#but it makes it so much messier and five's usual tactic when things get emotionally messy like that is to pretend to ignore it

[sharkneto]

What would be Number’s reaction to learning Reginald is an alien?

You know, I've thought a bit about what he'd think about learning he's not totally human, but I hadn't thought about the Reggie angle.

I think it's a bit of information he legitimately wouldn't know what to do with. Like, as Klaus would point out, it makes perfect sense - how could a man like that be anything but inhuman? But Five has such a specific and complicated relationship with Reggie - he's both huge and tiny in his mind. This figure that's defined so much of his childhood and shaped who he is, that he's set himself in opposition to. It's important to him and his identity that he's classified Reggie as "just a man" and a shitty father. Now you introduce that part of why he's been so uncaring and pragmatic and cold is because he legitimately isn't human? Sure, they joked about it as kids, but this still comes from fucking left field. How the fuck do you react when your father figure and abuser turns out to be a goddamn alien? It's a messy, messy thing he'd have to process -- or not process. I think it's a thing he'd say "doesn't matter" if any of the siblings asked him - he was still shit, wasn't he? He doesn't get a pass just because he's an alien - while he spirals a little bit trying to figure out what that means for what his relationship with him is/was.

Anyway, bonus snip of the angle I've thought about this from in regards to Five finding out he's not exactly fully human himself, featuring some creative liberties with how genetics works.

Amanda looks up from her laptop with a frown as McKenzie plops into the seat next to her with a noisy sigh. The Union bustles around them, the other students oblivious to ‘Kenzie’s apparent bad mood. “You good?” she asks, turning back to her paper that refuses to write itself.

“My experiment didn’t work.”

She looks up again, eyes widening in sympathy. “The big genetics one? The one worth half your grade?”

“That would be the one!” McKenzie says, slouching in her chair and letting her head fall back dramatically.

“Oh my god, what are you going to do—”

“I mean, it mostly worked. I had enough data to do it all and present but one sample was totally fucked and my TA couldn’t figure out what was wrong so my statistical accuracy was—”

Amanda smacks her arm. “I thought you fucking failed!”

McKenzie rolls her eyes. “Who do you think I am? I got extra samples just in case one got fucked so I wouldn’t be fucked. And I’m choosing to believe it was one you got for me from someone at the physics lab. I know I swabbed right, I got good cells.”

The crisis not the crisis Amanda thought it was, she relaxes. “Maybe you fucked your reagents,” she defends, although she’s not a biologist and it is entirely possible her favor for her friend is what messed up the experiment. Cells are tiny and alive and so outside of her interests, she doesn’t know what they need to be happy or whatever. She jammed swabs into the boys’ cheeks at the lab, shoved those into the tubes ‘Kenzie gave her, and then delivered them.

“I did the same thing for each sample, boom, boom, boom, assembly line style. If I fucked that part they’d all be fucked and I would have actually failed.”

She shrugs. “Well, sounds like we’re going out tonight either way, celebrating the end of that project from hell.”

Her friend straightens with a coy grin. “You know me so well. Juan’s has fishbowls tonight.”

“I cannot do fishbowls again, I almost died the last time we went there. If I even think about that shitty margarita I’m going to hurl…”

It’s not until Amanda has returned to her paper (that still tragically hasn’t written itself) and McKenzie has left to find a snack to munch on around distracting her that she realizes there might actually be a further implication to McKenzie’s failed experiment sample.

She sampled the boys at the lab.

Which included a certain person who can do the fucking impossible and teleport.

“Paper so boring it melted your brain?” McKenzie asks as she returns and breaks Amanda from her thoughts. She drops a basket of fries between them.

“How was your sample fucked?” Amanda asks.

She frowns. “Since when do you care about bio? It’s not theoretical, so you don’t care.”

“Maybe I want to defend my honor as a sample-taker.”

McKenzie acquiesces with a shrug. “It didn’t amplify right. All the others had bands in the right spot in the gel, which makes sense because every human on Earth has the gene, but this one’s band was like six hundred base pairs bigger. The primer was scuffed for the PCR or the sample was degraded or some shit so it went weird.” She pauses. “Although then it should have been nothing or smaller, not larger, if it was falling apart…”

“What’s the gene responsible for?”

Her friend raises an eyebrow at her, a fry paused in the air on its way into her mouth. “Who are you, caring about genetics? You usually glaze over when I’m talking about this stuff, like how I nod along and think about Love Island when you and Taylor get into physics crap.”

Amanda shrugs, hoping it’s nonchalant enough. “Your experiments usually work, I’m curious.”

McKenzie sighs. “Whatever, I never get to talk about this shit, and it’s really cool. It codes for proteins involved in cell maintenance and DNA repair. So if it wasn’t user error on the sample, which it had to be because it’s a super conserved mechanism across the animal kingdom for how we’re all still up and multicellular, they’re either in big trouble and going to die soon or they’re a freak of nature and probably should get studied for cancer implications or something. A clump that big, if it’s actually functional, means they’re probably either making really shit copies of the proteins or they’re making a shitton for some insane cell maintenance.”

“What would they need all that maintenance for?”

“The point of it is to not get cancer, right? If you’re keeping all your genes in order to copy right, then you have happy healthy cells that aren’t mutating and dying to save you from how shit they are or mutating and not dying and they’re multiplying like crazy to give you a lovely tumor. I guess having an overactive system like that would be great if your constantly stressing your cells out? But if it was doing it like that like this sample implicates, you’d have to be inhuman. A real freak to have a functional gene like that.”

Like if you were ripping through space on a regular basis. That seems like it would stress the cells out. “Can I see a copy of it?”

“For real? Yeah, here, I’ll send it to you…” McKenzie shoves the fries aside to pull her laptop out. “I should have fucked my experiments earlier if it made you actually interested in genetics…”

The email appears in Amanda’s inbox a couple minutes later, after McKenzie has pointed on her screen why the image is weird and comparing it to the regular samples.

Amanda has one last question: “Did anyone else keep this?”

“Did anyone keep my fuck up? No, Amanda, you’re so weird. And I’m not either, I don’t need a bad sample taking up room on my hard drive. Project is turned in, it’s flagged as an outlier in my results, and I’m sure my TA isn’t going to hang onto it. Why would he?"

Good.

Amanda isn’t really sure what to do with this info that she is pretty sure proves Five isn’t totally human. Or at least has some weird shit going on, which makes sense when he can do what he can do.

She decides it needs to be in his court. McKenzie hadn’t thought anything of the results, and – to be fair – they could really be from an experimental error. But the fact that Five was in the sample group and that, for all her distractions and partying, McKenzie is usually meticulous when it came to her lab work makes Amanda think it’s unlikely just that.

So, she prints out the results, shoves them in a manila folder, and then deletes the email and files.

She catches Five at work the next morning. “Hey! Number!”

He pauses in his math to glance over his shoulder and nod a greeting before turning back to his whiteboard.

“Can we talk for second?” she asks as she dumps her bag in her cubicle, digging the results packet out.

“Shoot.”

“Over here.” She jerks her head to the conference room.

He frowns but follows. “Everything good?” he asks when she closes the door behind them.

“Yeah,” she says. She thrusts the manila envelope forward.

He cautiously takes it but doesn’t open it. “What is this?”

“You remember McKenzie’s big project for her genetics class?”

“Sure, when you shoved q-tips down our throats.”

“Swabbed your cheeks. Yeah, that one. Um. You had weird results, and I thought…” Amanda trails off as Five just stares at her. His expression is unreadable.

“I thought it was anonymous.”

“Yeah, it was. Like, she knows who she got samples from, but the samples themselves weren’t labeled. But…”

“But?”

“She had one sample that was wonky. I don’t totally understand it, and she and the TA assume she messed up the reagents on it, so they don’t think anything of it, but…”

“But?”

“I sampled you and you’re, um. You. With the Jesus birth and everything.”

Five’s expression doesn’t change. He glances down at the envelope in his hands. “You think the weird results are me because of my powers.”

“Yeah.” She shifts slightly.

“And you printed them out and gave them to me in a dramatic envelope because…?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. Felt like if it was something explaining how you’re… different, it should be yours. I deleted the files and I think McKenzie will, too, once her grade is finalized. That should be the only copy.”

He nods and turns the envelope over in his hands. He still hasn’t opened it.

“So, um. Yeah,” Amanda says as the silence stretches.

“This is the one copy?” he confirms.

She nods.

“Cool. Thanks.” He straightens and walks past her, dropping the packet in the garbage as he exits the conference room. He doesn’t look back.

Amanda looks after him as the door hangs open. She follows him a minute later, almost running into Sarah as she’s unlocking her office.

The envelope stays in the garbage, unopened and to be forgotten.

Maybe that’s for the best, Amanda decides.

[katie-dub]

The Princess of White Chapel (7/12)

Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?

AO3 | Tumblr

Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief.

This particular chapter is a tough one for Killian - be prepared for some emotional breakdowns and distressing flashbacks.

Sorry I’m posting later than usual guys, it’s been a week. Still, I’m excited to share this chapter - thank you to all of you who are reading, reblogging and all those other lovely things, they mean a lot.

The magnificent @princesse-swan made my header - and here’s her latest gorgeous picset.

The utterly perfect @distant-rose and @ultraluckycatnd made this work better with their beta skills.

Killian was dragged from sleep by his alarm. He groaned, wishing that he could just close his eyes and forget about the world.

It had been a long time since he'd joined in the drinking on a night out with his friends, and he was certainly feeling the after effects. He may not have overindulged, but he wasn't as young as he once was - and the alcohol was only part of the issue.

The emotional hangover however was crippling.

He felt like last night he'd taken a huge leap forward on the road to recovering from the devastating loss of his first love. Only to fall and stumble backwards, losing himself in his guilt and grief.

He hadn't realised what a burden on his soul his grief had been, unable to recognise the weight of it until he met Emma. After one night of feeling like he didn't have to shoulder his pain alone anymore he felt lighter, but knowing that reprieve was only temporary also made him feel centuries older than his true age.

And there was the kiss.

Bloody hell, that kiss.

It had been perfect, passionate, and utterly impossible.

First kisses didn't feel that good, it was nonsensical. But they kissed like they had been doing it for a lifetime - for several lifetimes in fact. And he was going to have to send her home to another realm where he could not follow. Talk about unfair.

And there was the guilt that followed. He had devoted himself to Milah long ago and when he loved, it was with his whole heart - his entire being. How could he find room in his heart for someone new?

But he didn't even have to try. It hadn't been a conscious choice to fall for Emma, but somehow he was falling for her. He knew that Milah still owned a piece of his soul, had left an indelible impression on his heart, but it had somehow swelled to make room for another. He shouldn't feel bad for that, but he couldn't help himself.

He had far too many feelings for 8:15am.

Tea. He desperately needed tea, after a cup or five he might begin to start thinking more clearly. He could only hope that would happen.

It was probably for the best that he had to report to his new lab this morning and pick up the pieces of his tattered research. Throwing himself head first into a new challenge and letting it consume him utterly was his best coping mechanism, even if he now could see it for the unhealthy avoidance tactic that it was.

It wasn't a solution, merely a short term reprieve.

He finally sat up with an effort, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pushing back the hair that was obscuring his vision. Blinking blearily, he glanced over to the chair that should have contained his clothes for the day. Except with all the drama of the previous night, he'd forgotten to get his clothes out of the room before Emma had gone to bed.

He was going to have to sneak into his own bedroom to get something to wear, without disturbing Emma from sleep and risking looking like a creep. Or what if she wasn't asleep, but just hiding from him?

Bloody hell.

His life was ridiculous.

He filled the kettle right to the top and flicked it on to boil. He busied himself with getting the pot and adding the tea bags, giving himself a few moments to find his courage. When he went so far as to wait until the kettle had actually boiled, he tried to tell himself it was just so he could get his tea brewing, but deep down he knew he was just being pathetic.

Instead of stalling any longer, he walked to the bedroom. He softly knocked on his door - just in case Emma happened to be awake - but on hearing no reply, he carefully opened the door and crept inside. He quickly found the clothes he wanted, hardly daring to breathe lest he disturb her and hurried to get back outside. As he turned to close the door behind him, he caught sight of her.

She was stunning.

She looked at peace in her sleep in a way he'd never seen while she was awake. A faint blush graced her cheeks, and her hair was a mess of waves around and over her face. She wasn't some Renaissance painting of frozen perfection. She was messier, but she was a true sleeping beauty all the same.

He only caught a glimpse of her before he turned away, feeling like he hadn't earned this intimacy. He didn't deserve her unguarded moments and probably never would. But seeing her like that? Oh how it made him wish he were a better man, someone who was worthy of a princess.

As he drank his tea and stumbled his way through his morning routine, he tried to put her out of mind. But his fantasies of her hair tickling his own nose as he woke up, her soft sigh against his cheek, would not leave him.

She still hadn't emerged by the time he had finished inhaling his slightly burnt toast and third cup of coffee. He breathed a sigh of relief as he scribbled a note - “gone to the lab, back by 7” - and pulled his door shut behind him.

He hadn’t fully processed everything that had happened last night - and he needed to concentrate on his work. Based on the way she had bolted from him after their kiss, he was fairly certain she wasn’t sure how to feel about it either. He suspected that she would prefer to act as if nothing had happened instead of having a heartfelt conversation, but doing either would be emotionally taxing and was more than he could handle right now.

After the fresh air that had breezed through the city the night before, the heat had returned with a vengeance. It was not yet 9am and already the atmosphere felt heavy. By the end of the day, Killian was sure the scent of melting tarmac would fill the air. A storm must be brewing.

As he walked through the streets, torn between rushing to get out of the suffocating air and sauntering at a leisurely pace in deference to his hungover state, he couldn’t help but wonder at how quiet the area was. There were still people around, but the place should be packed, the pavements actually overflowing with commuters at times. He never thought he’d miss having to fight his way down a street, but right now, everything felt somehow lifeless in comparison to its usual noisy, bustling state.

He reached the base of the Gherkin. He’d never had cause to go in before - uninterested in the shops and trendy bars it contained. It was an impressive sight, bearing down on him with its unusual triangular archways with their sharp points that reminded him of a crocodile’s teeth. How fitting for Gold, he thought, suppressing a shudder.

He took a deep breath that brought him no refreshment as it filled his lungs with the humid air, passed through the archway, and entered the building.

The sudden cool was a blessed relief. Before him were two sleek black desks with smiling receptionists behind them and turnstiles in between. There were textured white walls behind them. All was sparkling clean and futuristic. He looked around, unclear of what he was meant to do next.

“Dr Jones!” a man in a white coat ran towards him. He panted slightly as he arrived at Killian’s side, despite only having crossed a few yards. Killian furrowed his brow as he looked the man up and down - he looked out of place here, his thick, fuzzy beard and short, stout physique contrasting unflatteringly against the sleek, glistening surroundings. More concerning to Killian, though, was the way his eyes darted around the lobby as though he were on edge.

“Dr Smee,” he said, extending a hand for Killian to shake. “Astrophysicist and lecturer in quantum mechanics at Imperial College and your partner for as long as you need me.”

Killian took the man’s hand. It was clammy with sweat despite the pleasant temperature inside. He’s here under duress, he thought cooly. Good, he’s not entirely Gold’s man. I can work with that.

His assessment was perhaps callous, but he was going to have to trust his team, and he needed all the leverage he could get.

Smee ushered him into the lift. Even though it quickly filled up with other people, it took just minutes for them to reach the 32nd floor.

“Fastest lift in Europe,” Smee said with a smile when Killian's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the speed of their ascent.

“Impressive,” he begrudgingly admitted.

Smee led the way to glass double doors. “Welcome to your new lab, Dr Jones!” he said grandly as he used his swipe card to throw open the door.

“Bloody hell…” Killian breathed. So much for not being impressed.

Immediately in front of him were floor to ceiling windows. First a neat row of standard large rectangles, then a gap that housed impressive white triangular supports before you got to the trademark diamond windows that gave The Gherkin its distinctive shape.

And the view through the glass? Nothing short of breathtaking. A stunning panoramic vista showing what felt like all of London sprawling out from it, with its huge office blocks, grand architectural landmarks and mammoth cranes all reduced to toys by the great height.

“We have the whole 32nd floor, Dr Jones,” said Smee, noting his wide-eyed gaze, “that means 360 degree views of London, you can see Tower Bridge, St Paul’s, the Shard, the Eye, everything from here.”

He felt like he could spend forever circling the windows, gazing at the city below. He wondered briefly what Lily had looked like on Tower Bridge from up here.

“Now if you look over here -” Smee was pointing to his left - “we’ve got multiple computer banks.” They began to walk around the circular space. Large curved screens were mounted on the clean white walls, he could see everything from blueprints and coding to the latest news and twitter feeds. In front of the walls there were sleek slate grey desks with state of the art computers placed on them, alongside phones and laptops. Already there were teams of people tapping away on keys.

“How long until we have everything back from my old computers? Killian asked.

“It’s already done.”

“You restored the data already?” Killian arched his brow, framing his respect as scepticism. He didn't want them to see how impressed he truly was. Better to let them think he was doubting their ability than to show Gold that he'd won this round.

“Gold expects excellence in all things,” was the honest reply. “Of course, with Gold there were no second chances. You get the job done or call a priest to hear your final confession and read you your last rites.”

Killian nodded to show he understood, but gave no encouragement and expressed no sympathy. That was simply the price you paid for working with a crocodile. Sooner or later, he'd eat you alive.

They continued past more computers until the space opened out further. There was one last desk set apart from the wall, all the the computers on it faced towards a grand space where construction was in progress on a new machine. A team of technicians in white coats were assembling the parts efficiently, referring to plans on impressively large laptops on portable workstations.

“Well, I have to say, this is all much better than I hoped,” Killian admitted begrudgingly. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“I’m not sure I quite follow -” Smee began.

“For a start, anyone who leaves more than five personal items in the lab is banned, make sure that you enforce that rule.”

“I don’t see the need...”

“Am I in charge here?”

“Yes, Dr Jones, it is your research project after all.”

“I’ve seen the walk-in petri dishes that some scientists work in, anyone who treats my lab like they would their childhood bedroom has no place on my team.”

“Oh I see. It must be that I’m used to a slightly higher calibre of scientists. Ones who aren’t living some kind of clichéd man-child scientist life like bit parts in The Big Bang Theory. Imperial is ninth in the world for physical sciences after all - fourth in Europe - but I don’t think King’s College gets a look in?”

Killian scowled at Smee. He shouldn’t let this jab at his university’s reputation bother him, it was nothing more than typical local rivalry at play, but it was a bitter reminder of everything that Gold had cost him in life. It hadn’t been enough to take love and limb from him, he’d come close to destroying his career, leaving him scrabbling for funding and struggling to get published. But King’s was a decent university, he was proud to have fought back and won his role there despite the constant setbacks. But if he were to say that? To reveal that their generous benefactor was in fact a constant thorn in his side, that would sound like nothing more than sour grapes.

“I find it’s not the size of your ranking, but what you do with it that matters.” Killian smirked at Smee.

“And what have you done with it Dr Jones? I tried looking you up, but found that your published works were rather thin on the ground. It’s hard to believe that you still have funding with such a poor record.”

This was a definite power play, and one that Killian didn’t appreciate at all. Not only had he inadvertently hit a sore spot, but also Killian didn’t like that he had been left in the dark on who he was to work with, while his partners were able to do their homework. While his initial impression that Smee was not entirely comfortable working for Gold may have been accurate, he was nevertheless a clever man and not to be trifled with

But Killian Jones had trained to deal with men that were far more fearsome than the portly Dr Smee. He advanced into the man’s personal space, looking down on the man with obvious disdain.

“Let me make one thing clear to you, Smee, was it?”

“Dr Sm-”

“Right. Smee, you're only here because I allow it. You may be useful to me and I don't want to deal with the inevitable headache I'd have if I kicked you out of my lab and you ran off to tell Gold on me like a good little lackey. But don't mistake this for kindness or weakness and don't take me for a fool. If I catch even the slightest sign that you are standing in my way, I will not hesitate to end you. Not your research, not your career. You, Smee. Have I made myself clear?”

Smee swallowed hard. “Cr - cr - crystal.”

“Very well then Smee, welcome to my team.” He clapped Smee on the back, just a touch too hard to be considered truly friendly and dropped his voice. “No offense, but I can’t have a rat in my lab. It’s most unsanitary, you understand.”

Smee nodded, looking terrified. Once upon a time, Killian might have felt sorry for the man, but he'd learned the hard way to never underestimate Gold and his cronies. Smee was Gold’s man, he couldn't be trusted.

***

Despite his suspicions and total dislike of relying on Gold’s support, Killian found that he had a productive day. The reason for his machine behaving in this way eluded them all, meaning they were still far off figuring out a way to reverse the effect. But at least progress was being made on rebuilding the machine.

He stepped out onto the street at the end of the day and instantly was reminded why he sometimes hated London in the summer. There was the smell of molten tarmac on the breeze and the air felt sticky with sweat. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoo that he usually kept hidden, and unfastened a few additional buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his chest than he usually would on a work day. But considering he could see at least one lobster red tourist who’d stripped out of their shirt entirely, he felt smart in comparison.

He toyed briefly with the idea of inviting Emma for a walk after dinner down by the river where the air would be cooler. He could take her to the Southbank side, get a drink in the nook by the Golden Hind, go people watching on the grass by the Tate Modern.

She’d probably appreciate escaping the flat for a few minutes at least. I should really get her a key, he thought, and possibly a phone. She shouldn’t have to stay cooped up indoors all day. He tried not to think too much about how much he cared for her comfort - or how he was acting as though her presence might be long term - or how much he hoped it was.

A cat darted in front of him, startling him from his thoughts. He might have paid it no further attention if the creature hadn’t unfurled a pair of wings lazily and took flight. He blinked in alarm. These strange occurrences were happening ever more frequently, and once again, the streets were far quieter than he’d ever known them to be before. Something was deeply wrong in town and he was daydreaming about playing house with a princess.

Still though, providing Emma with some creature comforts was something he could do immediately and with little effort on his part. Handling arsey dragons, vanishing fairies, and dwindling crowds was firmly in the territory of mistakes that he had made and had no idea how to fix.

That fact made him deeply uncomfortable.

He was always one to admit when he was wrong, meaning that Gold’s unwillingness to ever accept responsibility for Milah’s death and do his time disturbed him greatly. When he was wrong, he would do everything in his power to make amends. But this was beyond him. The only person he could make amends to on any level was Emma.

That made his mind up for him. He knew a little place not too far out of his way where he could get a set of keys and a cheap phone. (And, if he so desired, all manner of cheap tourist crap, his dry cleaning done and, he suspected, an eighth of pot. Not that he’d know for certain, having taken no interest in recreational drugs since his mission was set. Still, it was hard to ignore the distinctive smell that wafted out of the doorway when he passed and he highly doubted that the teenagers with glazed eyes flocked there for their range of designer perfumes of dubious origin.)

He marched towards the shop, feeling as though he were wading through treacle, determined to get what Emma needed. He wondered fleetingly if he could get away with undoing a few more buttons, but decided against it as that was just a little too close to wandering the streets topless and while he didn’t mind people seeing him in that state, his British reserve kept him clothed.

Bloody hell, Emma will need more clothes too. Ruby only brought her enough to last until the weekend. We can hardly have her walking around the city dressed in only my shirt.

The image of Emma’s long legs filled his mind - and his thoughts quickly turned to the previous night of feeling her straddling him. He wondered about what might have happened if he’d kissed her again. Would she have let him? How different would his morning have been if he’d woken up in bed with her after a night of exploring each other? Would he have slipped out of bed leaving her naked and sighing for him in her sleep?

And despite himself, those thoughts stayed with him throughout his entire walk to the shop. It was only the scent of weed wafting on the breeze as he drew closer that shook him out of his uncomfortably domestic daydreams.

He wondered what it said about him that he’d been fantasising about having a life with her, and not of just having her. (Although he did think about that too.) He was on the verge of playing at living with a girl he knew he’d have to give up all too soon, after his previously doomed relationship with a married woman.

He sure knew how to pick them.

A short while later he let himself back into his flat, unsure of how exactly to bring up the set of keys that were burning a hole in his pocket and the phone that was sitting in his leather satchel.

“Swan?” he called out as he walked towards the living room, wanting to give her warning that he was home. “I’ve got s -” He stopped dead at the sight before him.

Emma was lounging on the couch with her knees up to create an easel for the drawing pad that rested against them. She was sketching and from what little he could see over her shoulder it was a simple, beautiful swan.

The image of another beautiful woman, who he’d found in that exact pose so many times before, filled his mind. His eyes misted over as he realised how faded those memories were. He knew that he’d find Milah like this and he’d creep over to see what she was drawing. She would tilt her head back to invite a kiss, but the picture was insubstantial as smoke.

Emma jumped and accidentally drew a line straight across the swan’s throat. He hadn’t even realised that he had drawn closer to her until he was a little too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, stepping back to a safe distance and cursing his own stupidity. This was Princess Emma Swan, golden haired beauty and badass from another realm. Not his lost love returned to life.

She scrambled to shove the art supplies on the table, looking guilty. “Oh, um, I - I hope you don’t mind - I - I wanted something to do other than watch the magic mirror -” she shook her head, eyes squeezed shut as though trying to shake the wrong wording out of her brain. “I mean, TV. These were in a drawer...”

Killian’s eyes widened as he watched her babble. Did he look angry? Had he said something harsh that he hadn’t meant to? He had thought that princesses were meant to be spoiled, but this one seemed determined to apologise for her very existence in a way he found frankly alarming.

“Swan -” he touched her arm gently, but she jumped nevertheless “- it’s okay, love. It’s about time someone used those again.”

“You don’t draw anymore?”

“They were Milah’s.”

She looked down to the tattoo on his forearm - a heart with a dagger through it with a ribbon wrapped around it bearing the name “Milah” - then to the ring on the finger of his prosthetic. She looked even more guilty at these words. “Your wife?”

“Emma, Milah and I were never married.”

“But…” Emma frowned in confusion, her eyes darting down to his ring once more. He understood her hesitance at once.

“This -” he held up his prosthetic adorned with his ring “- is my engagement ring from Milah. She was murdered the night she asked me to marry her.”

“Oh, oh fuck, I'm so sorry, I hope I didn't upset you, calling her your wife when you didn't - you couldn't -” Emma faltered and shook herself. “That's awful. I'm sorry that you didn't get to marry her. I didn't mean to make it worse. In my realm, it is customary for the man to do the asking and the woman to wear the ring.”

Killian laughed. “It is here too, but my Milah was never one for doing things the traditional way.”

***

After champagne toasts and congratulations from many strangers and waiters, and the manager absolutely insisting that their drinks were on the house, they finally floated home on a cloud of joy.

They were so wrapped up in each other that neither noticed the figures following them home. If they had, perhaps they wouldn’t have taken the shortcut through the dimly lit park that Killian had originally intended to propose in precisely because it was out of sight of inquiring eyes.

(But then again, they were hoping that perhaps they could start their private celebrations early and they didn’t want an audience. They were just so high on each other and they felt so good.)

They were pressed up against a tree when they realised their mistake.

“Well, well, well, dearie. What do we have here?”

At the sound of Gold’s voice, Killian’s whole body stiffened. He pulled his lips away from Milah’s, expecting to see fear in her eyes. He was incredibly proud to see nothing but defiance and contempt. She had come such a long way from the frightened woman in desperate need of an escape whom he first met. If it weren’t entirely the wrong time for it, he might had even chuffed a little with pride at how he had helped her to escape this man - this crocodile - so that she could become the fierce, strong, and independent woman she truly was.

He turned slowly to face Gold, moving slightly to the side so that Milah could look at her ex, but placed firmly between them, his body still close to hers.

“Go away. Nobody wants you here,” Milah spat out.

“Come now dearie. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t congratulate you on your engagement?” His manic grin dropped and a dark scowl crossed over it. “Oh wait, a normal one. Did you really think I’d let you -” Gold’s words stopped as his eyes fell on the ring sitting on Killian’s finger. He sneered at the sight and gestured to it dramatically. “What is that?” He looked back up at Killian’s face in disgust. “Are you wearing an engagement ring too, princess? Did your true love get down on one knee? Was it everything you dreamed of as a little girl?”

Gold stepped back and gestured to one of his henchman while pointing at Killian’s ring. “I can’t have people thinking my wife has already married someone else. Get rid of that.”

With that one dismissive command, Gold condemned Killian to a life as an amputee.

At the sight of the two huge lunks advancing on him, Killian felt nothing but terror for Milah. He turned to her ever so slightly and spoke in a low voice, “Milah, you have to run!” He pleaded with his eyes for her to listen to him, to just save herself.

“No. I’m not leaving without you!” He should have known his amazing, darling love wouldn’t abandon him to his fate.

He spun back around to face his would-be attackers, stepping fully between them and Milah.

“Do whatever you want to me. Just let her go.” He summoned up all the bravado he could muster, hoping he sounded at least vaguely intimidating. One of the henchmen sneered and shrugged almost lazily, pulled out a handgun, and shot Killian through the wrist.

He dropped to one knee, crying out at the intense pain.

He couldn’t feel his hand anymore.

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at his surely useless limb. Instinctively, he grabbed his wrist tight to stem the bleeding. He clenched his jaw to try to hold back his screams.

He felt Milah drop down beside him. A fresh wave of sheer panic flooded through him.

“Milah, no! Please go, I can’t lose you.”

He heard a blood-curdling cackle from somewhere nearby that made him shudder.

“Oh, I’m not going to let her go, dearie. You two have made a mockery of me for far too long. I need to make it clear to the world what happens to people who defy me.”

Killian’s eyes flew open at Gold’s words. He found himself looking straight into his Milah’s eyes. She looked at him tenderly, her eyes shining with love. She smiled. “I love you.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth then he heard the bang of a gun. He jumped at the sound. His ears started to ring. Milah slumped against him, lifeless.

He looked up into Gold’s face, which broke out into a crocodile smile. “Congratulations, dearie!” the beast said with a flourish before disappearing into the night.

***

Emma looked shell shocked in the wake of his revelation. He could hardly blame her. Even though he was there, had seen it happen, he still often felt like it was all just a nightmare, one that he might wake from at any time.

“This man… Gold, the one who did - well, ordered, all this, he's rotting in jail now, right?”

Killian laughed bitterly. “You'd think so, wouldn't you? No. He's free. Living, breathing, and fucking up my life.”

Emma looked repulsed, her nose scrunching in distress and furrowing her brow. “Fucking up your life? He took your love and your hand, isn’t that enough?”

He shook his head and stared down at his prosthetic, muttering under his breath, “you underestimate how black his vile heart is.”

“What else could he possibly do?” she whispered, sounding as if she couldn’t bear to hear it.

“Anything he could to make my life miserable.” His tone was light hearted, as if his decade of mistreatment at Gold’s hands was nothing more than some grand farce. He looked back up at her with a poor attempt at a grin stretching his lips. Emma’s eyes met his and they were so full of concern and understanding that he couldn’t even make that half hearted attempt at pretending this was all ok. He sighed, and let his anguish of the past few days spill out of him. “I was going to save her.”

“What?”

“When we met, I told you that I had built a time machine…” He eyed her meaningfully and saw the moment that she understood, her eyes widening in alarm for the briefest moment before she caught herself and schooled her expression into something far more neutral.

“You - you were going to go back in time and stop her from dying?”

“I was going to kill the beast.” His voice was matter of fact, but a manic, bloodthirsty glee filled him at the thought and he knew that it must show on his face. “You know, he didn’t even have the guts to kill her himself? He always was a disgusting little coward, hiding behind his guards and his money and his powerful allies. I trained hard to take out those guards and then it would have just been me and him and with that dodgy leg of his, he never stood a chance.” His dreamy voice sounded strange even to him, he felt detached from everything he was saying. It was like waking up from a nightmare - as though he were finally seeing himself for what he’d become: a beast every bit as vile as the one he had hunted. He shuddered and the ripple of revulsion that spread through him at that revelation soon turned into a deep, wracking sob.

He hadn’t realised how completely his mission had kept him from feeling the pain of Milah’s passing until now. But now? He knew it was over. His pain was unleashed. There was no use denying it anymore or begging for a second chance. For years, he had been determined: he could fix it and he would. But now he knew that wasn’t the case.

He was broken.

And nothing could ever put him back together again.

He sobbed long and hard.

He gasped for breath and the gulps of air burned his throat as he forced them down.

His heart seemed to beat harder as though it was struggling against the inevitable, determined to prove that it could still work even as it shattered into a million shards of ice, brittle, fragile, and unfeeling.

He curled in on himself. He drew his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He dug his fingers into his upper arms in an attempt to anchor himself and not be carried away in a tide of depression.

Time stood still.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick.

Until.

He realised there were arms around him.

Gentle fingers running through his hair.

A soft shushing and murmured reassurances in his ear.

The warmth of a firm yet tender touch.

He was swaying in time with the comforting rocking of another.

Emma.

His breathing slowed, his heart rate returned to normal, the tears subsided.

He lifted his head and saw how close Emma’s face was to his. Her eyes were closed, lost in the need to soothe him, to make everything better for him. He gazed at her in unabashed awe. She had saved him from himself.  

She seemed to feel the force of his attention, her eyes opened and she looked at him. She met his eyes and instantly shrank away from his side guiltily. He missed her presence immediately, his head throbbed and he felt alone.

“Thank you,” he managed to croak out. He coughed, his throat ached and his voice was hoarse. “I - I need water.” Emma nodded, but didn’t look back at him. He leapt to his feet to get himself a drink, eager for the excuse to leave this awkward moment behind.

He busied himself with fetching drinks for both of them and tried to ignore what had just happened.

He returned to the living room with water for the both of them and they sat in silence.

“What was she like?” Emma’s words broke the awkward tension that had filled the room. He looked at her in surprise. “I just think she must have been very special for you to have tried to time travel for her. I’d like to hear about her - if you want to tell me of course.” Still he stared at her, surprised by the kind gesture. “It kind of seems like you need someone to talk to.”

How did she understand him so well already?

His friends had always wanted to help, but they had been so eager to see him recover that he found their attention stifling. He was struggling enough to adjust to his new life as an amputee, and their need to see him move on romantically too left him feeling broken and bitter.

You’re damaged, their actions said to him. You need fixing so you can stop being a burden - so we don’t have to worry about you anymore.

He knew that this was more than a little unfair to his nearest and dearest, but logic played no part in how he felt.

And now, here was this woman, who barely knew him, who might perhaps feel threatened by the ghost of his former love, and she could see exactly what he needed. How could he ever let her go?

“Milah loved to draw,” he began and Emma smiled, encouraging him to continue. “She was always looking for adventure and just taking a photo was never enough for her. She took so many pictures but when we travelled, she would still sit and sketch the people, the scenery, the exotic and unusual details she could see around us.” He laughed a little at the thought of her, lost in her own happy world, needing the peace of her art to help her process all the wonder around her despite filling entire rolls of film with photos. “She would sketch frantically, needing to record every detail, to make it hers. Those pictures are hers.” He gestured to the framed sketches adorning the wall above the TV.

Emma stood up and examined the scenes on the wall. Markets in India, bustling and full of life, tourists crowded around the Trevi Fountain in Rome throwing their coins and casting their wishes, lovers and families and friends sharing food and drinks in the cafes that spilled into the streets in Paris. Every scene carried that same chaotic, desperate pen stroke that was her trademark, creating detailed and vibrant scenes.

“She was so talented,” she said, her voice full of awe. She stared long at the lone painting in the middle of the drawings, a simple scene of the Thames in the moonlight, the lights of London glittering on the water. She gestured to the landscape as she turned back to Killian. “I love this one.”

Killian scratched behind his ear awkwardly. “That’s actually mine.” Emma’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “It was Milah’s favourite too. She insisted that we hang it alongside her pictures, but she was the one with the true talent.”

“You’re both amazing,” she said sincerely, once again staring at the art on the walls. “Do you still paint?”

“No,” his voice was hard and Emma looked back to him, frowning with concern. “I threw away my paints when - when everything happened. I didn’t have time for painting when I had Milah to save.” His voice turned wistful. “I never could bring myself to throw out her supplies though.”

He looked away from Emma’s penetrating gaze, stood up from the couch, and crossed to a bookshelf, plucking a sketchbook from it at random. He beckoned her to sit back down beside him, and when they were both seated, he held the book out to her. She took it hesitantly and opened it.

“This was one of Milah’s sketchbooks,” he explained, and Emma began to look through the book. She smiled at the patterns with the hastily scribbled notes, “Taj Mahal, 2007, stunning detail in the marble carvings”. The quick sketches of unaware women and children were studied with care, “lonely waitress, 2005”, “cheeky boy, 2008”, “happy siblings, 2006”.

The pictures of children always made Killian’s heart clench. They had wanted a family, had talked about trying for a baby, but Milah was scared of Gold’s retribution if she were to fall pregnant. Until he had completed his PhD, and they could leave England permanently, the risks were too great. But as time went on, Milah drew more and more children, longing for what she could not yet have. (For what she worried she might never have.)

Emma lingered over the pictures of the happiest children, Killian realised curiously. She seemed as drawn to their likenesses as Milah had been. He wondered at this, but would not push her to confide in him.

Emma turned a page and gasped a little. He looked down to see a picture of himself as he slept, lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms. He was naked, although the sketch stopped at his waist, where a blanket covered his modesty. The picture was intimate, not obscene, merely a study of the muscles in his back. He hadn’t noticed over the years how his physique had filled out as he built his strength in his training, but he could see at a glance how much better defined his muscles were now, compared to the somewhat gangly figure he had in his youth.

Emma stroked a finger across the image and he looked up in surprise. A blush had spread across Emma’s face. Despite himself, he grinned at the effect that this simple sketch had on her. She seemed flustered by the sight and helpless to stop herself from turning her eyes to the patch of hair on his chest exposed by his unfastened buttons.

Unthinkingly, she reached a hand out towards him. He licked his lips as his heart beat faster and swallowed hard. Tension filled the air as she ran her fingers through the dark curls of chest hair. He let out a soft sigh, barely even a sound, but it was enough for her to jump back from him as though burned.

He blinked at her, watching as she curled in on herself, embarrassed by her actions. The intimacy of the moment was too much for him and he defaulted to outrageous flirting to distance himself from it. “See something you like, love?” he teased, sticking his tongue into his cheek and quirking his brow suggestively.

“You wish,” she snorted derisively. “I need a drink.” She ran to the kitchen in the corner of the room and busied herself with noisily opening cupboards, banging around in search of refreshment.

Killian stared at her untouched water glass on the coffee table. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one struggling with what just happened.

“So what did you get up to today?” he asked brightly when Emma returned, politely ignoring the way her cheeks reddened as she spotted the second drink resting on the table. “Not been sketching all day I assume?”

“I watched the TV - very strange things appear to be happening in this realm.”

“What kind of things?” he asked, cocking his head at her with curiosity.

“The lady in the TV said that all the dogs in a place called Batter…” she trailed off, and frowned, apparently struggling to remember the name.

“Battersea Dogs Home?” Killian guessed and her eyes lit up.

“Yes! Battersea Dogs Home. They all vanished and were replaced by wolves in the night - who turned into people in the morning.”

“What?”

“Werewolves. Somehow a hundred dogs were replaced with werewolves. I take it they aren’t all that common in the Land Without Magic?”

“They're a myth as far as we're concerned.”

“Not anymore. There were some angry women on the TV arguing about whether they should be kept locked up or not.”

Killian blanched. “They wanted to keep the people in cages?”

“I think it was actually the wolves they wanted to be locked up. They just couldn't see that they're people most of the time.”

“I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

“There also was something called meat munchers -”

“I think you mean beefeaters,” Killian cut in, trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Whatever. Guards with stupid hats. They showed a moving picture thingy of them turning into the Evil Queen’s black guards. That was just a temporary glitch though. They all seem to be back to normal now.”

“Oh well, nothing to worry about if it’s only temporary,” he said sarcastically.

Emma raised a brow at him. “That machine of yours has caused more than enough permanent damage for us to worry about.”

He had no reply for her. Like it or not, she was absolutely right.

“The ruler of this kingdom was on the news talking about the ‘chaos in the capital’ too.”

“James Nolan actually did something?” Killian asked, stunned.

Emma scrunched her nose in disgust. “No. Not unless you call making vague speeches ‘doing something’. I only really remember him because he looks like my f- like someone I know.”

Killian looked at her quizzically, but she was once again taking a deep interest in Milah’s sketches so he wouldn’t press her to explain whatever it was that she stopped herself from saying. “Nolan really should have told me he’d be making speeches. I wouldn’t have spent all that time in the lab today if I knew he was going to be sorting everything out for me. What’s a doctorate in astrophysics and quantum mechanics compared to a first class degree in bullshit?”

Emma snorted with laughter and immediately looked a little ashamed at the noise. Killian thought it was utterly delightful to hear someone so happy (and if he was the cause of that, so much the better). Especially when it seemed that she’d been on the verge of retreating into a dark funk - he’d experienced enough himself to recognise the signs.

“It’s okay to laugh at my impeccable wit, Swan, I’m naturally hilarious, it’s understandable that you can’t help yourself.”

At this she rolled her eyes, but it brought the smile back to her face as he’d hoped it would. “I was thinking actually -”

“How I got to be so witty?” He hadn’t meant it as yet another show of false bravado, genuinely confused by where her train of thought could be going, but it came off as Killian Jones, Cocky Bastard™, all the same. He cringed internally, but grinned all the same.

“Surprisingly I find other things to think about than your big head.”

“I find it hard to believe you think about anything but me, but, please, do go on.”

“Well, you see, I was thinking that perhaps Ishouldbeusingmymagictohelp.” In her rush to get her words out, Emma didn’t seem to pause in between each one, running them all together into something that was almost - but not quite - English.

“Come again? It’s the Germans who go in for the big compound words, here in Great Britain we like to breathe in between them. Makes it easier for people to understand us you see.”

“Seriously?”

He knew that her exasperation was at his teasing banter, but he couldn’t resist reacting as though her question were sincere. “Seriously, you should try it sometime.”

“God ok, I thought I should using my magic to help, happy now?” She was glaring at him and he figured that he shouldn’t want to grin in delight at her, but he couldn’t help it.

“Aye,” he said with a nod, “very happy in fact. That sounds like an absolutely marvellous idea.”

“It does?”

He was confused at her uncertainty. “Why of course it does, you rescued me from certain death at the hands of an angry dragon, I doubt there’s anything you couldn’t overcome once you put your mind to it.”

One corner of her lip quirked up into a smile almost involuntarily. “Thanks,” she breathed out, looking directly at him with genuine gratitude radiating from her.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when I don’t have you around to clean up my mess.” He’d meant it as a joke, but it felt just a little too genuine. He climbed to his feet and ambled over to his leather satchel, digging out the spare keys and phone he'd bought earlier. “It's just as well I picked these up for you on my way home,” he said, dropping them in Emma's lap, “you can't save London Town if you can't leave my flat.”

Emma picked up the phone turning it over in her hands. “Is this one of those talking phone things?” she asked.

“Just a phone, love. I can set it up for you, program my number in.” He caught the blank expression on Emma's face. “You'll have a Killian button, press it and you can talk to me if you need to.”

Killian thought he caught a glimpse of something akin to amazed gratitude in her eyes, but it was quickly gone leaving just a smirk on her face. “You think I'll need to talk to you?”

“Just in case my realm with its technological wizardry confuses you.”

“There aren't any wizards in your realm,” Emma reminded him.

“You'll have no need to call for my assistance then. I'm sure you're quite capable of handling anything alone, but you don't have to.”

There was a moment of silence between them, Emma looked overwhelmed by the sentiment and he found that he did too. It shouldn't have been much, but after shutting out his friends for so long, it felt like everything. He didn't know what had happened to her, but they understood each other and he was sure this was just a little too emotional and meaningful for her, as it was for him.

“Tomorrow, we best get you some new clothes,” he said, avoiding her eyes and desperately focusing on practical concerns. “Can't have you saving the world in Ruby's pulling clothes. It's Saturday, Gold might expect me to work, but I'm not letting that wanker dictate my schedule. Now how about some dinner?” He made to stand, but she stopped him with a tug on his arm.

“I don't know how I'll ever repay you for - ”

He couldn't look at her, feeling like a fraud in the warmth of her gratitude. He didn't deserve it. “No need, I'm just cleaning up my mess.”

“Killian,” she said, but stopped and waited until he met her eyes. “It's more than that and it - ” she took a deep breath “- it matters. Thank you.”

He nodded to show he understood, but couldn't find the words. Somehow in just a few days Emma had come to mean so much to him. He would give her everything, but still it wouldn't be enough to mean that he could keep her with him. He wasn't worthy of her and he never would be.