn’t actually asked. “It’s...well, it hurt like hell, actually, but--” “--Oh my God, that might be the most incredible thing that’s happened today,” Ruby crows, a whoop of laughter and an arm slung around Emma’s shoulders. 

“The hallway guy is right,” Mary Margaret says. “You’re not making this any easier. And, uh...well, this is pretty important. In that we’ve also been dealing with a minion.”

Emma tries to tug her hand back to her side – before it can spark again, but Killian’s grip tightens, pulling her arm up lightly to brush his lips over the bend of her knuckles. “Still fine, Swan.” He twists his head up, turning his gaze to Mary Margaret. She doesn’t blink. That’s probably a good thing. “How did you get cut, ma’am?” Ruby snickers. Mary Margaret looks impressed. 

Emma kind of feels like she’s dying. 

“Oh, uh,” Mary Margaret stammers. “Well, the minion, guy, really--he’s a guy, he claims his name is Isaac, but, um...he was hiding out in the library when we found him and he kind of...slashed me.” Definitely dying.

Emma’s eyes bug, jaw dropping and breath rushing out of her in a sound that is far more dramatic than a run-of-the-mill sigh. “Are you kidding me?” 

“It’s not that bad.” “She’s lying,” David objects. “It’s definitely that bad, but we didn’t want to overshadow your bad and impossible with our equally bad and maybe even more impossible.” “You all are terrible conversationalists,” Will says. “Honestly, it’s no wonder your magic is dying, you can’t string more than a few words together at a time.”

“Remember that time we saved you?” Ruby asks archly. 

“Nuh uh. We got that amulet back on you. That’s like a trillion points in whatever magical point system you guys are running with.” “That’s just an Emma and Jones flirting thing. I want no part in that.” “Oh, yeah, fair.” “You know, we’re still sitting right here,” Killian sneers. 

Will hums. “True, true. Ok, I promise not to interrupt with anymore pointed opinions if someone will actually tell me what is going on. That’s also fair, right?” “I still have no idea who you are,” David says. His eyes flit to Emma when she makes another noise – and they’re just getting more and more depressing at this point – expression turning understanding because they’ve spent far too much time together. There’s really not that much crime in Storybrooke. Usually. 

The whole magical attack is kind of a weird, statistical outlier. 

“You ok, Em?” 

She scoffs, lips quirking up anyway and David hasn’t actually asked for more information about Killian. Emma can’t quite wrap her mind around that. Maybe it’s also an outlier. “Just waiting for your guys’ news and how I can go steal Excalibur.” “You’re not stealing it,” Regina objects. “Taking it, yes. Because it’s very likely yours.That is, of course, if it even exists.” “You’re genuinely a beacon of hope, your majesty,” Ruby drawls, Killian jerking slightly at the title. Emma blinks at the sight, more than a little surprised because she can see the flicker of recognition flash across his features and-- “The minion claims he’s the reason they’re all here,” Mary Margaret says suddenly. The room freezes. Killian’s grip turns vice-like. 

“What does that mean?” Emma asks, fairly positive she doesn’t actually want the answer. “Here. As in they came from somewhere else. Another realm somewhere else?” “How do you know that?” “Our minions claimed the same thing. Said this was the Land Without Magic and that it had taken some time for them to get here, but…” 

Emma glances at Killian, not sure when they started being able to communicate telepathically, but it’s kind of nice. So is the smile she gets in return. 

“Ursula, a mythical sea witch who seemed determined to drown us all with a soda gun, suggested that I was not who I believe I am,” Killian explains. “She and her dog-controlling friend--” “--Wait, wait,” Mary Margaret gasps. “Dog controlling? Like Cruella?” Killian nods. “That’s who Isaac knows. Ok, the random guy is right, we’re honestly all awful at this.” “I do have a name, you know,” Will mutters, but no one glances his direction and Belle appears to have stopped typing. Her eyes are very wide. 

Mary Margaret nods enthusiastically. “And I promise I will learn it at some point, but right now, I think both of our minion situations are connected. Also it may explain how Excalibur got here.” “Where are you going with this, M’s?” Emma asks. “And how did you get hurt?” “I told you that, already. Isaac did it. He--ok, this is exactly what happened. Yesterday, probably around the same time you were all being drowned via soda gun, David and I were patrolling the town. It’s been relatively quiet since He left, but we know there are still people here and magic is still spiking and surging and nothing is consistent. 

So we’ve been trying to make sure that everyone we know is staying safe. We went into the library when we saw a light in one of the windows and that’s where we found Isaac. He was sitting in the corner, books strewn everywhere.” “But they all had a very similar theme,” David says, Emma’s eyebrows jumping at the addition. “Fairy tales. And legends. Things that were very similar to what you were looking up before.”

“Fairy tales,” Emma repeats. “Why?” “He said it was research,” Mary Margaret. “For getting back. To where we’re all from.” Emma genuinely has no response for that. Everyone else, however, does. Killian shakes his head and Ruby curses under her breath and Will’s laugh sounds like he’s coming unhinged just a little bit. 

“I’m just the messenger,” Mary Margaret continues. “We found him there, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. And the smell--” She shivers, both hands lifted in something that is as close as she’s ever gotten to disgust. “Anyway, we wanted to know what he was doing and he said he was finishing the job, researching where it went wrong for us. In our story.” Emma blinks. “That’s insane.” “Yeah, well…” “And how did you get cut?” “He kind of, uh...lunged at me? He started monologue'ing. We wanted to know what he was doing there and he said he was the one who brought them to this realm. He kept using that phrase. This realm. Said he wrote it that way and if he wrote it, then it had to come true.” “I don’t understand.” “He claims he’s a magical author,” Regina says, sounding more than a little bored. “He thinks he’s got a special pen that, if he uses very specific blood--” “--I’m sorry, what?” “Do you want to hear the story or not, Ms. Swan?” Emma rolls her eyes. “That’s what I thought. This man claims if he uses a specific person’s blood in his pen he can rewrite their entire life story, transport them from one realm to another and, he claims, that he’s the reason Storybrooke was attacked. That he wrote it that way, brought the Dark One and his minions here. So that they could regain what was rightfully his.”

“He used that phrasing exactly?” Ruby asks. “His?” Regina’s answering nod is quick and a little twitchy, as if she can’t decide if she actually wants to move her head. “I thought that was strange too, but, like I said, he’s adamant. Says he can prove it if we just give him some paper.” “Because he can teleport people?” “It’s not just that,” May Margaret says. “He thinks he can change it all. That’s how he knows Cruella. Said he wrote it so that she could control any kind of animal she comes in contact with.”

“Shit, that’s terrifying,” Will muses, Emma humming in agreement. “And how exactly did he meet the Dark One? On a double date with Cruella and her dogs?” “He claims the Dark One found him,” Regina answers. “Was looking for a way out of a place he calls Misthaven.”

“To the Land Without Magic,” David says. 

Emma opens her mouth. Only to close it. And open it again. Her jaw cracks more than once. “But that’s not true,” she argues. “This isn’t a land without magic. I teleported us here last night. That was some pretty serious magic.” “Did you seriously?” “Yeah,” she laughs, a wholly out of place reaction to her own potential control and possible power. Killian squeezes her hand. “So this guy’s a great, big, giant liar, right?” Regina clicks her tongue. “I don’t know.” “What? What do you mean you don’t know?” “Exactly what those words mean in that order. This man is...he seems to at least be cognizant. And he was very adamant that it was Mary Margaret’s blood he needed. Said something about kismet and how that would help us all when this was over.” “How?” “So we could get home.” Emma cannot possibly shake her head more. She’s going to hurt her throat if she sighs again. “Is that not what I’m trying to do now?” “This guy claims we aren’t from here,” Regina says, barely more than a whisper and Emma’s never heard her use that tone. Like she’s just as scared as the rest of them. “He is under the impression that we are all part of the royal family of the court of Misthaven.” Will’s laugh is uproarious. It grates on Emma’s ears. 

She doesn’t make a single nose, mind racing far too quickly to do that while she tries to piece together bits of a puzzle she didn’t realize she was trying to figure out. She’s going to need stitches in her lower lip. 

“That’s what they were saying,” Belle breathes. “Ursula and the dog lady. They kept calling Emma your highness when we were in the bar. They were surprised she didn’t understand. Like...it should have been obvious.” “Well, if I were a royal I’d be upset I forgot about it,” Will shrugs. 

Emma still can’t quite remember how to form words, and the grip on her hand has turned alarmingly slack in the last few moments. That helps with the word thing. “Babe,” she mumbles, ignoring whatever noise both Mary Margaret and David make at that. “Hey, what’s--you’re thinking something.” Killian’s mouth quirks up, not quite a smile, but almost and Emma figures almost is about as good as she can expect right now. “You said the Dark One was a story when you were young, right? A nightmare?”

“Yeah.” “And he could do what, exactly?” “You mean, like, magic wise?” Killian nods solemnly, and Emma’s mind drifts back to stories she heard when she was a kid, muted voices and quiet threats and...a flicker of candlelight and flash of darkness and--

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see you.” “Swan, that’s--” “--C’mon, don’t do that. It’s...ok, I know you probably can’t, but it’s been weeks, Killian and…” She makes a disgruntled noise when he curls his fingers around her shoulder, a quick tap of his thumb against the sleeve of her dress and the sun is warm on the back of her neck. 

The smell of salt is impossibly strong. 

“What did you want to do?” Her eyes widen. She knows they do, but it’s the last thing she expected to hear and her smile feels impossibly large. He arches an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer, love.”

She clicks her tongue, but there’s still that pesky smile and whatever feels like it’s fluttering in between her ribs. “David heard a rumor that there was a ship here from--”

“--DunBroch.” “It’s not fun when you know the secret.” He hums, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to lean forward and kiss her. He doesn't. That’s disappointing. “Very chatty docks. Although the ship is something to see.” “Have you seen it?” “No, I didn’t want to spoil the surprise when I knew you’d want to.” She doesn’t make any noise that time, and his smile may rival the size of hers, rocking into her space with an easy sense of calm that makes the lack of kissing all the more disappointing. “Because, Swan, you are impossibly curious and incredibly determined.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” she snaps back without thinking much to the words. 

He doesn’t flinch. “Aye, I do.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret’s voice is shrill, clearly not the first time she’s tried to get Emma’s attention. Her muscles ache again, but it isn’t the exhaustion from earlier. It’s tension, as if they’re twisted and knotted, bundled bits of magic that feels a little desperate. 

To remember. 

Something. 

Misthaven is a ridiculous name. 

“The Dark One was evil,” Emma responds, well aware how lame her explanation is. “It was...we were told he was out to gain all of magic. To twist it into something horrible, bend us all to his will. Magic is personal, like I told you, almost selfish, even, but the stories of the Dark One were different. He wanted to take that personal connection and warp him to him, become the center of everything anyone with a hint of magic did.” “He wanted to control it,” Regina says, and that’s a much more succinct response. “And we know that’s what he wants to do now.”

“Have you seen that?” Killian asks. “Actually seen this man do magic?” “What does it matter?” “The minions have done it. We saw that here and obviously this Isaac claims he can do magic as well, so we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. But did you see this so-called Dark One actually do anything? Or just demand Emma?” Regina blanches. 

“You don’t think he’s got magic,” Emma breathes, not sure why the feeling of absolute dread has settled in the pit of her stomach. 

Killian tilts his head. “I’m not sure what I’m thinking, really. It’s just...you said magic was disappearing and the villains keep calling this the Land Without Magic. You don’t think that’s a coincidence, do you?” “I have no idea what you’re saying.” He chuckles lightly, a quick press of his lips to Emma's. She tries not to chase after him. It absolutely does not work. “Is this normal now?” David mumbles, Ruby making a face that Emma hopes is some kind of agreement. 

“What I’m saying is that I think it’s interesting that the Dark One hasn’t done anything since leaving Storybrooke,” Killian says. “We haven’t been shy about being here, Swan. Or even about what we’re trying to do. The minions showed, magical as ever, but no menacing Dark One come to try and steal your magic.”

“That’s actually a really good point.” “It happens from time to time.” There’s the smirk – just as potent as ever, particularly when Killian’s eyes do that flashy, flirty, bluer than normal thing, and Emma’s half a second away from kissing the ever-living daylights out him when she hears Regina start talking again. 

Arguing, really. Figures. 

“That man is the Dark One,” she says, no hint of doubt in her voice. “I know it. I--I can’t explain why I know, but I do.” “That’s not exactly the strongest defense,” Ruby points out. 

“And does kind of add some fuel to the this is not the right home fire,” Mary Margaret adds, a twist of frustration to her mouth. “That’s a terrible name. We need a better name for that.” “Yeah, that’s what we need,” Emma agrees. “Can we backtrack for a second? Regina, I need to know if Excalibur is an option. We can contend with the Dark One and wherever he came from later and--” “--Wait, wait, we don’t think that’s important too?” Ruby balks. “If we’re all forgetting who we are, then that seems like a pretty major thing, right?” “And it does explain how Excalibur could get here,” Belle says. She flinches when every head in the living room snaps towards her, David muttering something that sounds a hell of a lot like oh, I like her in Storybrooke. “Right?” “Talk it out,” Ruby suggests. “You think Isaac wrote Excalibur to show up in midtown Manhattan so Emma could defeat the darkness when he finally decides to show up?”

“I don’t know about that, but all I’m saying is that if there are other realms where magic isn’t just contained to one small town in Maine, it’s entirely possible that it could have existed. And if the Dark One is as powerful as you are all worried about, then don’t you think he could have crossed realms?” “This is making my head hurt,” Will whines. “How many realms do we think there are?” Regina’s eye stopped twitching long ago, but she’s sitting straighter than she had at the beginning of the phone call and Emma feels like they’re all about to get grounded. “There’s something you're not telling me, Regina,” Emma says. “If we’re going to do this we’ve got to be honest with each other, don’t you think?” She doesn’t answer immediately, shoulders shifting when she inhales. Emma feels like she’s back on the dock, balancing precariously over waves that have turned choppy and dangerous and Killian’s never going to be able to stand back up. 

His thighs have probably frozen that way. 

She needs to stop thinking about his thighs so much. 

That was them. Again. She knows it. 

“I don’t appreciate being told what to do,” Regina says cooly, an obvious act that’s kind of offensive at this point. 

“And I don’t appreciate having some seeress showing up in someone else’s kitchen announcing I’m making mistakes I can’t remember.” “Has it been happening to you too?” “You’ll have to be more specific, Regina.”

She huffs, tongue swiping over her teeth. “I’ve seen things,” she says shortly, Mary Margaret’s eyes bugging behind her. “Not often. Just...sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly magical. And there’s no rhyme or reason to it. None of it makes sense, these flashes of...whatever. But, well, the last day we spoke to you it happened.”

“And?” “And I was in a castle, standing on a stone floor with a voice in my ear, telling me to get it right. Over and over, nothing good enough. Nothing working the way I wanted it to.” Regina swallows, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It kept going, for what felt like hours. Until I--I’ve never felt that kind of magic, not here, at least. I looked down and there was fire in my hand.” “Fire?” Emma repeats, Killian tensing in front of her. “What did you do with it?” “I threw it at the man’s face. A face that looked incredibly similar to the man who walked over the town line and demanded you, Savior.”

“And you knew that was the Dark One?” Killian asks skeptically. Regina blinks. 

“I did, yes.” “Huh.” “Articulate.” “Not all of us can have such pointed opinions and overwhelming certainty, your majesty.”

They’re all going to fuck up their muscles and spines completely before the night is over. The whole room freezes, eyes going wide with hanging jaws and Belle has started typing again. As if that will help distract her. Emma rolls her shoulders, trying to look at Killian and Ruby and Mary Margaret at the same time. 

None of it works. 

She hopes that’s not going to become some kind of trend. 

Killian shakes his head – like he’s shaking away cobwebs or those same vaguely pointed memories and the shadow that clouds his gaze makes it difficult to see the blue there. Emma’s tongue is doing that disgusting thing again. 

“Excalibur,” she says brusquely. “Regina, is that possible? Could a sword like Excalibur actually do something to the Dark One?” Silence. Deafening silence. Well, kind of. Regina is breathing very loudly. There are tears in her eyes. 

“Regina,” Emma repeats. “If it’s possible for Excalibur to be here, I have to find it. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.” She laughs. Also offensive. “None of this makes sense, Emma. We’re remembering things that have never happened. A mad man with a bloody pen claims he can bring us back to a place where magic can thrive and some non-magic plebe,” she nods in Killian’s direction, “thinks he can tell me that the Dark One doesn’t actually have any power.” “That’s not an answer.” “Uh, I think I found something again,” Belle says, sounding nervous to join the conversation. That’s fair. Emma wishes she weren’t part of the conversation. “According to this legend Excalibur could cut ties. If I’m reading that correctly, I think that means using Excalibur--you know, stabbing it, like…” “Like a sword?” Killian drawls. 

“Shut up. Yes, like a sword. I think that means it could basically cleave the darkness from the person it’s connected to and destroy it.” “Wouldn’t that destroy the person too?” Emma asks, and the dread is growing. It’s climbing up the back of her throat and sits on her tongue, a dead weight that makes it difficult to breathe. 

She shouldn’t be breathing through her mouth. 

She’s really got to get better at breathing. 

“That’s what I’ve always heard,” Regina says, soft enough that Emma barely hears it at first. Killian’s wide-eyed response makes it obvious. “You’d have to kill him, Emma.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” “Did you not think that was a possibility, Em?” Ruby asks, but the pity in her voice makes Emma want to cry. There are tears in her eyes now too. 

“I don’t--I mean, yeah, I guess. But then there was no Olympian crystal and I thought maybe we could avoid the whole death thing.” “He’s not a good person, Emma,” Regina mutters. “He’s...alright, let’s play for a moment that Isaac is right. We’re not who we think we are and the Dark One came from an enchanted realm where magic exists in the clouds or something. If that’s possible, don’t we owe it our home, to ourselves, to make sure that something as powerful as the Dark One and the darkness can’t get back there? That we stop it here. For good?”

Emma’s crying. She hates it, but the tears clearly do not give a damn, falling fast and free, brands on her skin that mark her for every one of her emotional shortcomings. She sniffles, trying to act like an adult or a Savior, but she’s also still an orphan and the kid no one came after that day and she’s not as surprised by the thumb that brushes over her cheek as she would have been a few weeks ago. 

It’s nice. 

It’s...a lot more than nice, but Emma can only cope with so much at a time. Her magic jumps. And so do the ends of Killian’s mouth. 

“Yeah,” he says, and maybe Emma will just never have to ask a question again. “Almost always at this point.” “And that doesn’t freak you out?” “Like coming home, Swan.”

She exhales, oxygen her lungs probably could have used. “Ok, so um---” “--Emma,” Mary Margaret cuts in, soft and a little cautious, but with a hint of hope that is patented her. “That magic surge. The one that drew the Dark One and some of the minions. Did that time up with the hallway incident?”

"No," Ruby answers. "But, uh...I walked out the next morning and they were all tangled together. Emma and Jones." Honestly Emma won't ever have to talk again. 

Mary Margaret beams. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really, really good. And he can feel that?” “Wait, what?” David shouts, Regina gasping and Ruby jumping away from Emma like she’d been shocked. “This guy can feel your magic?” Emma nods. “And my magic kind of...freaked out when I saw him. Like it…like it knew him. Or had known him.” “Past tense?” “I’ve got no idea, David.” “Huh.” Killian’s frustratingly silent, Emma pulling her eyes back towards him – but his thumb is moving again, and she’s not sure he even means to do it. “Yeah?” he asks again, far more desperate than she expects it to be. As if her answer my fix everything. 

Another nod. “Yeah,” she repeats. “Like coming home.”

His thighs are incredible. There’s no way he should be able to move as quickly as he does, but apparently science doesn’t matter to magic folk and those who inspire their magic. Killian surges up, lips catching Emma’s in a move that feels familiar and brand-new. His fingers fly into her hair, tugging her forward, like he’s nervous anything except occupying the same few inches of space is unacceptable. 

And Emma would be more than content to stay right there, desecrating another part of Belle’s apartment, but there are some other things going on and Regina sounds incredibly annoyed. 

She’s started clicking her tongue. In rhythm. 

“That sword,” she says. “If it’s there, then that’s it. I...that’s got to be it. You destroy the Dark One, figure out why your magic reacts to the hallway guy--” “--We’re really sticking with that name, huh?” Killian mumbles, and Emma can’t help her laugh. 

She likes him. 

She...keeps thinking about his thighs. And other stuff. Impossible stuff. 

It was them.

Regina ignores him. “Magic has been stronger when you’ve felt things, Emma. That surge times up with you perfectly. You should have mentioned that, but it’s...well, it’s interesting.” “That so?” “You don’t think so?” “I think I need to get to Track 61 under Grand Central Station as soon as possible and then figure out where the hell the Dark One is lurking.” “We might be able to help with that,” David says. “Ask Isaac what he knows.” “You think he’ll talk?” “I think I can make him talk.” “Foreboding,” Will and Ruby mutter in tandem, matching smiles that make this seem just a hint less terrifying than it absolutely is. 

Emma sighs, fingers brushing over a light scar on Killian’s cheek. She hadn’t noticed it before, but her touch moves there like there are magnets or history and his eyes flutter closed as soon as she touches him. “Ok,” she agrees. “Should I go now?” “I think you can wait until tomorrow,” Mary Margaret says, lifting her eyebrows when Emma tries to object. “We’ll talk to Isaac before you go. Deal?” “But--” “Deal?” “Yeah,” Emma mumbles, more than a little petulant. “Deal.”

They order pizza. 

“If we’re going to try and save all of everything tomorrow, then I’ll be damned if we don’t get some good food,” Ruby declares, and the delivery guy who hasn’t quite left looks more than a little confused by those words in that specific order. 

Emma rolls her eyes. “You want to just...announce that to everyone?”

“I want to eat this entire pie by myself, but I’m a generous protector and I’ll let you guys have, you know, like, one slice each. Maybe.” “You’re right, that’s absolutely generous.” Ruby winks. And it goes from there – they have to order another pizza because Ruby does honestly eat a questionable amount and Emma learns Will hates eating the crust because “it’s just bread, Emma, what’s the point?” and Belle announces that that is the single most troubling part of their relationship. They make color-coded charts and look up the blueprints of Track 61 and the histories of Track 61 and how Andy Warhol got in to throw that party one time. 

Supposedly. 

Emma has no idea what time is, eyelids are starting to droop and her muscles haven’t really stopped aching in the last few days, but the pain is a bit more acute than normal and walking into the kitchen laden down with several used plates and a few glasses pinched between her fingers is a very specific challenge. 

She doesn’t drop anything, though, so she assumes that’s a, quite literal, step in the right direction. And the footsteps that follow here aren’t entirely familiar, soft footfalls that are, mostly, masked by the patterned socks she’s wearing. 

Belle is, apparently, very into patterns. 

She ate all of Will’s discarded pizza crust. 

“Hey,” she says conversationally, as if she hadn’t spent most of her night staring at a laptop screen so Emma could fight and fix magic. “Are you ok?” Emma nearly drops things then. She licks her lips, the movement too quick to be entirely helpful, but she’s also suddenly very nervous. Belle’s smile is more than a little cautious. “That’s kind of a loaded question isn’t it?” she continues, and Emma makes a noise she hopes isn’t offensive.

Belle hums, jumping onto the counter and swinging her legs out and it all feels a little cyclical. Emma opens her mouth – still not entirely sure what she’s going to say, just certain she has to say something and--

“No, no, this isn’t one of those conversations,” Belle says quickly, holding both her hands up. Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. “Oh, God, that sounded combative too, that’s not what I’m trying to accomplish here.” “And what are you trying to accomplish?” Emma asks. “Because I feel like I should be apologizing for ruining your life and then also like...thanking on bended knee for possibly figuring everything out.” “Oh, I think I definitely figured everything out. I’m, at least, ninety-nine percent positive the research is accurate.” “Doesn’t leave much room for doubt.”

Belle nods enthusiastically. “That kind of does set us up for this conversation that I would like to reiterate is not an attack, nor is it an interrogation or anything except--” She tilts her head, waving her hands and Emma gets the distinct impression she’s trying to find the right word. “Curiosity,” Belle finishes. “About a few things.” “Only a few?” “Anything more might make both of our heads explode.” Emma lets out a shaky laugh, leaning back against the refrigerator behind her. The handle digs into her spine. “Yeah, that’s probably true. I’ve already destroyed enough of yours and Will’s property. I’d hate to fuck up your apartment too.” It’s not a funny joke. At best, it’s incredibly self-deprecating, but Belle stares at her like Emma’s just suggested she’s the embodiment of darkness and her fingers reach up towards the collar of her shirt – like she’s trying to hold onto something. 

There’s nothing there. 

“I’m not blaming you,” Belle says, no trace of anything except honesty in her voice. “For anything. Really. I’m--would it be weird if I thanked you?” “For?” “See, this is kind of where my innate curiosity comes in to play. I know that you and Killian met each other for the first time in the hallway, but that’s...does it feel like that?” “No.” “Quick answer.” “An easy one,” Emma shrugs. She’s genuinely going to get bruised by the refrigerator. It’s strange that the sentence isn’t the most absurd thing she’s heard recently. She really can’t wrap her mind around anyone hating pizza crust. “But, well I guess I’m kind of curious too.” “Yeah, I figured.” “Was that really what this conversation was?” “Eh. It’s a little selfish on my part because I really don’t like not understanding what’s going on and you have been my great mystery for the last few days. I’ve been trying to piece together what you and Ruby were doing since you first started requesting books. And I know Killian told you that because Will has been complaining about whatever Killian’s been doing with his face since the hallway incident happened.”

“We’ve really got to come up with another name for that,” Emma mumbles, drawing a quiet and maybe even understanding laugh out of Belle. “Killian told me that you got him his first job at the library. That he came here from--” “--Boston or so he said,” Belle cuts in.

“Is that distinct hint of disbelief new or has it been festering for awhile?” “Oh, the use of the word festering is not positive at all.” “And that’s not exactly an answer.” Belle grits her teeth, twisting her engagement ring on her finger. Emma does her best not to look at it. “There’s been no festering.” “But?” “But,” she repeats, “there’s been...an almost abstract sense of wonder and slight confusion.”

That’s not the word Emma expects. “Confusion? About?” “The timeline of everything. And a distinct lack of...normal person stuff. Do you have a social security number?” “Are you trying to steal my identity?” “Not if your credit is shitty.” Emma isn’t sure she’s ever actually used the word guffaw in her life, but she can’t come up with a better description for whatever noise she makes. It’s more than incredulous. It’s complete and utter disbelief and they’ve delved into the deep end of absolute farce. “We’re kind of a self-contained unit in Storybrooke,” she explains. “Not much money. Lots of trading things. Magic for magic, that sort of thing. So, uh...no, I don’t have a social security number. As far as I knew no one outside of Storybrooke knew that Storybrooke existed.” “But you knew about us?” “Yeah,” Emma nods slowly. “Not specifics. Just that you were...there. I don’t know major dates in American history if that’s what you’re getting at.” “A little, honestly,” Belle admits, and Emma wishes she’d also jumped onto the counter if only so she has something to keep her from falling on the floor. “Because Killian only kind of did. He...well, he showed up in the library looking for a job. Said he’d been in Boston for awhile, but didn’t really have--” “--A social security number?” 

“You’re joking, but I’m serious. And it wasn’t...well, we kind of made it work. So that wasn’t a huge thing and he didn’t seem like a murder…” “He’s not,” Emma says, a certainty she can’t entirely rationalize. Belle nods. “I don’t think so either. I’ve got no idea what the hell is happening, Emma. Honestly. This is...magic and myth and Ursula is, like, really famous if you know which books to look in.” “Which you do.” “Yeah, I do,” Belle nods. “And so does Killian. Always. If it’s something...out of the realm of normal, not straight history, although he’s still got a fairly good grasp on that too...basically what I’m saying is I’ve wondered. For years. It didn’t always add up.” “So you think that makes him some kind of bloodthirsty pirate who’d fuck over a sea witch?” Belle’s expression turns almost distraught, teeth digging into her lip. “I think there’s some fact to every myth we know. Every story we’re told as children. They’re not always obvious and sometimes the details get lost in translation and the only truth is a little sliver of something, but it’s there. It stays and stands the test of time.” “Or realms.” Belle smiles. “Yeah, exactly that. Did you know in some versions of the Arthurian legend, Arthur is just...he’s a total dick?” “What?” “Oh, yeah, yeah. Totally corrupt, garbage ruler. Lancelot was the good guy.” “Didn’t Lancelot get with Guinevere?” 

“Yeah, but again, Arthur was kind of a dick and...well, he was messing up Camelot. He was supposed to save it, unite the kingdom and--” “--Save magic?” Emma suggests, Belle’s eyebrows flying up at the interruption. 

“I don’t think you’re Arthur if that’s what you’re getting at.” “No?” “No,” she repeats. “And if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m only, like, ninety-two percent positive I’m even on the right track.” “Less definitive than before.” “Right? It’s frustrating. The facts are there, Emma. They’re hidden in every story, in lines and words, but they might not always be what we expect. Arthur could have been a dick. Lancelot could have been trying to save everyone. The guy without much of a history who knew exactly what Track 61 was might already be incredibly devoted to the hero.”

Emma’s been holding her breath. She lets it out in a huff, another quick flash of her tongue between her lips and the weight that feels like it’s hanging off her neck doesn’t make sense – it’s not even unpleasant, just a steady thing that she’s only noticed now because there’s not actually anything there and-- “Hey,” Will says, striding into the kitchen as if everything is normal and nudging Emma out of the way familiarly. “Ruby wants to watch more of that next season, babe. So, uh...if you guys are done talking secrets in here…” Belle scrunches her nose, but she doesn’t argue secrets either. “We can probably wash the dishes after we save the world, huh?” “That’s the spirit.” 

And the whole thing is only a little overwhelming, but then Ruby curls into the corner of the couch and Belle puts her laptop on the coffee table and Will snores very loudly. Killian’s asleep next to Emma, head resting on her thigh with an ease that shouldn’t be that easy. 

Her fingers card through his hair, toying with strands as she listens to his breathing even out. The movement itself is second nature, like she’s spent hours or days doing just that, and she doesn’t want to move, can’t imagine a situation where she ever would, but the walls also feel like they’re starting to close in and there are so many charts and Emma shouldn’t have eaten that second piece of pizza. 

“Dinner of champions, my ass,” she mumbles, wiggling out from underneath Killian and he barely stirs when she puts another pillow under his head. Belle has so many pillows. Emma’s not sure she owns more than one pillow. 

It’s, like, five years old. At least. And the case doesn’t match the blanket on her bed. 

She pads towards the window on the other side of the room, a vaguely rickety looking fire escape just outside it and there’s something to be said for living on the edge. Quite literally. The frame squeaks when Emma slides it open, careful when she swings her leg over the edge.

Tag List: @kmomof4 @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff @captainsjedi @thejollyroger-writer@winterbaby89 @melsbels @tiganasummertree @jennjenn615 @idristardis @cssns

[wistfulcynic]

Three Non-Blondes 1 / 4

I needed a spell of distraction from reality and the result is this bit of silliness. Dedicated to @katie-dub, just because she is amazing and deserves all the nice things. I hope it makes you smile.

Summary: Mary Margaret is certain that her fiancé's sister Emma and his best friend Killian are perfect for each other. What she doesn't know is that they think so too. Matchmaking hijinks ensue. 

Rating: T

AO3

Part One: 

David turned away from the bar and moved carefully back to the booth where his friends were waiting, balancing the three beers in his hands with an expertise born of long experience. He set them on the table with a flourish. “Not a drop spilled,” he said proudly.  

“Well done, mate,” said Robin, picking up one of the glasses and raising it in tribute. David’s grin flashed brightly then dimmed as he noticed that someone was missing. 

“Where’s Jones?”

Robin inclined his head towards the far corner of the room. Ah, thought David, following his friend’s gaze. Of course. Killian was standing with one hip against the vintage jukebox that was their neighbourhood pub’s pride and joy, leaning into the space of a willowy brunette, a wicked grin creasing his face as he whispered something in her ear. “Well, that’s him out for the night,” said David, sliding into the booth. “At least we get to drink his beer.” 

“Every cloud,” grinned Robin, and they clinked their glasses together in toast. 

A minute later their dastardly plans for Killian’s beer were foiled when the man himself appeared in the booth. 

“Ah, is that for me? Excellent.” Killian picked up the glass and downed half of it before his friends could speak. 

“What are you doing back here, mate?” asked Robin, “It looked like you were in there.” 

“Hmmm?” Killian looked distracted, then seemed to remember. “Oh, right. Couldn’t be bothered.” 

“Couldn’t be bothered?” repeated Robin in disbelief. He glanced at the brunette who was now sitting at the bar, arms crossed beneath a generous bosom, soft lips pouting, stunningly beautiful and clearly insulted. “She looks worth a bit of bother to me.” 

“Well, you’re welcome to have a go,” smirked Killian, laughing as Robin blanched. 

“I have my own brunette at home, thank you very much,” he said. And even the idea of cheating on her terrifies me, he very carefully didn’t say.

“So do I,” piped up David. “You know, you might consider keeping one around for a while, Killian. They’re a nice thing to come home to.” 

“Thanks for your concern, mates, but I prefer to remain free of any romantic entanglements, brunette or otherwise,” said Killian firmly. “That one had marriage-y eyes.” He gave an elaborate shudder. “Not worth it.” 

“‘Marriage-y eyes’?” repeated David. “Really?”

“Yes, really, Dave, and you know exactly what I mean by the expression. Mary Margaret has the worst case of marriage-y eyes I’ve ever seen.” 

“Maybe that’s because we’re about to get married.” 

“Aye, the only appropriate time to have them. And I’m sure we can all agree that two minutes into a conversation with a stranger who’s just trying to put a song on the jukebox is not an appropriate time to be very obviously choosing the place settings in one’s head, hmm?”

David and Robin had to agree that ‘marriage-y eyes’ in those circumstances seemed a bit premature. 

“There we are then,” said Killian, returning his attention to his beer. 

The men drank in silence for a moment. 

“Although, now I think about it, you haven’t picked anyone up in a long time,” said David. 

“Apropos of nothing,” Robin teased. 

Killian heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Why this sudden lurid interest in my sex life, lads, are you not getting enough at home?” he taunted. “Need to live vicariously through my exploits?”

“Not at all,” said David. 

“Quite the contrary,” said Robin. 

“We’re just worried you’re not getting enough,” said David, with a grin that would have been pure evil on a less wholesome face. 

“Your solicitude is touching,” said Killian drily, “But I assure you I am not suffering for lack of female company or attention, even without a brunette waiting at home. Now can we talk about something else, please?”

David frowned. He knew Killian well enough to spot when he was lying, and he wasn’t. So where was he getting all this female company and attention? Certainly not from the bar, not for weeks. Months even. His frown deepened as he tried to remember the last time he’d seen Killian go home with a woman. 

Just then the door of the pub opened and a wide grin spread across Killian’s face. David turned to see what he was grinning at and felt his own face split in a delighted smile. 

“Looks like they weren’t content to wait at home after all,” Killian teased. “Modern women, eh?” He stood to allow Mary Margaret to slide into the booth next to David as Regina took the seat next to Robin and immediately began making out with him.

“She’s had a lot to drink,” said Mary Margaret, by way of explanation. 

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I do need a brunette,” he muttered.  

“Highly recommended,” said David as he kissed his fiancée. “Where’s Emma?” he asked her. “I thought she was with you tonight?”

“She was. She said something about third wheels, or fifth ones, and went home about half an hour ago.” Killian’s eyes widened with what looked like alarm and he grabbed his phone to check the time. Mary Margaret didn’t notice. “But she’ll see us at your mom’s tomorrow,” she informed David. 

“Well,” said Killian, draining the last of his beer. “I need to be off myself. Goodnight, lovers.” 

“What, you’re going already? But it’s so early!” David protested. 

“Yeah, come on Killian, I’ve hardly seen you these past few months,” said Mary Margaret. 

“Ah, yes, well, as much as I hate to agree with the lovely Swan, I also do not relish being the third wheel, or even the fifth one,” said Killian, glancing at his phone again. “And I have, uh, an early morning.” 

“You work from home, you can set your own hours.” 

“I have a deadline. Sorry, lads, I have to go.” His hand flexed on his phone and his body language was tense. 

“Well, all right,” said David, wondering what the heck could be going on with his friend, and if Killian might be persuaded to talk about it. For a man so skilled with words he didn’t talk a lot about himself. “But you’re coming to my mom’s for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Ah,” Killian had been easing towards the door but now he turned back and shifted his feet uncomfortably, scratching behind his ear. “I think not, mate. I prefer not to cross swords with your sister when there’s family china that could end up as collateral damage.” 

“Don’t be an idiot, my mom knows better than to use the good china when you come over,” grinned David. “And I’m sure Emma can be persuaded to play nice for an afternoon.” 

“Well, we’ll see then,” said Killian with one of the bland, conciliatory smiles he hid behind when he really didn’t want to commit to something. He shrugged into his jacket and with a small bow to David and Mary Margaret and another raised eyebrow at the tangle of limbs and smacking noises that was Regina and Robin, he was gone. 

David kissed Mary Margaret’s temple and she snuggled into his side. “I wish Killian didn’t feel like he had to avoid Emma,” he said. “They may never be friends, but I’d like for them at least to be able to be in the same room together.” 

“Oh, David,” sighed Mary Margaret. “You are a police detective, it’s your job to spot clues. How can you be so unobservant about your own best friend?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Killian’s got a… well, a thing for Emma.” 

“A thing?” repeated David, disbelievingly. 

“Yeah. A crush, the hots, whatever you want to call it. He’s into her.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Practically since the moment they met. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed it.” 

“Really?”

“Oh for goodness sake, David! He can’t keep his eyes off her! And whenever she talks to another man he clenches his jaw so hard that this little muscle in it starts to jump around.” She paused, taking a sip of David’s beer. “It’s pretty attractive, actually, in a sort of broody, Heathcliff way.” 

“WHAT?”

Mary Margaret smiled sweetly and patted his hand. “There there,” she said placatingly, and kissed his cheek. “I feel for Killian though,” she continued. “He’s really very sensitive under all that swagger.” She ignored David’s snort of disbelief. “It must hurt him badly, the way she treats him.” 

“Wait, are you talking about Emma and Killian?” Regina broke in. 

“Yes we are, and welcome to the conversation.” Mary Margaret turned her sweet smile on her stepsister. “You’ve got lipstick on your chin,” she said.  

Regina grabbed a napkin and wiped her chin, then handed it to Robin. “On my chin as well?” he asked. 

“Best just to wipe your whole face, I think,” smirked David. Regina rolled her eyes. 

“Back to guyliner and the blonde—” 

“Hey, that’s my sister—” 

“That sounds like an 80s buddy cop show—”

“I always thought she was the one who was into him.” Regina declared, glaring at the both of them. 

“Really?” Mary Margaret leaned across the table, accidentally elbowing David in her haste. 

“Well, yes, isn’t it obvious?” It was never clear if Regina had to make an effort to be so condescending or if it just came naturally. Mary Margaret had learned to ignore it. “If she weren’t interested in him she’d be a lot nicer,” Regina explained. “She’s nice to men she has no interest in. Look at poor Graham.” 

They all nodded in agreement. Poor Graham. 

“So she pushes Killian away because she wants him so much. I mean, she’s hardly going to come on to him the way all the other women do, not Emma.” 

“That’s a good point,” Mary Margaret concurred. 

David was still wincing from the impact of his beloved’s sharp cubital joint on his ribs. “Hold on, let me get this straight,” he wheezed. “You think that Emma and Killian are both into each other, but they don’t know it because she’s mean to him and he avoids her?” 

“That’s about the size of it, I think,” said Mary Margaret. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She and Regina locked eyes and nodded conspiratorially, and David began to panic. 

“If you’re thinking that we should play matchmaker, stop thinking it,” he said firmly. “I’m not entirely sure I want Killian dating my sister.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, David, they’re perfect for each other,” said Mary Margaret, and Regina nodded. Even Robin seemed to agree. “Now, let’s talk strategy.” Mary Margaret’s voice was both exited and edged with steel. There was no stopping her now, David knew. “First, David, you have to get Killian to your mom’s tomorrow. Then we…” 

***

On the other side of town, Killian, blissfully unaware of his friends’ plotting, stepped out of an Uber and closed the door carefully so as not to disturb his neighbours. They already disapproved of him more than enough. “Thanks, mate,” he said, waving to the driver. The car took off and Killian bounded up the steps to his door, eager anticipation making his hands tremble as he unlocked it. Once inside he kicked off his boots and flung his jacket on a hook without his usual attention to tidiness, then ran to his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. When he opened the door his face lit up with a bright grin. 

“Took you long enough,” said the naked woman in his bed. 

“Aye, I had a bit of a job to shake off the lads this evening.” He smirked suggestively at her. “They’re concerned I’m not getting enough sex.” 

“Well,” she purred, eyeing him appreciatively as he shed his clothes, “We’ll have to remedy that. Did they have any suggestions?”

He crawled into the bed and pressed her back against the pillows, kissing her deeply. “They seem to think I need to get myself a brunette to come home to,” he said when they broke apart several minutes later, nuzzling her neck. 

“I suppose we could always role play.” She gasped as he sucked on her pulse point, her fingertips trailing down his side, enjoying the way his muscles leapt at her touch. 

“No need, love.” He pulled back and smiled into her eyes. “I have everything I could ever want right here.” 

She smiled back. “Me too.” 

[profoundlyfadedfics]

OUAT FF: The Stolen Heart From Within You

Summary: Twenty-Six Years after the Final Battle with the Black Fairy, Emma Swan and Killian Jones’s only daughter is swallowed up by a portal where she gets caught up in a surprising mission that tests everything everyone thought known about a terrible battle that cost the life of the Saviour shortly after Zarina’s birth twenty-five years earlier.

Meanwhile, Killian and Henry fight to find a way to the missing Zarina, only to find themselves caught up in the same story.

Rating: Teen (but will probably become Mature)

Warning: Contains Reference to a Major Character Death

A/N: The predictability of the hate mail, was well, predictable. If you don’t like the theme, then don’t read it. This is going to be something a bit different to the usual, and all the hate mail in the world is not going to stop me finishing it and publishing it.

Also on AO3

Chapter One: Deep in the Enchanted Forest

 Three days earlier…

Zarina Jones landed, cracking her wrist on the hard ground beneath the pile of leaves the portal tossed her into. She suppressed a groan. Then using her uninjured hand, she pushed herself over to lie on her back. Her gaze lingered on the fluttering canopy while sunlight shimmered over her body.

She wasn’t in Maine anymore. Sun was a rarity in the winter months. This was not Thanksgiving weekend Maine weather.

With a sign, she focused her attention on her wrist. It was rapidly swelling and any sensation in her fingers was dulling down. She cradled it against her chest while schooling her reactions in a bid not to cry. This type of physical pain was no longer normal for her. Not since she had blazed out of Storybrooke in a forty-year-old Mazda MX-5 Miata two years earlier with the vow to only visit in the Summer and holiday weekends. Maybe that’s why she was caught out. Her quiet life had dulled her senses.

Zarina rolled up into a seated position. From her position, she assessed the damage to her hand. A bruise was already spreading from the mound of her hand, towards her fingers and thumb to her wrist. She cursed under her breath. Then she closed her eyes, reaching for the magic buried deep within. It took a moment of persuasion, but it sparked. The white warmth travelled to meet her injured hand. She willed more forth to until the pain vanished and she could move her fingers again.

Once she was able to flex her hand comfortably, Zarina sighed in relief, a smile lifting on her lips. As she did, rustling reached her ears. The smile died and she cocked her head to listen when a whoosh of air passed close to her back. Flicking her head to her right, she saw an arrow embed itself into a tree trunk. Her eyes widened as she cursed under her breath before turning to face the direction it had come from.

She got to her feet as she looked up into the trees then back to the ground. She moved by instinct, her muscle memory kicking in to put her in a defensive position, but she hadn’t belted a sword to her side before leaving the house. Instead, she focused on her magic, letting it brim to the surface of her palms so it was a thought away.

‘Show yourself,’ she called, as she did another pass on her surroundings.

Three men emerged from the woods. Their attire was camouflage to look like the undergrowth. She looked at each one; two were burly in stature, with knives at their sides. Zarina surmised they were probably more proficient in throwing their fists than using daggers. The curl mop-headed man stood with his bow drawn, holding his bow tight. For the moment he was aimed just to the left of her shoulder, but it would only take a swift flick of his wrist and he could take her knee, or her ankle, her eye…

The list of devastating wounds that didn’t result in death was numerous.

‘Name yourself, Witch,’ the archer asked.

She smiled tightly, shaking her head tightly. ‘My dad always told me not to speak to strangers,’ she said.

The humour didn't hit home. ‘You are in violation of our bylaws.’

Zarina frowned looking down at where she had arrived in this world. ‘I didn’t do that,’ she said.

‘First, it's ‘I was thrown through a portal’, then it's an attempted coup on the Queen,’ said the Archer. ‘Magic is punished at the pleasure of Her Majesty.’

‘And what sort of pleasure does that entail?’

The Archer lowered his bow, his angle now a clean shot to her thigh. ‘Torture. Mutilation. Death.’

Zarina tried to suppress a smile at the ominous sounding tone. Judging by the grimace on her captors face, she didn't manage it.

As the Archer proclaimed he was arresting her, Zarina took in her surroundings as the Hulk on her left produced chains from his belt. He didn’t exactly look like the law and order respecting sort. She should know; her father was the infamous Captain Hook as well as the Sheriff of Storybrooke. He was hardly the epitome of law and order either, but at least he had an air of respect and authority about him. Zarina clicked her tongue, thinking of her father's one-time advice for if she ever got stuck in another realm, before turning on her heel and crashing into the undergrowth.

--//--

Assuming the sun travelled in the same east to west direction, then Zarina guessed she would be travelling north. After an initial sprint, she settled into her jogging pace to conserve energy which allowed her to duck branches. Several still caught her wool coat. The hundred and thirty dollar coat wasn’t exactly forest attire, but then she didn’t leave her father’s home with the intention of ending up in this forest.

With a glance behind her, she felt secure enough to slow to a walk. Taking a moment, she turned full circle to take in her surroundings. There was no discernible threat, but Zarina was certain her would-be captors were more than capable of creeping up on her. Still, if she kept jogging she’d cramp up then there’d be trouble. As she walked, she rolled her shoulders, rubbing her neck as she glanced around for more tree men.

Maybe she’d ended up in a Tolkien novel. She was pretty sure the Hobbit had some wildmen who prowled the woods. The archer and his men certainly weren’t elves.

Her feet kicked at the at the leaves carpeting the floor as she dug her hands into her pocket. In the reprieve of the situation, her mind began to work over possible outcomes to return home. It was clear her magic worked. Her hands clenched around the contents of the pocket. Her cell phone and keys. At least she still had them, for all the good they would do her here.

She kept moving. Her feet were dragging due to tiredness. A whole day had passed in Storybrooke before winding up here. As she willed herself to keep going, she crested a small mould which looked down to a small stream. The water she understood. Knowing it would flow out to the sea, she started down to it when she was lifted skyward.

A rope tightened around her ankle as she flew up, cursing to the seven suns as she did until she was swinging to and fro. Her long wavy hair brushed the ground, now disturbed thanks to the trap she set off. She wrapped her flailing leg around her ankle to steady herself and waited until she moved slowly. There was no way of getting out of this. She had tried before on the deck of the Jolly Roger - much to the amusement of her father and Henry. Instead, she crossed her legs and waited for her captors - no doubt her friends from the clearing - to join her.

Their approach was swift, slinking out of the shadows. The Archer didn’t have his bow raised. In fact, it was slung over his shoulders. His face with twisted with a smirk, his lips pulled up. Zarina felt like flipping him the bird, but she wasn’t certain it would have the same effect as in her world.

‘That was quite the effort. We’ve never had anyone out run us that far before,’ he said, tilting his head.

‘You can chalk it up to experience,’ Zarina bit back. ‘Now, let me down.’

‘We still have to arrest you,’ said the Archer as the same man from before pulled out the cuffs.

At least she thought it was the same man as before, the two thugs bore a striking resemblance to one another now she thought about it.

‘You know, you should really work on those sideburns,’ she said as one of them stalked towards her. ‘I hear the girls love ‘em.’

The stoic man slashed his blade to cut the line. Despite being prepared she crashed to the floor in an unceremonious heap and unattractive groan. After straightening out, she moved to a cross-legged position, gazing up with her hands resting her lap.

‘So what does the Queen really do with magic users?’ she asked, flicking her eyelids.

The Archer rolled his eyes. ‘I told you.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, tucking her arms further into the nest of her legs.

‘Well, you are about to find out,’ he replied as he nodded his head at the cuff bearing man.

The other moved towards her and hauled her up while his brother cuffed her. They were none too gentle as they pulled her arms around. All the while she kept her eyes trained on her captor. Her defiance brimmed to the surface. He was amused. Chuckling as he was given the key.

‘So who are you?’ she asked. ‘Might as well given into a dying girl's request.’

Another smirk crossed his lips. The type of arrogance in his eyes that suggested he always got his way. ‘Roland of Locksley,’ he said, bending into an extravagant bow with his arms out. ‘And you are?’

‘People call me ZJ,’ she said, ‘or just Zee.’

Roland nodded his head. ‘Zee,’ he repeated. ‘Fine with me, but the Queen will know your name. Where are you from, Zee?’

‘A place where stories are often left untold,’ she rapped off. Tip number two was to never reveal where she was from.  ‘I was fleeing someone.’

‘And ran straight into us.’

‘The irony isn’t lost on me,’ she shot back. ‘Well, Roland of Locksley, lead the way to my inevitable doom.’

--//--

After two days of forest trekking, the Dark Palace roses from the trees, dominating the landscape. She’s seen pictures of it many times. It dominates the early part of Henry’s storybook given it was Regina’s stronghold. It was also once the home of her family. Her Grandmother grew up here, and it was built for her Great-Grandmother. It’s hard to appreciate the palace though. Her feet ached with the walk, blisters forming on the balls of her feet. Glam high street boots not exactly sensible attire for the journey through the forest. The cuffs around her wrists caused her pain as the rough metal rubbed at her skin.

She had listened carefully to her captors, discerning that the long-time occupier of the palace was known only as The Dark Queen. The two thugs called her it under in undertones. It didn’t take a genius to work out they were uncomfortable with the situation they were in. Seeing the place brought a bubble of panic to the surface. Her bravado was dying as they arrived in the courtyard where guards lined up in dark uniforms with swords strapped to their sides. It looked ostentatious. The guards bowed as Roland passed. The young man had some level of position at the palace.

Above them, the huge double doors opened to reveal a greying old man. He might have been normal sized for all Zarina knew but in the surroundings, he looked like a dwarf. He was dressed in formal morning attire complete with tails that flapped when he moved. He looked harassed, and perhaps a little worried as he called Roland’s name, using the title of Sir.

Sir Roland of Locksley.

Zarina remained still as the man ran to them, getting a little puffed out as he dashed to the stairs. ‘Is this she? The portal jumper?’

Roland’s face dropped in a little bit of surprise before he schooled himself. ‘How does Her Majesty already know?’

The seneschal looked at Zarina, his grey eyes flicking over her. ‘The Queen had a vision. One that set her to bed for a night and day.’ He settled on looking her right in the eye. ‘She wishes to see you.’ Then he looked to Roland. ‘Uncuff her Locksley. This woman is a guest of the Queen.’

Her captor gave the seneschal a dubious look. Holding his look, they seemed to be fighting something out, but the seneschal won with the younger man backing down as he pulled the keys from his pocket. It was clear who had the authority here. It was almost painful when the metal came away. Zarina’s wrist were red and a few layers of skin had been rubbed away. Her eyes became doleful as she looked at Roland.

‘If you will follow me, Miss…?’

‘Zee will do,’ she said, turning to the seneschal. ‘Just Zee.’

The seneschal nodded his head. ‘Zee. Follow me, ma’am.’

Zarina glanced at Roland. He shrugged as she followed the older man.

‘And what do I call you, Sir?’ she asked.

‘It isn’t Sir,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘at least not to guests of Her Majesty. Mr Cogsworth, or just Cogsworth.’

Her steps might have faltered where she one of her fellow teachers from Portland, but she maintained his pace through the halls, glancing at the tall onyx pillars holding up the vaulted ceiling. ‘What is this place?’ she asked, trying to get look at Cogsworth to see if he was particularly clock-like in any mannerism. He was thinner than both his film counterparts.

‘It was originally built as the summer palace for Queen Ava,’ he said, ‘before becoming the stronghold of The Evil Queen. But it is the home of Her Majesty.’

‘Who is this Majesty, Mr Cogsworth, I have only heard whispered names by Sir Roland’s cohorts,’ she said.

‘The Stabbington’s are to be ignored, they were found guilty of a crime and are working off their debts,’ he said. ‘Now if you will just wait here ma’am, I will introduce you.’

Two huge doors were pushed open to reveal a grand hall. Onyx covered the floor, but great marble pillars held up the ceiling. At the end stood a chair on a dais. The queen, clad in black pants and a jacket sat in the shadowed space. It was almost as if that space was cursed not to let light in despite Zarina being able to see little dust motes dancing in the air. Cogsworth crossed the space quickly as Zarina lingered, resisting the temptation to fidget with her fingers. She took a deep breath. She was the next in line of a family of heroes and she would hold that up.

‘Might I present Lady Zee, of the Land Without Magic,’ he said, giving an extravagant bow, his arm shooting out in her direction.

She took a deep breath. ‘You are the daughter of heroes,’ she whispered as she tossed her black hair back.

Her back was ramrod straight as she walked into the room. The great room was worthy of admiration, but she was utterly fixated on the slender woman. As Zarina walked the length of the room, the Queen rose, clasping her hands behind her back while crossing her legs at the ankle. Her angular face caught the light; sharp cheekbones and her chin jutted out. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She was pixie-like in every way.

Zarina paused half way into the room. Her heart pumped against her chest as she met the green eyes rimmed with silver as she stepped into the light.

The Dark Queen looked down at her, face expressionless as Zarina found her courage. This woman wasn’t just any old story. Zarina had seen this woman plenty of times inside her brother’s book. She had flicked back to that part of the story with some sort of sickening interest.

A piece of Storybrooke legend.

A dark incarnation of someone good.

Zarina’s world turned in a great pulse of magic as her cheek met the onyx floor.

[emmaspirate]

Changing Tides

A/N: So the beginning portion of this was written in early November as a birthday gift to @handsomeswan​, but then due to political events I basically lost the will to both live and write, and I only just got that back. So, Joanie my dear, consider this your birthday/Christmas/new years/i’m the worst and you’re the best present… It ended up being a lot longer than intended but because of spoilers and recent sketches depicting a certain someone in 6x11, I was inspired to write what I imagine Hook and Emma’s meeting in the Wish Realm to be…

Summary: Emma knows that if she’s going to make it back to Storybrooke, she’s going to need help from Killian Jones. Problem is, there’s no telling what time and trial have done to him… Set in 6x11, potential spoilers so read at your own risk

AO3

She wasn’t sure why she just stood there.

There were a lot of things she could be doing. Running was the first thing that came to mind, running and never looking back. Seemed like no matter what universe she found herself in, she was always a runner. It was the only thing she was good at. She couldn’t really keep living the princess life, seeing as how both of her fake parents were dead, and now that she had her memories back she’d probably be no good at it.

She knew though that what she really needed to do was get her sorry ass back home. Back to her real, living, but still cursed, parents and her sweet teenage son, and her nice house, and Storybrooke.

And Killian.

She needed to get back to Killian and his blind faith in her, and his unwavering love, and that special smile he gave only her. She needed to get back to her True Love Killian Jones.

So maybe that’s why, against her better judgement, she didn’t run. She just stood there, staring at the Jolly Roger in all its glory, watching the little figures bustle around on deck.

She was scared because what if he wasn’t there? He could be long gone by now. He may not even be a sailor at this point. For all she knew, he may be dead, which she was trying really damn hard not to think about. They needed his help in finding a magic bean, assuming he could find one at all. Emma knew that they were running out of options, and Killian was basically their Hail Mary. If he wasn’t there they were screwed.

But mostly she was scared because what if he was?

This was not the Killian Jones she knew and loved. She had no idea what time may have done to him, she didn’t know what path his life had taken in this wish realm. He could be, and there was a great chance he was, an entirely different person. Emma knew that Regina was banking on her being able to talk some sense into him, to get him to agree to help, but what if she couldn’t? She’d experienced “Captain Hook” only a handful of times, and, even then, she’d gotten the sense that she hadn’t really seen the pirate in all his glory. She couldn’t know how he’d react to her now, she could only hope his first instinct wasn’t to gut her like a fish.

“Well, you ready?” She heard Regina ask from behind her.

Emma took a breath and scanned the Jolly. She didn’t see him on deck, but her instincts were leading her to believe he was there. She could feel him. “I should do this alone.”

“Emma, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself. Don’t be stupid,” Regina barked.

Emma knew the Queen was tense because of Robin’s random reappearance, but she found herself growing more and more irritated with Regina. “Look, I appreciate you coming in here for me, but this is something that I need to do alone. I’ll meet you after I’m done,” Emma turned her back on the brunette to let her know it wasn’t open for discussion.

“Are you sure?” Regina asked, hesitance leaking into her voice.

Emma surged forward anyways. “Positive.”

“Halt!” a voice bellowed as Emma reached the top of the gangplank.

“I wish to speak with your Captain,” she replied. She had her hood pulled up, so they couldn’t tell who she was just yet. She’d been trying to keep a low profile ever since they’d left the castle, given the fact that she was supposed to be mourning the untimely death of her parents.

“And just who do you think you are to be demanding to speak with the Capt’n?” Another pirate called out.

Emma turned, having instantly recognized the voice, and was greeted by a portly, elderly man staring up at her through thick glasses. The red cap was the only indication he was still the same man she knew. “Mr. Smee, glad to see you’re alive and kicking,” Emma said in a slightly sardonic tone. She and Smee had never quite gotten along, Emma thought he was a rat and Smee thought she was a distraction to Killian, but the two shared some sort of weird bond. At least for Hook’s sake.

The man squinted at her. “Do I know you?” He seemed incredibly offput by the exchange that was taking place between the two of them.

Emma smirked. “Not exactly, but never mind that. I’m simply looking to see the Captain.”

“You said that, but you haven’t told me who the hell you think you are to be worth his time.”

Emma opened her mouth to reply, when someone behind her cut her off. “Mr. Smee, if she wishes to speak with me, then by all means we should let her.”

Emma turned slowly to find him standing on the steps leading down to his quarters. He was leaning against the railing, still cocky as hell. His hair had silver in it and the wrinkles on his face had deepened. He appeared to be in good shape, no doubt his work as a sailor keeping him in fine form, and he still carried himself with an unchallengeable dignity. There was something off in his gaze though, his face held none of its usual mischief.  He was smiling lecherously at her, but it didn’t quite reach his sea blue eyes. Those were cold and calculating, making his entire expression seem lifeless.

His smile grew until he appeared to be grimacing at her. “Of course, if you want my attention, you’re going to have to work for it. Just like every other woman I come in contact with,” as he was speaking he drew his scabbard from his side and raised it towards her.

Emma’s eyes moved to the hook he was brandishing. At least some things hadn’t changed. She smiled at him as she said, “I have a feeling this isn’t how most women work for your attention. Besides, I don’t even have a weapon, and you wouldn’t fight a lady with no way of defending herself.”

Hook narrowed his eyes. “What a dangerous thing to assume.”

“It goes against your code. Good form, and all that,” she shot back, defiance leaking into her voice.

If he was shaken by her words, he did not show it other than a small flex of his jaw. “Smee, give the lady your sword,” he commanded.

Smee looked at him incredulously, but handed the weapon over irregardless. It was a bit heavier than she was used to, and she rolled her muscles under the weight. She pulled the drawstring on her hood a little tighter, she couldn’t have him knowing she was a princess, not yet, and raised her sword in challenge.

He met her with a light and obvious blow, so much so that it felt like an insult to her abilities. She quickly parried back with something a little more forceful. It would have instantly ended the fight if he hadn’t blocked it reflexively. He raised an eyebrow and she smirked; he needed to take her seriously as an opponent if this was going to work.

Hook came back at her with more power, and that was when they really started to go at it. Emma thought back to their first swordfight, when he’d clearly let her win. He’d informed her much later that he simply couldn’t bear to see another family separated, and maybe a tiny part of him wanted her to trust him. Either way, he wasn’t letting her win now as he delivered blow after blow. She was mostly playing defense, knowing she couldn’t really overpower him if he’d set his mind to beating her. Still, she could see the confusion etched onto his face as he failed to overpower her. Everytime he went to end the fight, she was two steps ahead, blocking him in a way that prevented him from doing so.

She knew every move he was going to make.

It really wasn’t fair; he didn’t know that in a different life he’d taught her every single one of his moves. Lucky for you, you have the best teacher in all the realms, he’d told her once. Her father had taken issue with that, of course, but experience had made him a hell of a fighter. He had graciously bestowed all of that knowledge onto Emma, wanting her to be able to handle any opponent she came across. Little did he know that it would one day be him.

She knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep up with him forever though, and so she did her best to position him where she needed him. “You don’t remember me, do you?” She asked, their faces centimeters from each other as their blades met.

“Afraid not. Should I?” He purred as he shoved her back.

Emma huffed, readying herself again. “No, but it would’ve made this a hell of a lot easier.”

“And what might ‘this’ be?” Hook asked as he charged to meet her.

Emma blocked, and angled her body so that the pair were now facing left. “Getting you to help me.”

He drew back and then surged forward. “You’ve come to the wrong man, Love. I don’t do favors.”

Emma watched as he moved into his infamous spin move, coattails flying outwards. She rolled her eyes at his dramatics and raised her sword to meet him; blades clanging. “You will,” she grunted as she danced to the right.

Hook had clearly had enough of their back and forth because he swiped at her legs, and when she went to block him he quickly spun his scabbard and disarmed her. “Is that so?” He was clearly satisfied with himself as he regarded her coldly.

Emma raised her arms and stepped back, smiling when he mirrored her movements and stepped forward. He looked taken aback at the sheer bliss on her face, and so she laughed when she said “Yeah.” She slammed her foot down on the loose board, watching with satisfaction as the other end came up and slammed into Hook’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.

Whatever Killian was expecting when he came to, it clearly wasn’t her. He stared at her like she was a ghost and she held a glass of rum out to him silently.

“You’re the princess,” he muttered as he took it from her and gulped down a generous sip.

Emma’s hand moved reflexively up to her hairline; she’d forgotten she had removed her cloak. She sighed and replied, “I am.”

“You stayed,” he whispered as he sat up, refusing to make eye contact with her.

Something in the way his voice curled around the statement, like he was afraid the words weren’t true, made her heart ache. She knew he didn’t love her in this life, but he was clearly taken aback that there was someone out there who wouldn’t leave. Her Killian always did such a good job at hiding his scars, always wanting to take care of her. Sometimes she’d forget that there were a lot of opportunities for abandonment when you were 300 years old. “I stayed,” she said with a soft smile. “You promised to give me your time if I worked for it.”

Killian spun the glass in his hand. “That I did. How did you know about the board? I’ve had men on my crew for decades that can’t seem to remember that damn thing.” He was still refusing to look at her, but she could tell she had his full attention.

Emma sighed and stood up. She looked around the dark cabin and breathed in the familiar scent. He was still a neat freak after all these years, but she could see the residual signs of his unquenched rage. There was a broken mirror in the corner, an overturned chair near the table, and the whole place reeked of booze in a degree she wasn’t used to. There were no drawings of Milah, which she found surprising, because he’d always had those around even when she’d first met him. She knew he’d asked her a question, but instead of answering, she returned the favor. “Did you kill him?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that. “Kill who?”

She knew the answer but she wanted to know the why behind it. “The Dark One.”

“How did you-” and suddenly he had shot across the room and his hand was gripping her arm. “Did he send you?”

Emma shook him off, the look of disgust on her face being enough to convince him there was no way in hell she’d associate with Rumplestiltskin. “No,” she assured. “I was just wondering if you’d finally managed to do it, or what would be enough to get you to stop.”

Hook flopped down into a nearby chair. “Perhaps I valued my life more than my revenge.” He seemed to reconsider his words. “Perhaps age taught me that turning into the thing you hate most in order to destroy that thing seemed a little foolish.”

Emma smiled and she fingered some stray maps. “My wise, old pirate,” she murmured.

“What?” He asked and his tone was what made her realize she’d messed up.

She scrambled to think of a way she could amend this. “Wise, old pirate,” she tried, knowing he’d see through it.

He did. “You said my.”

“No I didn’t,” she tried again.

She was convinced they could be in some alternate universe in freaking Asgard and he’d still read her like an open book. “Yes you did.”

Emma sighed and began to pace. “It’s complicated and I’m not sure where to begin and,”

Whatever she had to say, he was clearly uninterested in hearing. Throwing his hands up, he turned away from her. “You know what? I’ve had about enough of whatever game you’re trying to play. I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but I think it’s time you go,” he said, making a move towards the door.

“Killian wait!”

He flinched like she’d slapped him and then stilled. It wasn’t quite what she was looking for, but it was something. So she tried again. “Killian,” she called softly as she went to stand in front of him. She wanted to see his face.

His eyes were clamped shut and his body was rigid in a way that indicated he was holding his breath. His hand was balled into a tight fist, tendons straining against the skin that covered them. “How do you know my name?” he gasped like he was being choked.

Emma didn’t know how to respond, so she simply placed her hand atop his until it relaxed. She ran her fingers over the callouses, and if she’d thought her Killian had rough hands, she’d been mistaken. Ninety years had clearly added a few extra layers of skin, in more ways than one. She’d always loved how tough his hands were; weathered and worn in. They were hands that matched hers. They were hands that had handled ropes and rigging and the pieces of his fragmented soul. They were the only hands she entrusted with her heart. “You know how,” she finally whispered.

Killian’s eyes snapped open. “What are you?”

Emma wanted to cry. She wanted to cry because she couldn’t begin to guess how long it had been since someone had used his given name. She wanted to cry because he was letting her hold his hand, but he wasn’t holding hers back. She wanted to cry because the pain in his eyes was threatening to drown her. She wanted to cry because he asked that question with such fear (because he’d called her a “what”, as though a “who” could never love him), that it broke her heart.

Maybe a tear or two did slip out when she told him she was from a different realm. A different timeline. That she’d made a wish that had messed everything up and taken everything from her. That things hadn’t happened the way they were supposed to, the way they needed to, and that she needed to fix it. She needed to fix it “because you’re waiting for me,” she whispered.

He’d been listening attentively while she spoke, but his jaw went slack when she said that and his eyes unfocused. “I’m waiting for you.”

Emma smiled and maybe more than a tear or two had slipped out because now she was struggling to see through them. She gave a watery laugh and nodded. “Yeah, you’re waiting for me in our home that we have together.”

Hook’s eyes came back into focus. “Our home? We share a home together?”

Emma smiled, the lump in her throat growing at the disbelief in his voice. “We live there together with my son, Henry. In a home you picked out for us.” She moved her hand up his arm, and was pleased when he didn’t shy away. “You told me I could have a future, that we could have a future, that I didn’t need to be scared if I just trusted you, and I did. You were always doing things like that.”

Hook stared at her, clearly clinging to her every word like it was his lifejacket in the middle of a storm. “Things like what?”

“Bringing down my walls, making me feel safe, putting me first. Even when we weren’t together, you still always put me first. You gave up this ship for me.”

That seemed to shake something in him, and she wanted to laugh at his shock. “I did what?”

She smiled at him, hand moving up to his shoulder. “To help me get back to my son and my parents, you gave up your ship in exchange for a magic bean.”

Hook’s eyes moved downward, unwilling to meet her gaze. “I must love you very much,” he muttered, and then he was moving away from her all too quickly.

The distance between them made her cold. The feeling of rejection flooded through her body, and she had to root herself to where she was standing to keep from running off. “I mean, I don’t…”

Hook spun around, clearly hearing something in her voice that affected him. Reading her like the open book he always claimed she was, he was back by her side in seconds. “No, no, love, please don’t mistake that confusion to be about my ability to love you. I can easily see how I could have fallen for you. You’re beautiful, and smart, and clearly have quite a bit of grit, and seem all around bloody brilliant. It’s easy to see why I’d be taken with you.”

Emma looked up at him and it was her turn to be confused. “Then why do you seem sad?”

Once again, Hook refused to make eye contact, preferring to shift his gaze around the room. He kept generous space between the two of them as he said, “I understand how I could love you, but I don’t… I can’t,”

It all clicked for her then, because Killian knew her, but she also knew him. She knew him like the damn palm of her hand. “You don’t understand how I could love you.”

Her heart broke for what felt like the millionth time at how quiet and sad his voice came out as he replied, “Aye. After everything I’ve done, the person that I was, that I still am, I don’t understand how someone like you could’ve fallen for someone like me.”

Emma closed the space between them and slowly moved her hands so that they were cupping his face. She absentmindedly ran her thumb along the scar below his eye, a familiar action that comforted her against all odds. Hook’s eyes fluttered closed under her touch and she spoke softly so as not to disturb him. “You’re good. You’re ridiculously, stupidly good. I know you probably don’t believe that now, I doubt you’ll ever believe it, but you are. You’re a man of honor and dignity and you’ve proven that time after time. You’ve lost a lot, Liam and Milah,” his eyes opened and he regarded her with a steely, caged expression. It had clearly been a long time since anyone had spoken either of those names. He made no move to remove himself from her hold, so she kept going. “But you keep fighting everyday to be better. We’re a lot alike, you and me. You may not believe me now, but I don’t think anyone understands me like you do.” The tears came then, because apparently she hadn’t cried enough today. “And you always believe in me. Always. No matter where we are, no matter what world or what memories you do or don’t have, you always trust me, you always fight for me. You’re the only person in my life who has never given up on me. No matter what realm we’re in, no matter what time, you and I always find each other.”

Hook gave her a small smile in spite of everything, but he was clearly uncomfortable with her shining review. Some things never changed. “I’m not sure the man you’ve described exists.”

Emma sighed, he always was incredibly stubborn.“He does, and he’s you. You’re still that person, Killian, even with a few extra years tacked on.”

Killian moved a hand up to wipe away a few stray tears drifting down her face. He was completely devoted to his task as he caught the tears with his thumb and asked, “How can you be so sure?”

Emma leaned into his touch.“Because otherwise you would’ve killed me on sight.”

He gave her a dry laugh and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “So, what do we need to do to get you back to me?”

She stepped back and began making her way over to the steps leading up to the deck. “I’ll explain later, we should get going.”

Killian nodded and followed after her. “Aye, we should. You have a future to get back to.” He stopped suddenly, and gave her a half-smile. “Speaking of which, you said we lived together, but I get the sense we’re unmarried. Any reason for that?”

Emma started and turned back to look at him. The question had seemingly come out of left field and had her rocking back on her heels. “Why do you want to know?”

And finally, finally, he gave her a real smile. A smile that lit up his whole face. A smile that, when she’d first found him in this world, she would’ve thought him incapable of giving. “Come on, Love. Humor this old pirate.”

She couldn’t help but grin back, debating on telling him the truth or not. Ultimately, maybe because she wanted to make him happy, or maybe because she wanted to tell someone the secret she’d been harboring for weeks, she chose the former. “You’re hiding the ring in one of your jackets at the back of our closets, which, for a pirate, is a very unoriginal spot to hide buried treasure. Guess you’re just waiting for the right time to make an honest woman of me.”

Hook looked at her like she was the sun in the sky, and she felt lucky to say it was a look that was familiar to her. With slight hesitation he asked, “And what will you say when I ask?”

Emma laughed. “I think you know the answer.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Of Hockey Thighs & Video Game Goals

Emma was distracted. And staring. And it was kind of, sort of, maybe, totally obvious.

She shouldn't have been. But she couldn't really help it. Because those shorts were there, solely, to torture her. She was convinced.

And Killian absolutely, positively knew.

Rating: Like a high teen of straight up staring at thigh muscles. Word Count: 6.2K LoL AN: Ok. Ok. Ok. So this is equal parts the fault of @optomisticgirl​ and Team USA Hockey and Chris Kreider’s thighs. But there was a video and some, frankly, ridiculous shorts and B was like “You should write this” and made that absolutely fantastic art as incentive and like seriously look at Chris Kreider’s thighs. There are gifs. Anyway, Worlds was the gift that kept on giving and Chris Kreider did the patented “Killian Jones goal celebration” in the bronze medal game and the Google Doc name for this story was “Emma Loses Her Shit Over Killian’s Thighs.” I will eventually post all the other one shots I have written. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

It should not have been a problem.

It wasn’t.

It was...it was the worst thing she’d ever seen, really. And by worst, she obviously meant best because words seemed to have lost all of their meaning at some indeterminate point that morning and Emma wasn’t sure she’d taken a deep breath in, like, the last ten minutes.

God, this was a problem.

She couldn't stop staring. Her eyes were staring to water, but her eyes simply would not close or blink or do anything except gape her husband, and she kept licking her lips because her mouth was actually hanging open, and that might have just been her body’s innate reaction to try and get some goddamn oxygen in her lungs.

Which was, actually, kind of nice if she stopped to think about it.

At least her body was determined to maintain consciousness.

Killian would lose his mind if she actually passed out in the middle of this thing. And that would take some explaining.

Emma groaned softly, rolling her head in between her shoulders and trying to find a way to stand in the corner of this room without drawing too much attention to herself. And, really, she did have work to do – she was supposed to be watching this whole goddamn event so she could send the video to Merida and there was something about Team USA, but Emma hadn’t really been listening to instructions because she was so distracted.

God.

She was going to burn those shorts he was wearing.

Or, maybe, like, frame them.

God. Again.

This was such a problem.

“Em,” Ruby called, and Emma nearly tripped over her own feet, jumping to attention and slamming her elbow into the wall she’d been cowering against in the process. She grumbled a string of curses under her breath, which wasn’t really helping her under the radar cause much at all, but Emma had more or less resigned herself to the disaster that this afternoon was shaping up to be.

She didn’t thinks he’d ever seen those shorts before. God, why was he wearing shorts? It was the single most distracting thing she’d ever seen.

There was just a lot of muscle.

And, objectively, she knew they were there. He played hockey for a living. It happened. Hockey thighs were real things with real blogs dedicated to them, but now these very specific ones were right there and the shorts weren’t helping and Emma was fairly sure that little indent just above Killian’s knee was actively trying to kill her.

She was staring again.

She was almost positive he was, somehow, flexing – feet propped on the bottom rung of a stool Ruby must have found somewhere because Emma had done absolutely nothing to actually help and maybe they should just tell everyone because then, at least, she’d have some sort of excuse for practically salivating over her incredibly muscular husband.

She really should be spending more time staring at Killian’s thighs.

That was the single weirdest sentence she’d ever thought.

“Emma,” Ruby yelled again, drawing a quiet snicker out of Will who, it seemed, had been roped into camera duty at the same time he was trying to keep Matt distracted.

“Yeah, yeah, here,” Emma mumbled. It didn’t quite ring true though, and her voice shook as much as her hand when she ran it over her face, trying to remember she was a professional with an ever-growing to-do-list and a very enthusiastic two-and-a-half year old and a frantic assistant stateside and, maybe in addition to staring at her husband's absurdly muscular thighs, they should stop having these life-changing kind of moments when they weren't in the continental United States.

It would probably just be easier that way.

“Yeah, you look it,” Will chuckled, wrapping an around Matt’s shoulders before he could try and launch himself at Emma. “Where’d you go?” She twisted her eyebrows. “Excuse me?” “You went all glossy and distracted and your eyes did that tired thing.” “At the risk of repeating myself, excuse me?” “Aw, c’mon,” Will shrugged, glancing around the room like he was looking for backup, but Ruby was trying to get Killian and Robin mic’ed up and there was a league rep somewhere and Roland and Henry had started sword fighting with the pair of discarded crutches in the corner. “You know what I mean,” Will continued. “It’s like you’re making lists in your head.” “Scarlet, can you stop talking about Emma’s head and how many lists she’s absolutely making?” Killian muttered, hissing when Ruby, presumably, pinched his side. “God, Lucas, do you actually have claws for nails?” She flicked his shoulder. “See, you think you’re funny, Cap, but you’re just making this harder for yourself. And Scarlet’s got a point, Em. What’s your deal?” “I have no deal,” Emma promised, and it was a God awful lie. She shouldn’t have been lying in front of her kid like that. It was a bad example. For the future.

Jeez.

She needed to go to bed. And find something to eat. She was starving. She didn’t really want to eat.

This was a disaster.

“You should have practiced that one,” Ruby suggested. Killian shifted on the stool again, which did nothing to help distract Emma from his goddamn legs and the shorts and it felt like the room was on fire. She might have been fire.

Roland and Henry were still sword fighting.

“Shouldn’t you be standing on those?” Emma asked, nodding back towards the crutches, but she didn’t take her eyes off Will or the way he was only kind of balanced on his left foot.

He shrugged. “I mean technically.” “Technically.” “You guys should have some kind of great, big liar competition,” Robin mumbled. “Ah, shit, Lucas, what was that?” “There are children present here, Locksley,” Ruby growled, staring pointedly at Matt and he absolutely did not care. There were video games to watch and another game to get ready for and the Rangers hadn’t made the playoffs, but Killian and Robin had gotten invited to Worlds and maybe this whole gaping at her husband thing started when Emma saw him in a Team USA jersey again.

The whole thing was incredibly cyclical.

“That was for being a jerk,” Ruby continued, widening her eyes in challenge and Robin might have blanched slightly. “Although, I mean, you do have a point.” “Right?” Ruby hummed noncommittally, but she glanced over her shoulder at Emma and her eyebrows might have been the single most judgmental things on the entire planet. Or, at least, in the country of Denmark.

“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Emma muttered, and Matt had finally worked out of Wil’s hold. It was probably because Will couldn’t put much weight on his right knee and Ariel would teleport to Denmark and strangle him with her bare hands if he injured himself again. Or if Roland and Henry came home with bruises from his goddamn crutches.

Although she’d probably have to get through Regina first.

Matt, however, did not seem particularly inclined to care about any of that, tugging on Emma’s shirt and bobbing on the balls of his feet and Killian’s eyes kept darting towards her, a flash of concern and question and she really wished he’d put some goddamn fucking pants on.

She could not be expected to think coherent thoughts or properly parent their kid when he was sitting there like that, and staring at her like he was absolutely, incredibly in love with her.

Emma might have been blushing.

And Ruby kept looking at Will.

Cyclical indeed.

“Lucas can we get this show on the road?” Killian asked, and neither Will nor Robin could quite turn their laughs into convincing coughs.

Emma bit her lip.

Ruby’s eyebrows shifted again, a flash of something on her face that made Emma believe they all spent far too much time together. “Uh, yeah, sure Cap,” she said, voice shaking just a bit and smile threatening to practically crack her in half. “I mean, that’s the single most dad thing you’ve ever said, but…”

She trailed off, dissolving into something that was closer to a fit of giggles than the professional demeanor any of them were trying to hold onto.

Emma squeezed her eyes closed, tugging her kid closer to her side, and he didn’t really appreciate that – head colliding with her waist and there wasn’t really any physical evidence of anything yet, but Matt’s jaw came dangerously close to her stomach and Killian’s hitch of breath sounded impossibly loud.

Even when Roland started shouting about low blows and Henry countered with something that sounded like well, defend your weak side, then and Ruby nearly growled when Robin pulled his microphone out standing up.

They were all horrible adults.

“Guys, guys, guys,” Will shouted, but it didn’t hold much threat when he had to hobble towards Henry and Roland, and Robin was still trying to play mediator.

Ruby looked like she might be praying. To some kind of possibly benevolent hockey god who would let them film this goddamn video.

Emma was staring at Killian again.

“God, this was easier when there weren’t so many of us,” Ruby sighed. That didn’t really ring through either though, particularly when she flashed a smile Matt’s direction and Emma resisted the urge to point out she was the world’s biggest pushover for a two-and-a-half year old.

“Ah, that wasn’t a very good lie either, Lucas,” Killian grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get Em to pencil in practice lying time on those post-it notes I know she’s got all over your room.” “Nah,” Emma objected. “I’ve got it all memorized. I’m way more efficient during this international escapade. Totally learned from my mistakes.”

She was going to shave Ruby’s eyebrows off. Or something less drastic. Like get some food. Or find a chair.

Killian grinned at her. And possibly flexed his left thigh.

Emma wasn’t sure if that was possible.

“Right, right,” Ruby mumbled. “That wasn’t very convincing either, but I honestly do not have time for this and Mer is going to have a meltdown if we don’t get her something within the next forty-eight hours.” “That is a gross exaggeration.” “Yes, it is.” “Oh, wow, I thought there would have been more bantering,” Emma blinked, Matt squirming against her side and she was pleasantly surprised that they hadn’t sustained several meltdowns over not being included in the great crutch battle.

The crutches were back under Will’s arms, Robin rolling his eyes in a put-upon way and he nearly knocked over the stool when he sank back onto it, letting Ruby poke and prod and get the microphone back into place.

“This better not take forty-eight hours,” he warned, clicking his tongue when Ruby swatted at his shoulder again.

“You know,” Will cut in, hooking his head over Roland’s shoulder and he was far too tall for an eleven-year-old. “You guys are coming into this with decidedly garbage attitudes. You’re playing video games for twenty minutes. It will not kill you.” “Probably,” Henry chipped in. He slid down the wall at some point, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other tugged to his chest and whatever he was doing with his face was some weird combination of Killian and Robin that made Emma’s heart practically leap out of her chest.

“It’s a hockey game,” Ruby groaned, pushing a camera towards Will and he nearly fell over. “God, c’mon, Scarlet, take this seriously for two seconds.” “I am!” “No, you are making jokes and quips and Emma’s doing whatever it is her eyes are doing and if Cap stares at her any harder he’s going to snap her in half.” “Yeah, that’s weird, right?” Robin asked. Emma sighed.

And maybe her eyes drifted back towards the goddamn shorts. Honestly, she’d never been more insulted by and attracted to a single piece of clothing in her life.

“Definitely weird,” Henry agreed, grinning when Emma gaped at him. “What? That’s true. And Killian’s really bad at video games.” Robin’s laugh was probably too loud for whatever conference room they were in, but Will almost lost his balance again, mumbling an apology when he nearly fell on top of Roland, and Killian’s eyes widened.

That was almost as distracting as whatever happened to that one muscle in his leg when he tapped his foot.

Emma needed to sit down.

“Ok, if we keep getting distracted with all of this it is actually going to take forty-eight hours and then none of us are going to be able to FaceTime with M’s and David and the cute kid,” Ruby said, staring at them like she was waiting for someone to announce that they didn’t, in fact, want to FaceTime with an only few weeks old Leo Nolan.

Getting to see his sleep-deprived parents was just a bonus.

“And we do have those pesky actual hockey games to play,” Robin added. He twisted his hand in the air, a controller appearing out of seemingly nowhere because the league rep Emma had only kind of forgotten about clearly knew how to apparate.

He handed Killian one as well, quiet instructions about not throwing them and Henry snickered from his spot on the wall, shrugging when Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

“What do you say to a bet, kid?” she asked. Will might have cackled.

Henry tilted his head. “You want to bet on this video game video that’s just supposed to hype up Team USA?” “Yes, exactly that.” “Stakes?” “Your call.” “Oh, that’s a dangerous game, Em,” Will warned, Roland laughing against his side and Matt had lost all interest in Emma's shirt. The league rep only looked slightly affronted when he climbed back on Killian’s lap. No one else was even remotely surprised.

Emma hummed, glancing back her husband and her kid and her mood seemed to swing as often as her desire to eat did, but she was happy and a little exhausted and they should really tell everyone at some point.

Maybe on that FaceTime call.

Mary Margaret would probably cry.

“So,” Emma continued, taking a step towards Henry and sinking down the wall next to him until their shoulders bumped and there was a joke to be made somewhere about time passing and the more things change, the more they stay the same. Or something. “Stakes, kid?”

It took a moment, and his voice was so quiet Emma barely heard him, but her heart might have burst when she finally understood the words.

“If Robin wins, do you think you could read something for me?” Henry asked softly, quiet enough that Emma knew he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. “It’s just...for school and I’m starting to think about places to goand I--”

“--Deal,” Emma interrupted. “If Robin wins.” And no matter, what, she thought, but that was decidedly sentimental and she’d spent most of the day staring at her husband’s thighs, so she didn’t entirely trust her emotions.

There were, of course, rules.

It was a Team USA promo video, but these were still New York Rangers first-liners and there was a bet on the line and they were competitive to a fault. “Ok,” Ruby said, standing in front of the TV screen a different league reap had wheeled in at some point. “You guys are going to play three games. There’s some setting or something that stops the game when you get to a certain score and--” “--Oh my God, Lucas,” Killian laughed, and even Emma couldn’t hold back her laugh. She was slightly worried Henry was going to concuss himself from inadvertently slamming his head into the wall and Roland’s whole body shook against hers when he let his head loll onto Emma’s shoulder. “That was the oldest sentence I’ve ever heard,” Killian continued. “And you were making fun of me before.” “Yeah, well, that’s because you and Em are being weird,” Ruby hissed. “We don’t have time for this, Cap!” “It’s fake pool play, Hook,” Roland explained. He didn’t move his head. “So you and Dad play three games as three different countries and whoever reaches ten goals first in each game wins.”

“Ten goals?” Robin balked. “God, that’s a ton of goals.” “Killian’s not that good at playing,” Henry promised, grinning when the professional hockey player in question rolled his eyes again.

Ruby sighed dramatically. “Guys, I’m serious! We have to get this video to Mer or I really think she’s going to combust on 34th Street and I don’t need that on my conscious right now.” “And you want to make ridiculous faces at Leo Nolan,” Emma knowingly.

“Yeah, well, whatever, you want to keep making eyes at Cap!” “That’s not true!” “Of course it’s not,” Ruby promised, but the sarcasm was practically dripping off her voice and Emma was ninety-two percent positive she was going to combust in the middle of goddamn Denmark. They did not have potato dumplings in Denmark.

Matt was still sitting on top of Killian.

“Alright,” Ruby said, nodding as if that would get back some control of the situation and the now, apparently, half a dozen league reps in the conference room all looked slightly stunned by the incredible normal goings on of the New York Rangers first line. “Can we get back to video games, please?” Robin saluted. Killian grinned.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m assuming you don’t want us to swear on camera, right, Lucas?” Killian asked, but his eyes flickered towards Emma and he totally knew she was staring. He’d absolutely known the whole time. The shorts were probably some kind of ploy.

Although, really, all things considered, that seemed kind of unnecessary at this point.

He smirked at her.

She was going to smack him. With her mouth.

She was way too aggressive.

“No, Cap,” Ruby argued. “I totally want you to swear on camera.” Killian’s eyebrows jumped. “Jeez, no,” she seethed. “Of course not! And there are kids here. Your kid is literally hanging off of you right now. Which, speaking of, come here mini-Jones. You’re going to hang with me while your dad probably loses horribly to Uncle Robin.”

She held her arms out expectantly and it took less than a full second for Matt to climb up her side, head burrowed into the curve of her shoulder.

“First to ten goals wins,” Ruby continued. “Three games, no swearing and, oh, right we’re going to ask some questions while you play so, ready, set go.” “Wait, what?” Killian asked, at the same time Robin mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like several different curse words, but Ruby just grinned and moved behind the stools and started talking to the camera Will was still, somehow, holding.

And really Killian was god awful at playing video games.

He kept making ridiculous noises, his whole body moving with the weight of his frustration – which did not help Emma’s attempts to look at anything that wasn’t his goddamn thigh muscle – and Will couldn't stop laughing and Henry and Roland kept muttering running commentary under their breath.

“You’re uh, you’re really seeming to struggle here, aren’t you, Cap?” Ruby asked, hitching Matt further up her side so she could rest a not-quite supportive hand on Killian’s shoulder.

He glared at open air. And gave up another goal.

“How is that even possible?” Killian shouted at no one in particular. “My guy was definitely in the shooting lane.” “You can’t just expect him to block your shot for you, Cap,” Robin grinned. “And I think that means we’re only three goals away from a pretty crushing defeat.”

“You are a God awful trash talker.” “Nah, this is good. Plus, this brings you back to Earth, doesn’t it?” “How do you figure?” “Ah, well, you scored on that breakaway against Germany and it’s all you’ve been talking about because you're trying to show off for Emma, so now you’re a little more grounded and aware of what you’re actually good at.” “Wow,” Ruby muttered. “That was...almost harsh, Locksley.” Robin shrugged, twisting his fingers and, somehow, moving his wrists at the same time he seemed to hold onto the controller tighter and the telltale sounds of the goal horn going off practically exploded out of the TV.

Henry and Roland whooped.

And fist pumped.

“This is ridiculous,” Killian grumbled, eyes finding Emma’s again and she’d started biting her lip at some point. Probably when he moved on the stool and the edge of his shorts twisted slightly and he was right.

It was absolutely ridiculous.

“You’ve got to move quicker, Hook,” Roland explained. “It’s like being on the ice.” “It is not anything like being on the ice. Do not compare it to that.” Robin scored again. And Killian looked like he was getting ready to throw the controller – possibly at several different league reps. “God,” he sighed. “Is this almost over?” “Have you lost your ability to count, Cap?” Robin asked.

“And,” Ruby added. “Can we not lose quite yet? We’ve still got some questions here.” Killian groaned. “Lucas, I can not focus on the game if you are chirping in my ear.” “Ok, first of all, I resent the implication that I am doing anything remotely resembling chirping and, again, I’d like to remind you that this is a league video and while we can edit this out, I need you to at least pretend like you care. Stop staring at Emma, Cap.”

He stuttered at that, eyebrows flying up his forehead and Emma was going to do permanent damage to her lower lip. “I’m not,” Killian mumbled, but it was as good as her lie before and Ruby’s expression didn’t change.

“Sure you not. Alright, question number one, Cap, if you could have one talent that wasn’t hockey, what would it be?” “Is that a joke, Lucas?” “That is exactly the question Emma and I came up with.” It could not have been healthy for Killian’s eyes to get that wide. Or for his mouth to drop open that quickly. Or that far.

He nearly dropped the controller.

“Swan, you wrote these questions?” he asked, and Roland grumbled slightly when she shrugged in response.

“I mean...I knew this was going to happen.” “Me being embarrassed by Locksley at video games?” “No, no, although let’s all be honest with ourselves, Locksley is kind of cheating. He’s definitely banking off Henry and Rol’s knowledge of this game and their probable talent at this game.” “How do you figure?” Robin asked sharply, shouting when his game-winning goal went in and Ruby clicked her tongue in frustration. “There’s still one more game, Lucas. Maybe Cap will almost make it look respectable down the stretch.” “Fingers crossed,” Ruby muttered.

Killian made a face. Emma tried not to smile. “Alright, alright,” he said “Let’s just get this over with. You ever going to put my kid down, Lucas?” “No. You going to answer Em’s question?” It took a second for him to answer – an impossibly long, slightly tense second filled with video game sound effects and a puck graphic hitting a stick graphic and Killian jumped out of the stool when he scored the game’s first goal.

Emma had to put her hand over mouth to stop herself from giggling.

“Take that, Locksley,” Killian yelled, ignoring Robin’s continued trash talk, and he grinned at Ruby when he had to pick the stool up from where it had crashed onto the ground. “And my super sappy answer to your question, Lucas, and Swan,” he added, glancing Emma’s direction. Her lip might have been bleeding. “Is to be a good dad. So remember that when you’re showing off in front of your kids, Locksley.”

Robin blinked, but he didn’t actually say anything and he smiled when he nodded. Emma tried very hard not to cry.

She started staring at Killian’s left thigh again.

“Ah, why’d you have to make it weird, Cap?” Will asked, but Ruby was already shaking her head and they hadn’t actually said anything yet, but she might have been a mind-reader and Emma was exhausted.

And making eyes at Killian.

And he kept trying to get her to sit down.

They were so bad at under the radar.

“Not weird,” Emma mumbled, drawing a quiet noise of agreement out of Ruby. It was difficult to make out when her head was buried in Matt’s back though. “Super sappy, but not weird.” “Ah, well, that was the goal, Swan,” Killian said, another smirk on his face and incredibly blue eyes and he definitely moved his feet to that lower rung on purpose.

He didn’t score another goal and the whole video was a little embarrassing and a little ridiculous and the absolute embodiment of the New York Rangers first line, smiles on their faces and laughter echoing off the walls and Matt fell asleep with his head on Ruby’s shoulder.

And the league reps wanted to talk to Killian and Robin afterwards – thanks for doing this, as if Ruby had given them a choice, and expectations for the game against Finland, and something about America in general with a stuffed animal that was apparently some kind of prize for winning the competition on camera – but Emma’s eyes didn’t leave Killian once, particularly when he turned around and that slight indent in his thigh was even more obvious and--

“You alright, Swan?”

She jerked up, blinking in surprise to find him so close to her and her eyes almost level with his knees and, eventually, Emma would blame that on whatever came out of her mouth next.

And the hormones.

Mostly the hormones.

“God, where did you even get these shorts?” she asked, half shouting the words at Killian’s shins and he arched an eyebrow when she glanced up.

“What?” Emma felt the blush in her cheeks, eyes wide and something else settling in the pit of her stomach that felt a hell of a lot like butterflies and nerves and this should not have been an issue, but the shorts looked good and he looked good and they’d only found out she was pregnant a couple weeks before.

She was stupid attracted to her husband and father of their, soon-to-be, two kids.

“Swan, you’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking, love,” Killian said, crouching in front of her and that was, somehow, even worse. The shorts rode up slightly and she was fairly certain the muscles were actively trying to taunt her at this point.

“You worry too much.” “You make it very easy.” “It’s really not a big deal,” Emma promised, but she could hear the undercurrent of sincerity of his voice and he was as worried as promised. “I just…” “Yuh huh?” “You’re really not making this easy.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised he caught on so quickly, his slight head tilt more than enough proof that he understood what she was talking about, but then he smiled at her and it seemed to inch across his face in slow motion, like that was purposely trying to taunt Emma too and she had no idea where their kid was.

Probably still hanging off Ruby.

“Swan,” Killian said, dragging out her name until she was positive she could feel it. “Are you ogling me in these shorts?” “No.” “Swan.” “No!”

“Emma.” She stuck her tongue out at him. She’d blame the hormones for that too. And he was still crouching in front of her. “Aw, c’mon,” Emma sighed, tugging her hair over her shoulder and the smile was a full-blown grin now that seemed to light some kind of fire in between her ribs. “That is just patently stupid. And really, really unfair. And teasing.” “All of the above, love.” “The mother of your children,” she said, pointing to herself like he wasn’t almost too aware of every single one of her symptoms and how big the baby was, and Killian’s smile shifted, less goading and more endearing and Emma wouldn’t cry.

Probably.

Hopefully.

She wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to making out either.

“And?” Killian prompted, rocking towards her and pulling her hands away from her front. His thumb worked its way under her laces, tapping softly against her wrist, which Emma was also sure was, somehow, cheating, but she was admittedly distracted by the goddamn fucking shorts again.

She was going to write a very strongly worded letter to the Team USA apparel manufacturer.

“And I can’t think when you’re wearing these shorts,” Emma whined. Killian really did do his best not to smile too wide, but there wasn’t much of a point and he was practically some hockey-playing peacock at this point. “Seriously,” Emma continued, voice cracking traitorously when her free hand moved of its own accord, tracing over the curve of his shoulder and the back of his neck and they needed to be anywhere that wasn’t this conference room.

“Seriously what?” “You can’t figure it out?” “I’d really love to hear it.” Killian chuckled when she swatted at his chest, but he also apparently had some kind of deep-rooted athletic response time that existed anywhere except during quasi video game tournaments and his fingers were warm when they caught around Emma’s wrist.

He kissed her knuckles.

“Have your legs always looked like that?”

“What?” “Your legs,” Emma repeated, eyes flitting towards the offending muscle and that was a mistake. She was distracted again. “It’s...a lot.” “A lot.” “God, why do you just keep saying the same thing I’m saying?” “Because that was honestly not what I was expecting, Swan,” Killian admitted. “A pleasant surprise, but a surprise all the same. And I think it’s an occupational hazard. Why are you harping on my legs?” “Thighs, technically. If you want to be specific.” “I would love to be specific.” Emma refused to be held accountable for whatever noise she made at that, but she was tired and kind of hungry and kind of not and only a little frustrated that they weren’t making out or buying forty-two pairs of these shorts so they could live in this moment for the foreseeable future.

He’d moved his hand to her stomach at some point.

“You’re a flirt,” Emma accused, tugging lightly on the front of his shirt and she’d barely gotten the words out before he was nodding in response.

“As previously mentioned love, you are the mother of my children, so I think that’s part of the deal. And you started it with the ogling. If you want to get technical.” She scrunched her nose, but her pulse picked up a bit and Killian’s fingers were moving, tracing absent-minded patterns over the front of the dress. “It wasn’t ogling. It was...an appreciative glance. Or stare. Whatever. Your thigh muscles are absurd.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” “It was. And distracting.” “Yeah, I noticed.” “Is that why you were so bad at playing video games?” Killian shook his head, a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, but he pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple and they needed to be seventy-six other places. They needed to find their kid. “No,” he laughed. “That was the extent of my video game playing talent. Although I am glad you’ll read whatever Henry asked you to read now.” “I would have done that anyway.” “I know that, Swan.” “How’d you hear him?” “Super-sonic hearing. It’s almost as impressive as the thigh muscles.” “Oh my God,” she sighed, but she was kind of charmed by it and he knew that as well as he knew she’d been staring at him all day. “You don’t get to lord this over me forever, you know. This is solely hormone-based.” Killian nodded, but it felt a little placating – particularly when his hand flattened against her and there wasn’t quite a curve there, but the website claimed there was a cherry there now and they were really good at this whole living life thing.

“Noted, Swan,” he promised, ducking down to catch her lips with his and there was the making out Emma had been waiting for.

They were good at that too.

“Can you get off the floor now, love?” Killian asked. “Please?” “I’m going to look up blood pressure facts and send them to you at random times to remind you that caring about your blood pressure is important.” “My blood pressure is perfectly fine.” “But?” “But,” he echoed, standing up and offering Emma his hand. She took it almost immediately. “I think it is well within my rights to worry about my girls.”

“You’re on a sappy, sentimental roll,” she mumbled, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his middle and that was mostly so he didn’t see the tears in her eyes, but he was almost too good at reading her at this point.

And he really thought it was going to be a girl.

“Ah, well,” Killian shrugged. He didn’t get anymore out though, a noise from the doorway that was somewhere between a screech and a scream and the audible manifestation of joy.

Ruby’s mouth was hanging open – Matt still clinging to her side and Will behind her with his own slightly stunned expression on his face. Robin was still holding the stuffed animal. It looked a duck. And there was a phone in Ruby’s hand.

“Are you guys serious?” Ruby shouted. “Oh my God, I knew it. I knew it! Scarlet, I win.” “What?” Killian yelled, but Emma didn’t move her head, just tightened her arms and tried to breathe him in and she smiled when he kissed the top of her hair.

Will waved both his hands through the air. “It’s not nearly that bad, Cap, honestly. Just...you know, Lucas and I were guessing. And speculating.” “About me being pregnant?” Emma asked.

Several someones on the phone made noise. A baby cried in New York.

“We had a hunch,” Will reasoned, but Ruby was mumbling we totally knew and Killian kept trying to kiss Emma’s temple, like that was grounding him or something. “Cap keeps trying to get you to sit down, Em. It was like watching history repeat itself.”

“He’s super worried all the time,” Robin added.

“Cyclical, huh?” Emma asked. “Can you tell him to worry about his blood pressure? He won’t listen to me.” “Deal. And,” he continued, holding the duck out expectantly. “I claim the honor of being the first one to gift mini-Jones two-point-oh something. In memory of how bad her dad is at playing video games.”

“Can we get some actual confirmation here?” Mary Margaret asked, voice a bit distorted through the FaceTime call and a distinct lack of sleep.

“Reese’s, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Emma countered. She was already shaking her head. And Killian’s lips brushed over Emma’s forehead. “Alright, alright, well, we were trying to do this a slightly more normal way this time, but I’m blaming the shorts, honestly.” “What?” Ruby asked.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing. That’s...I’m about two months pregnant.”

There were more shouts and a few more tears and Leo Nolan shrieking from several thousand miles away, but Emma couldn’t stop smiling and Killian couldn’t stop laughing and it was kind of nice in a kind of perfect way – even with history kind of repeating itself.

They almost got kicked out of the conference room, the league reps scandalized by the small party they seemed to be throwing, and Ruby grinned conspiratorially at Emma when she slung an arm over Matt’s shoulder.

“What do you say you come stay with me tonight, mini-Jones?” she asked. “We can give your parents some privacy to make eyes behind closed doors.” “You’re a pillar of support, Lucas,” Killian muttered, but it wasn’t an objection, and Ruby knew she’d won.

“Yeah, I am. Remember that in the future or whatever.” And, several hours later, the goddamn shorts looked better on the hotel room floor.

“I love you,” Emma muttered, hair over several different pillows and possibly in Killian’s face and she practically yelped when he tugged her closer to his side.

“I love you too, Swan. Even after the ogling.” “Oh my God.” “It’s a good word.” “Yeah, whatever.” “A girl, Swan. Absolutely a girl.” “You don’t know that for sure.” Killian made a contradictory noise, moving further under the blankets and tracing the tips of his fingers over her bare stomach. “A hunch. And we’re one for one already, love. Those are pretty good odds to consider.” He didn’t brag, nearly seven months later, when Margaret Elsa Jones arrived with a tuft of black hair and an incredibly impressive set of lungs, but he did smile and kiss the top of Emma’s hair and promised he loved her.

More than anything.

And for a little while Emma almost forgot about the goddamn shorts and the goddamn thigh muscles and how absurdly attracted she was to her husband until she woke up one night to find him slouched in the rocking chair on the other side of the room with a Peggy on his chest – just back from a road trip and there was a now three-year-old draped on Killian’s side of the bed.

Killian wasn’t quite asleep, and there was a stuffed duck under his hip, but his eyelids were fluttering and his fingers were tracing those same patterns they always followed whenever he touched Emma, and her heart felt like it burst when she looked at him, wearing the goddamn shorts with a towel draped over his shoulder.

“You’re staring, Swan,” Killian mumbled, low and gruff and it took a quick moment of cajoling to make sure Peggy didn’t start crying.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “And that was a good goal tonight.” “Ah, well, I knew I had an audience.” “Flirt.” “Always, Swan. Always.”