#can you tell Emma gravity falls nerd?

[sweetangle8]

This makes me think in this is really funny to me. That Finn thing is going to be like “I begin to keep a journal” like Stanford pines in. This made me get a really loud because now I believe finn is Stanford

[skeletboi]

Super short update because my life is a mess.

But here is part 24 of the Intridimensional Au!

First /// Previous /// Next

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“Impressive as ever.” Ford said as he looked at the robot arm on the work bench.

“Thanks, Stanford.” Fiddleford replied quietly.

Ford watched Fiddleford place his good hand over the arm then glanced up at Fiddleford's face and frowned.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Lots a’ things are, I reckon.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “Ya know when I went back home fer Christmas and fergot ta get Emma-May a present?”

“I recall, yes.” Ford responded, his frown deepening.

“She was already purdy darn mad at me before that. I wore baggy sweaters ta try and hide the metal cast on my arm so she wouldn't go worryin’ ‘bout it, but Tate ain't dumb and heard the hum of the components. He asked me about it, ‘cuz he's at that age where they ask a million questions, and I told him it was a metal cast. ‘Course he's an imaginative kid so he immediately started calling it a robit arm. He ran ta Emma-May ta tell her, and I thought she was ‘bout to murder me on the spot.” Fiddleford paused and picked up the arm. “He'd love this, but Emma-May would hate it.”

“I love it, if that makes you feel any better.” Ford said, placing a hand on Fiddleford's back.

“It does.” Fiddleford said with another quiet laugh. “But I can't stop thinkin’ about that. Emma-May knew how I felt ‘bout you in college, and we got in a purdy big fight ‘bout it before I came ta Gravity Falls. I love Emma-May, but our parents both loved the idea of us bein’ together more than we did. I think maybe we were more like best friends than spouses, but I promised her I'd be back ‘cause, above all else, we jus’ wanted Tate ta have a normal childhood.” Fiddleford set the arm back down and choked on a laugh that sounded suspiciously more like a sob. “‘Spose I'll jus’ hafta live with the fact that he won't. I don’ know if he'll ‘member me at all.”

“Fidds…” Ford said softly, unsure of what else to say with his own guilt and regret tearing at his chest.

“If I knew it was gonna turn out this way I prolly woulda jus’ said screw it and kissed ya as soon as ya opened the door to yer damn creepy cabin in the woods.”

Ford cracked a smile at that, but Fiddleford still looked a thousand miles away as he stared down at the arm.

“You would have stopped me.” Ford said after a moment.

Fiddleford glanced over at him in question.

“You say you would have kissed me right then, but I know you, and, if you had known this was the outcome, you would have left.” Ford clarified.

“Maybe.” Fiddleford responded thoughtfully, “But maybe not. Maybe I’m too scared in every timeline.”

“Fuck that.” Stan said, coming up behind them and dropping the last box at their feet. “I saw your face when Ford mentioned fighting back against Bill. That wasn't fear. That was determination.”

Fiddleford smiled sadly over his shoulder at Stanley.

“I thought you'd grow out of being so cheesy.” Ford deadpanned.

“Nope!” Stan replied with a smile. “But if you two are done being nauseating, we have some boxes to go through. I found a box of brown meat! It says it expires in 1993, but who the fuck knows what year it is in this dimension. My plan is to eat it now, ask questions later!”

“I believe you meant ‘die of food poisoning later’.” Ford noted.

“Or die of starvation! Might as well eat mystery food and die the fun way!” Stan laughed.

“Dysentery don't sound fun.” Fiddleford replied.

“Whatever, nerds.” Stan said, motioning to the boxes. “Just grab what you want so we can get on with life. I found a shot gun, too. You're welcome.”

Fiddleford laughed but did as he was told and put aside his arm project to start rummaging through the boxes.

___________________________________________

Sorry non-Fiddauthor fans. I needed Fiddauthor.

I originally wasn't going to write this bit in, but I wanted to give some context to the guilt they're both still feeling and the relationship between Emma-May and Fidds. Emma-May is bi in this universe, but prefers woman. Is that a cop-out to make myself feel better about how much Fidds hurt her? Yes, yes it is. But I am doing it anyway because I do what I fucking want.

I have another art piece nearly done, so I'll probably post it tomorrow. For now, enjoy. Or whatever.

[grunklefidds]

i was thinking a lot about fiddleford's family last week, so here's a dump of thoughts (headcanons i guess) about his ex-wife and tate

ideas abt emma-may dixon (formerly mcgucket):

She's also Appalachian (I think this can be inferred with some confidence from her name lol)..... from Kentucky maybe.

She's an ecologist who studies sediment transport in rivers. She's a uni professor (has been at same place since the 80s) bc that is largely how getting tenure works as far as I'm aware.

        -Tate's thing in this doc about being ashamed of being Smart and his choice to... run a fishing supplies shop are only partly because of complicated feelings about his dad. He saw the sort of social circles that come with academic/research work and NOPED out of there.

She went to the same college as Fiddleford and Stanford, and is about the same age as them (give or take 2 or 3 years). She and Fidds started dating near the end of their time there and got married maybe two years later (Tate was born shortly after that... he'd be 5ish while F was first in Gravity Falls).

        -She and Ford met a few times but Ford was too self-absorbed and focused on his studies to really make any close friends during college aside from F. Maybe they hung out in a group once or twice.

She and Fidds had a pretty solid relationship before he disappeared. They both liked nerd junk. Lots of cheesy humor in the air. She's occasionally frustrated by him running off to the garage to work on something for hours on end without pausing to deal with stuff around the house or telling her at all where he is, but it's not a huge thing (and she gets very into her own work too, for that matter).

She's generally a sweet person if pretty achievement-oriented and a bit high-strung. Always gives students extensions if they ask for them.

She tried to make things work w Fiddleford for maybe a year after he started really losing his grip (he stopped calling home and it freaked her out), she made weekend trips up to Gravity Falls while a friend watched Tate and tried to spend time with him, and tried to coax him into coming home. At some point Fiddleford didn't recognize her until after she burst into tears because of something odd/callous he said while disoriented. That wasn't the turning point for her but it was close to it. She divorced him maybe a year and a half after he stopped calling home.

    (Side note: why didn't Fiddleford go home after leaving the portal project...? I get that he wasn't in a calm state of mind at the time but being in the town at all was clearly causing him a LOT of stress. Mr Hirsch answer me this.)

She remarried maybe 8 years after that. Tate does not get along well with this stepdad.

      - She's also divorced this guy by the time canon rolls around. Bad luck with men in general :(. She has a good network of close work friends at least.

Tate moved to Gravity Falls when he was about 24 and occasionally updates her on how Fiddleford is doing when he calls home. It's never a pleasant time for either of them.

-I vaguely like the idea of Tate being at least somewhat involved in the Society of the Blind Eye and not knowing anything about his dad's role in it (since it had been years since Fiddleford was actually coordinating anything by the time he moved there, I imagine). Just a little jumping-off point for angst lol.

She still lives in California. She's possibly still working during canon but is probably retired in 2020.

After Weirdmaggedon, Fiddleford reaches out to her (eventually. he waits a while on this lol) and they work back up to a friendship that's not particularly close but still solid. Regardless she's RELIEVED to hear that he's more lucid through Tate, even before he reaches out himself.

Neither of them tell her most of the long story of what happened w Fiddleford (she picked up some fragmented context while trying to keep things together in the 80s but he was already so scattered that she doesn't know anything about the portal) or what happened with the town in general or what caused Fiddleford getting healthier. This is in part because of the 'lets not talk abt it lol' ordinance, in part because Tate couldn't really properly explain if he tried and in part bc Fiddleford REALLY struggles to recount the early years with the memory gun even on good days. This frustrates her but she gets that it seems to be mostly because of the difficulty in saying the thing and not because they want to keep things from her.

          (extra:) She ends up meeting Ford along with Fidds a few years after Weirdmaggedon and she's like Oh My Goodness Stanford Pines where have you been all these years! I havent heard anything about you since that project you wanted Fiddleford on :D and he's like 😶

(bonus if F and Ford are married at this point. or if it occurs AT their wedding haha)

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 5

This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but I didn't want to split it up! It was written in a hurry because I was excited to get it out to y'all, so let me know if I've made any typos or mistakes. As always I adore your comments so feel free to tell me what you think.

______________________________________________________________________

“You should come down to Gravity Falls!”

Ford didn’t quite think about the words before he blurted them. His close (and only) friend from college had mentioned in their weekly phone call that he and his family were thinking about taking a holiday from his would-be small computer business, and Ford had reacted without thought.

He laughed nervously, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Rebus padded through the kitchen with the click-click-click of claws that Ford had become accustomed to over the last month.

Ford cleared his throat. “If you want to, of course. I would love to show you some of the research on anomalies I’ve been doing, and I think Tate and Emma-May would like it here. I have plenty of space in my house.”

“Well sure Stanford, if you don’t mind.” Fiddleford said cheerfully. “I’ve been meanin’ to visit for a while now. Course, I don’t wanna get in the way o’ yer research if you’re busy.”

“Not at all.” From the other room Rebus let out a bark, and Fiddleford squeaked.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just my dog. There are probably some Manotaurs passing by.”

“Ya have a dog? When did that happen?”

“A month or so ago. His name is Rebus.”

Fiddleford huffed out a laugh. “Well, at least ya got yerself some company. That dog sounded mighty fearsome; ya sure he’s safe? I don’t wanna bring Tate around if e’s gonna bite.”

“Oh, Rebus is a sweetheart.” A savage growl issued from the other room. “He’s great with kids. When he accompanies me into town he will often play with the children in the playground.”

Rebus growled again, a growl Ford was reasonably certain was aimed at him for daring to imply that the wolf had a heart. Not that Ford had been lying – the kids in town loved Rebus and he delighted in running around with them while Ford ran errands. He was a veritable gentle giant.

“Tate would love him.” Ford continued, unconcerned with the wannabe threat display. The stubborn wolf reminded him of his brother sometimes, all bark and no bite.

…except when he did bite.

“If yer sure.” There was rustling on the other end of the line. “That sounds like a mighty fine idea, Stanford. I’ll have to check with Emma-May, of course, but I’d love ta see some of these anomalies you’ve told me about. Check that yer not crazy, at least!”

“I assure you, these things are one hundred percent real. You’ll be able to see for yourself.” Ford assured him.

“Does Friday afternoon work fer ya? We figured we’d go on the weekend so Tate doesn’t miss much school.”

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll prepare the spare room.” Ford said excitedly. “It’s been quite some time since I had company.”

“Ah – Stanford?”

“Yes?”

“Exactly how long has it been since you talked to someone?”

“A few hours.”

“Other than yer dog I mean.”

“Oh, only a week or so.”

There was a pause. “Was that ‘someone’ me?”

“Er…”

“When was the last time you talked to a human being aside from myself?”

Ford laughed nervously. “Ah, it seems the connection is breaking up I’ll call back another time-”

“Stanford-”

“Say hello to Emma-May for me bye!”

He hung up.

 Stan heard the car approach first, the approaching rumble of its engine dragging him from a light doze in that ever-illusive pool of light in the hallway. His ears picked up and he let out the beginnings of a warning growl at the intruders.

That was, until he remembered that they were supposed to have visitors. He yawned and stretched, slightly annoyed at having his nap interrupted but more curious to see who it was that Ford had been expecting. Being the local canine, people didn’t usually run names and stuff by him.

All Stan had been able to tell was that whoever was coming Ford was pretty excited to see them, judging by the way he had hustled and bustled to prepare the spare room. It had been pretty nice, these past few days, to just chill and watch Ford buzz around the place. In those years apart he’d missed Ford’s relentless energy; the way he bounced on his heels when excited, and the little flapping, and the excited gleam in his eyes, the way he could never quite hold still. It was pretty hilarious to watch the nerd get all wound up.

God, Stan hoped it wasn’t a family member. If Pa walked through that door…

Maybe it was that guy Ford was always calling, Fiddlesticks or something? Seemed likely. From what Stan could tell, his brother had a maximum of two friends. And one of them was a wolf.

He padded out to watch Ford open the door for… a small family? The man shook Ford’s hand while the woman chatted and held a small child on her hip.

“It’s great to see you again, Stanford. Thank you for letting us stay in your home.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I have plenty of space.” Ford assured her.

“And Fiddleford said you had a – oh sweet Mother Mary-”

Stan was used to the usual ‘Oh my god is that a wolf?’ song and dance. He stepped forward and wagged his tail helpfully. Scaring kids and dames was only funny when you were trying to scare them. When you weren’t, it got old pretty quick.

The strange man leaned down and hesitantly offered one hand, and Stan allowed himself to be petted. Show of goodwill, and all that. The guy was short and twiggy and he smelled of engine grease and metal and root beer and straw. Stan decided that he liked the guy. The lady, too. Her suspicious gaze had mellowed out and now Stan could see the smile lines around her eyes. The kid, however, seemed… sticky.

Aaaand the kid had fussed to be placed down and was now trying to touch Stan’s tail. He whisked it out of reach but the sticky brat was laughing and already chasing after it.

Oh, hell no. Kid wanted to get its grubby mitts all over his coat? Think again. Stan darted out of its way and weaved past the adults to try and throw it off. Ford didn’t even try to help, the smug bastard.

Alright kid. You think you got stamina? Let’s see about that.

 The kid.

Would not.

Stop.

Tate, as it turned out his name was, seemed to have boundless energy. The two kept up their game of cat-and-mouse all afternoon until Stan flopped on the porch, panting for breath. Tate squealed and rushed forward to bury his hands in Stan’s thick fur.

You win this round, pipsqueak.

A part of him wanted to place the kid on a high shelf where he couldn’t get in the way, and leave him there. Another part of him… wanted to lick his face and wag his tail. C’mon, mighty hunter and all that! Stan was supposed to have more dignity than like… a Labrador or whatever.

His traitor tail wagged anyway.

Ford and the dame, Emma-May or something, stepped outside to join them, Ford glancing over his shoulder and biting his lip as he went. Stan wondered idly where his nerd friend was.

“Oh, don’t worry, Fiddles hardly ever electrocutes himself!” Emma-May said cheerfully. “He’ll be done with his tinkering in no time.”

“…I was worried for my toaster.”

Emma-May flapped her hand. “Oh, it’ll be fine. I think he said something about making it like ours.”

“How has Fiddleford improved your toaster?”

“I dunno, but it has a lot of blinky lights and sometimes it smells like burning sugar!”

“…I feel like you’re trying to be reassuring?”

Stan should probably be on the lookout for smoke. He scented the air and got a whiff of something like burning plastic from inside…

…and curdled wrongness.

He wrinkled his nose. The air smelled weird and it was vaguely familiar, like he’d smelled it before, but never this strongly. There was something oily and metallic and… squirrelly?

Stan shook Tate’s clingy hands from his coat and stood to scan the house yard. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But it just didn’t smell right.

The faintest scrape of claws on wood made him snap around. There – clinging to a house support and evidently trying to climb up to the roof was what might have once been a squirrel. Emphasis on once. Its front limbs were bulkier than the back ones with claws like tiny steak knives buried into the wood grain. Its fur hung off in patches and it was big – more raccoon-sized than squirrel-sized. The extra weight seemed to be giving it grief because it was struggling to make headway.

Fat bastard, Stan thought petulantly.

“Err – Stanford?” Emma-May piped up. “What on god’s good earth is that?”

Stan glanced across to follow her pointing finger. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to notice the thing.

Ford squinted and stepped closer to the rodent, which started hissing around overgrown teeth like a stepped-on snake with a lisp. “It… it appears to be another mutated creature. I’ve been finding them around the place since I got here. My hypothesis is that they’ve been somehow affected by the size-changing crystals in the forest.”

“The what-nows?”

Ford’s eyes brightened. “Oh, in the forest there are natural crystal formations that, when light is shined through them, have the ability to change an object or organism’s shape. The majority of the mutant sightings have been around that area. I’ve been meaning to investigate but a freak blizzard recently ruined my plans. Now, if I can just capture this specimen here…”

“Throw a blanket over it?” Emma-May suggested.

“Perhaps. I have a number of size-appropriate cages in my shed, would you mind keeping watch over the creature while I retrieve one?”

“Sure thing.”

Ford went to walk past but the movement seemed to startle the squirrel, which launched itself wildly into the air and latched onto Ford’s sleeve, scurrying up his arm. He yelped and flailed. Fortunately Emma-May smacked it and sent it flying. Unfortunately it skidded across the ground and took off towards where Tate was playing in the grass.

Fortunately, that was also where Stan was.

He lunged forward and snapped up the rodent in one bite before it could get close to the kid. Its tiny body gave out with a single, pathetic crunch. Weird-tasting blood exploded in his mouth.

Ford coughed. “Well.”

Stan spat out the creature, wrinkling his nose. The thing tasted – wrong. Like its blood was tainted with seawater and oil slick with an added hint of burning rubber. He spluttered and swiped at his tongue to try and get rid of the rancid flavour.

Ugh, were squirrels so corrupted by the weight of their sins that it seeped into their blood?

“Is it dead?” Ford asked curiously. Emma-May walked over to scoop up her child and prod the body with her shoe.

“Depends. Can these mutant things live with a snapped spine?”

“Dead, then. Still! It’s a specimen to study. I’ll get – oh, I suppose I won’t be needing that cage anymore.”

 Nothing blew up that weekend. Stan took that as a win.

The McGuckets were… a different sort of folk than he was used to. They smiled so easily. Those two dopes of parents looked at their kid like he was the moon and the sun and everything in between, like they wouldn’t kick him out onto the streets no matter what dumb mistakes he made. Damn. Imagine that.

The Sunday night before they were set to leave Emma-May retired to bed early and Fiddleford and Ford settled onto the couch to talk, with cans of beer in hand and Tate playing happily with his Legos. Stan dropped onto the carpet to keep a watchful eye on the little brat. The fire crackled softly and cast a warm light across the room, its heat pressing against his fur.

A month or so ago he would never have let himself relax like this. He would be watching the window, ears pricked for any sign of…

Huh. He couldn’t remember the name of the man chasing him. When he thought hard there was a flash of scarred hands and packets of white powder and the taste of blood in his mouth. That’s right, the guy Stan had used to run drugs for a few years back, the guy who was now after him. Why couldn’t Stan remember his name?

Ford and Fiddleford’s murmuring rose slightly above the crackle of the fire and the clinking of Legos.

“-ya mean Shermie?”

“No, my… other brother. My twin, Stanley.” Ford said quietly.

It took Stan a moment to remember that that was his name. He rested his chin on his paws and tuned into the conversation.

“Ford, ya never told me ya had a twin.”

“No, I probably didn’t. You see, Stanley and I parted on… unpleasant terms. I haven’t seen him in almost a decade.”

“A decade?” Fiddleford squawked. “Why in the blazes not?”

“It’s complicated. Fiddleford, do you remember when I told you how I was rejected from West Coast Tech?”

“When you were drunk outta yer mind and I had to drag ya back to our dorm? Yes, I do recall.” Fiddleford said dryly.

“Yes, well. It was Stanley who sabotaged my project. He insisted it was an accident, but…” Ford sighed.

“Why do you bring him up?” Fiddleford tipped his head. Ford sighed and pulled off his glasses to polish them on his sleeve.

“I was hoping to get your advice, actually. Recently he’s been coming to mind more and more. I thought that, perhaps, he might have grown up over the last decade, and it might be worth getting in contact and seeing how he’s doing. Do… do you think people can change that much?”

Change. Had Stan changed much? Except for the whole werewolf thing…

It was like trying to think through sludge. Stan hardly remembered what it was like to be human. Or… human-shaped. Jeez, how long had he been Shifted for? Time was slipping away from him in this little bubble of happiness. Stan had never been in wolf form for this long before.

A chill shivered through him. The nerds’ talking continued but it was background noise to the humming of his thoughts. He stood and padded into the hallway, ignoring Tate’s whine. Stan shouldered through the (thankfully unlocked) front door and trotted outside.

He glanced around warily before slipping into the trees. Once a quick scan showed that he was alone, he Shifted.

Or… tried to.

The change that had once been liquid and effortless now felt like trying to shove a square peg through a circular hole. His skin prickled. Stan shook himself and tried again with a small growl.

The Shift swept across him with the popping of joints and the crackle of cartilage; creaky, like a neglected machine that had acquired rust from years of disuse. Stan gritted his newly-flat teeth and waited for the agonizingly slow Shift to pass.

He ended up crouched on the damp earth, breathing hard and squinting through suddenly blurry vision at the dark, hazy world around him. His skin felt itchy and it pinched in all the wrong places, like a suit that didn’t quite fit.

Well, shit. Note to self: don’t stay in wolf form for weeks at a time.

Stan flexed his hands, trying to reacquaint himself with having fingers and opposable thumbs. Being human. Or human-shaped, at least.

Because he was still a person. No matter what he looked like he wasn’t just some – some pet. He had a life to get back to.

Except… he didn’t. Not really.

Stan chewed over that piece of information for moment. Before he could really think about it a voice called his name. With a final stretch he slipped back into an awkward Shift, easier than before, and trotted after his brother’s voice.

[detectivejigsawpines]

A Pinesmas Carol-part 8 (Have Nagila)

The family sat around the kitchen table (Xander had to curl up on his mother’s lap, since one of the chairs had been smashed; Stan said he could pay for it, but neither Shermie nor Rebecca really seemed to hear him) as Stan and Ford did their best to explain in a way that wouldn’t freak them out more.

“...So let me get this straight,” Shermie said at last.  “Gravity Falls is full of magic and monsters and stuff-”

“And maybe aliens; Ford thinks he found a crash site,” Stan added (not) helpfully.

“-and you guys have been studying them, and learning about things like-like spells that can change people into-that.”  He pointed to the baby formerly known as Archer, who had been set in Xander’s old carrier on the floor nearby (Rebecca had even bothered to put him in a cloth diaper and a onesie), and the puppy who was sitting on Stan’s lap and playfully gnawing his fingers (the weasel had long been shooed outside, and the remains of his dinner properly disposed of).

Ford nodded.  “...Well, I’ve been doing most of the actual research, but that’s basically the facts, yes.”

Xander’s eyes were wide with awe.  “You guys are like wizards.”  He climbed off Rebecca’s lap; before she could grab him back he scurried over to Stan and began petting the puppy, who wagged his tail and tried to climb into his arms.

Stan smiled.  “Yeah, I guess we kinda are.  Or at least Ford is; I’m just the guy who tricks ‘em into giving me money.”

The boy shrugged.  “Same thing.”

“This is...definitely not what we were expecting,” Shermie said at last.  “It’s...kind of a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, we know,” Ford admitted.  “That’s why we didn’t tell you at first.  We didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Too late,” their brother said dryly.  But at least he seemed to have calmed down a little.

The three of them looked to Rebecca, who had been silent all this time.  Her eyes were large and troubled, and her hands were nervously twisting together inside her sleeves.

At last she spoke, in tones that were sharp and clipped.

“The mother in me partly wants to accuse you of being reckless, dangerous men who are tampering with forces you don’t understand and demand that you stay the h_ll away from my child.”

Ford hadn’t been expecting how much that would hurt; it was a little like a sucker punch to the gut.  Judging from Stan’s expression, it was just as bad for him: his mouth hung limply open for a second or two, before it widened like he was about to start protesting.

“On the other hand,” Rebecca cut him off, “she does recognize that you used those forces to save his life-to save all our lives.  So-” she got up, and enveloped first Stan and then Ford in a warm, genuine hug, touching it up with a light kiss on the cheek- “thank you.”

Stan reddened, and let out a relieved-sounding laugh.  “Eh, it was all Ford. I just got in a few lucky punches.”

****

Next day

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b-mitzvotav, v-tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” Shermie sang as he lit the first candle of the menorah.  The rest of the family watched, enjoying the surprisingly cheerful glow. Even Stan, who was more than a little cynical towards the whole concept of religion, was smiling softly from his spot on the sofa.

Much to Ford’s relief, Rebecca’s overprotective mother side had not resurfaced with the light of day.  Instead, she asked him more questions about beard cubs, and scampfires, and fairies (apparently many of her childhood fantasies had involved them, with the same fervor that other girls applied to unicorns), and her previous uneasiness about this side of the world being revealed to her seemed to dissipate as she learned more about them.  She marveled over Ford’s illustrations in his (nearly full) journal, and said with a laugh that Gravity Falls sounded like his dream come true, since he was so attracted to the weird things in life.

“You have no idea,” he told her solemnly, which for some reason made her laugh again.

They ended up putting Archer in a basket purchased from the store, which was then dropped off at the local police station with only a warm blanket and the note “Please take care of my baby” included; Ford suspected his memories were probably rewound along with his body, so perhaps this would be a chance for him to have a fresh start at life.

The puppy, however, was another matter altogether.  Xander had quickly latched on to him as his new best friend, despite Rebecca’s admonishments, and in no time at all they were tussling with Stan on the living room floor like it was meant to be.

“... ‘Tis the season?” Shermie said sheepishly when she gave him a look asking him to put a stop to this.  “Lots of kids get puppies during Christmastime. Besides, can you really say no to that face?” He indicated their son, who was laughing and squirming in a futile effort to stop the puppy’s enthusiastic licking of his chin.

“And do you know how many of those puppies get sent back or abandoned because the kids decide they’re too much of a responsibility to handle?  Besides, last night that puppy was a human being with a gun!”

“And now he’s a friendly dog who likes our son.”

She grumbled...but it was clear she’d lost the fight.  And when the puppy tilted his head and looked up at her with big, innocent brown eyes, she grudgingly admitted that he was pretty cute, and went back to making potato latkes.

****

By the time Filbrick and Caryn Pines arrived at Shermie’s house, a few weeks later, there was no indication that their other children had ever been there-save for a package that Caryn was secretly handed by Shermie while Filbrick was upstairs putting the luggage in their room.  It contained a packet of fancy-looking tarot cards, with a note: To: my favorite psychic.  From: your favorite son.

Caryn smiled, a little tearily, and hid the packet in her purse before Filbrick came back, complaining that there was a dog on their bed, and when exactly had they decided to get a dog?

****

About an hour away, a bright red car pulled up in front of a small house.  Stan leaned over and tapped Ford on the knee.

“We’re here, nerd.  Wakey wakey.”

Ford groggily blinked his eyes open, and sat up-and froze when he realized that they were not, in fact, in Gravity Falls.

“Stanley, this isn’t home-”

The front door opened, and a head wearing a pair of round spectacles peered out in confusion.  The eyes behind them widened.

“Stanford Pines, is that you?!”  And the lanky man came strolling down the walk towards the car.

Stan grinned at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between surprise, exasperation, and maybe just a tiny amount of happiness that he was trying his hardest to suppress.

“Stanley, I told you I didn’t want to-”

Fiddleford crouched down on Ford’s side of the car-then he saw Stan, and did a double-take.

“What the heck-?!  You got a twin and you never told me?!”

“...It’s a long story, Fiddleford.”

“Well, Emma May and I love a good story-come on in!”

“I-you’re probably busy celebrating, I don’t-”

“It’s no trouble, really!”

Stan’s grin widened.

“Merry Christmas, Sixer.”

********

Fiddleford is naturally fascinated-and saddened-by Stan and Ford's tragic backstory, but glad to hear that they've become friends again. He's also interested to hear about all the things Ford's been studying in Gravity Falls, and like Shermie, says he'll have to bring his family up to visit sometime. He and Ford lose hours talking about nerd stuff, while Stan makes awkward small talk with a heavily pregnant Emma-May and tries not to snarf all the delicious Christmas cookies.

Despite Ford's protests about not wanting to impose, they're persuaded to stay for Christmas, and they get to hear Christmas carols Tennessee hog farmer style (hint: there is a lot of banjo playing involved).

And all in all, it's an enjoyable holiday for the boys.

[welllpthisishappening]

Contact Light (2/2)

Emma Swan has never been one for big, overwhelming…anything. And as far as she’s concerned space is both big and overwhelming and just a bit terrifying because she’s fairly certain her connection to gravity is slightly tenuous when he glances in her direction. But that’s neither here nor there because she watches all his stupid space documentaries anyway and keeps letting him glance in her direction and, at some point, she learns the first words uttered by a human being on the moon. Contact light. It’s not common knowledge. That seems, almost, oddly appropriate now.

Rating: Mature for swearing and a copious amount of making out and more swearing and eventually some angst. AN: @onceuponaprincessworld sent the prompt: “Ok, so Killian is new in town and David is inviting him on his house for Thanksgiving where he meets Emma, David’s sister, who also happens to be the one for who he moved into town in the first place, with a lot of kisses maybe secret dating or maybe it in start of their dating or whatever you feel like writing! Thanks.” There’s some angst in this one, but still a good amount of making out and circling back to the start of the story.  Also hanging out on Ao3.  If you missed part one you can read that here or check out the entire prompt-a-thon jumble of words here. And feel free to keep sending prompts. 

It wasn’t a lie.

They were good, great, fan-fucking-tastic for months and Emma had never really done long distance before, but it was working and she kept driving to Boston because Killian absolutely ran out of paid time off.

And he had ships to save and engineer and he’d tell her that’s not how it works, Swan, but it didn’t matter because she kept teasing him if only to get him to make that one face, somewhere in between a smile and a smirk and, at some point in April, she just started thinking of it as hers in a decidedly possessive way that didn’t make her want to run.

It was a nice change of pace.

They still hadn’t told David, but that was neither here nor there because she kept driving to Boston and that picture from the wedding was now the lock screen on her phone and, long distance or not, it was still easy.

They were still them.

She was happy and it was good and, naturally, it all blew up in her goddamn face.

She’d been out the entire night before – some guy who skipped out on his bail and would probably get ten to fifteen for felony tax evasion now that he was back in the system – and she had three days of no work and no jail and no evading the law ahead of her and Emma wanted was to take a shower and make sure she remembered to bring socks before she drove to Boston later that afternoon.

Killian’s floors were, somehow, always freezing and she’d forgotten socks before and he claimed that was just an excuse to stay in bed and she hadn’t really argued, but she also didn’t want to suffer from hypothermia for the next three days.

And, honestly, she should have known something was wrong. He hadn’t answered any of her text messages or questioned when she was leaving or updated her on the current state of Waze because he was some kind of not-so-secret traffic nerd.

But Emma was excited and happy and it was getting warm enough outside that maybe they could go Back Bay and come up with backstories for all the brownstones while eating cannolis.

I want a cannoli. Like several cannolis. I think we should stage some kind of cannoli taste-testing event this weekend.

No answer.

Are you opposed to the cannoli taste-testing event? Because that doesn’t seem very in character. I mean it doesn’t have to be that specific Italian pastry. Lobster tails are really good too. As long as there’s powdered sugar involved, I’m down.

That was almost a softball – the chance to make plans and not-so-thinly-veiled innuendo and Emma furrowed her eyebrows when she stared at her phone and she couldn't remember where she put that package of socks she bought.

She nearly jumped out of her own skin when her phone started to ring in her hand and she didn’t look at the name, just swiped her thumb across the screen and pinned it to her ear with her shoulder so she could pack at the same time she tried to flirt.

“Hey,” she said, fishing through her closet for a plastic bag filled with ridiculously-patterned socks. “Do you remember where I said I put those socks because I honestly can’t remember what I did with them and I don’t want to freeze all weekend.” There wasn’t an answer. There was just something that sounded like a sniffle and Emma nearly dropped her phone when she tugged it away from her ear.

It wasn’t Killian.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said and the sniffle got louder. Emma’s knees felt weak. It felt like she’d thrown open every window in her apartment and everything felt colder and wrong and she didn’t say anything. “Emma, are you still there?” She nodded slowly, barely even thinking about how Mary Margaret couldn’t see her and she should have been in class. It was one in the afternoon. “Yeah,” Emma mumbled, retreating back towards the edge of the bed. Her socks were underneath her night stand. “Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry, I, uh...I thought you were somebody else. What’s going on, M’s?”

It might have been an actual eternity before Mary Margaret answered and Emma tried to keep breathing and not start shouting, but she was mostly just trying not to get in her car and drive to Boston because she knew.

She already knew.

“Something…” Mary Margaret started and Emma’s knuckles turned white gripping the edge of her mattress. “Something happened.” “No.” “What?” “No,” Emma repeated. She didn’t remember standing up. Or tugging the blanket on the ground. She nearly tripped over it when she started to pace. “You’ve got to be more specific Mary Margaret, please.”

“I don’t know the specifics, but David’s already on his way to the hospital and they said it was bad and…” Emma stamped her foot. Alone. In her bedroom. With a bag of unopened socks. One of them had stars stitched on them. “Mary Margaret,” she shouted and she could almost hear the audible snap of a jaw on the other end. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer immediately and Emma had clearly lost all control of her mental and physical facilities because she couldn’t come up with another question and had, at some point, started crying.

She already knew.

“It...David said the hospital told him it was an accident,” Mary Margaret explained, voice soft and sniffles loud and Emma’s knees wouldn’t bend. She couldn’t bring herself to sit down. “He was out in the field and there’d been a mistake or a…” “Failure,” Emma finished and she knew all the terminology. “The word you’re looking for is failure.”

Mary Margaret made some kind of impossible noise and there were sounds in the background and she was still at school. Emma couldn't breathe. “Right, right,” Mary Margaret continued. “That’s, no, you’re right, that’s what David said. So he, uh...well, he was on the ship and there’d been a failure and there was flooding in the hull and they were starting to take on water and they were worried about the electrical circuiting or something and…” Emma sat on her floor. Her legs felt a bit like jello or jelly or some other gelatin substance and she was sitting cross-legged on her floor with a white-knuckle grip on her phone. “Electricity,” she repeated slowly. “Like a...like a shock?” Mary Margaret hummed. “Yeah, the hospital told David he lost consciousness for a while, a few minutes – “

“Minutes,” Emma shouted and Mary Margaret clicked her tongue in reproach.

“And,” she continued, seemingly hitting her stride the longer she kept mumbling facts. “There was some, well, it was a shock, literally, and I guess there was nerve damage in his hand and burns and it was….Emma, it was….it was bad.” She hadn’t actually said his name. And something in the back of Emma’s brain sparked at that, the realization that Mary Margaret called her, but didn’t bother actually saying Killian’s name, just knew she would know and she did.

She already knew.

“How bad is bad?” Emma asked softly and the tears were starting to make their way down her cheeks. “Like...bad?” “Bad,” Mary Margaret echoed. “They, um, they were prepping him for surgery when the hospital called David.”

It was irrational to be angry. It was wrong to be angry, but she bought socks and had cannoli plans and Mary Margaret called Emma.

And she wanted to be in Boston already.

She’d never told Killian…

“Surgery for what?” Emma snapped, the words fitting together like some kind of puzzle in her head and the question felt pointless as soon as she asked. Mary Margaret sighed. “Emma, it’s bad and the doctor told David…” Emma jumped off the floor, punching at an enemy that wasn’t there and might have just been her own inability to tell her not-so-secret boyfriend that she loved him and wanted to be his emergency contact. “I don’t care what the hospital told David,” she yelled and it wasn’t true because she wanted to know, but she was trying to throw clothes into a half-filled suitcase and make sure she had her phone charger before sprinting towards her front door. “Surgery for what?” She would have bet, at least, eight-hundred million dollars that Mary Margaret had her eyes closed when she answered.

“His hand was too badly damaged,” Mary Margaret whispered. Emma stopped moving. “They’re going to take his hand.”

Emma exhaled and the noise that came out of her didn’t sound particularly human. It sounded, decidedly, broken and she was bordering close to weeping in the middle of her hallway, suitcase half-zipped and clothes falling out and she’d texted him about cannolis.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret chanced softly, like she was dealing with a scared animal who was liable to snap if approached the wrong way.

“Still here.” “You’ve got to go. He’d...he’ll want you there when he wakes up and you were going this weekend anyway.”

“How did you know that?” “I’ve known forever Emma,” Mary Margaret said, a hint of something just on the edge of her voice. Emma didn’t have time for that. She was too busy trying to stuff a suitcase in her car’s trunk and wondered how long she could drive with half a tank of gas before she’d have to stop and she might be able to get to Boston.

She’d probably just will herself the rest of the way.

“I didn’t…” Emma mumbled, slamming down the top of the trunk and kicking at her bumper like that would do any good at all. “M’s do you think he knows?” Mary Margaret smiled. Or Emma assumed she smiled. Her phone was going to die soon. “Of course,” Mary Margaret promised. “You’re absolutely terrible at pretending like you don’t. And he’s been in love with you since, well, forever.” It probably wasn’t safe to start driving without a destination or just on the edge of some sort of full-blown panic attack, but Mary Margaret had used that word with such ease that it almost sounded normal and Emma nearly took a full and complete breathe.

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered, tapping out an impatient rhythm on her steering wheel. “David left already?” “As soon as the phone call came and that was twenty minutes ago. They said the surgery would last a pretty long time. I just…” “I know,” Emma repeated – for an entirely different reason. “Thank you.” “He knows, Emma. He’s known forever.”

If asked, Emma would say she had absolutely no idea how she managed to get to Boston without causing several different accidents on I-95, but she did it in an hour and a thirty-six minutes flat, shaving nearly twenty minutes off the Google maps suggested time.

She barely remembered to grab the parking ticket thing so her car wouldn’t get towed, sprinting through the garage and up more stairs and she had no idea where to go.

Her phone died somewhere around Portsmouth.

Emma briefly considered just wandering around the hospital until she found something or someone who looked like they’d be able to help, but it wasn’t a very good plan and she spun on the spot when she heard someone shout her name.

David jogged towards her, a look of absolute disbelief on his face when he pulled her flush against him, hugging as tightly as he could and she’d started crying again at some point.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, mumbling the words into her hair and she hadn’t really come up with a reason. She’d been too busy trying not to drive over the cars in front of her when they weren't going fast enough.

“Um, Mary Margaret called me,” Emma explained. “And, uh, I’ve got some time off after catching that skip and I figured you could use some emotional support. Or something.” He gaped at her, pulling back far enough to widen his eyes and it didn’t make much sense in the realm of explanations because the last thing Emma ever was was emotionally supportive, but she needed a reason and she was still fairly certain David didn’t know.

“You shouldn’t be by yourself,” she continued. “I just...if the surgery’s going to last forever and I mean he’s going to wake up and, well, I’ve known Jones forever, right? You guys shouldn’t be by yourselves here.”

The name felt weird on her tongue, like it didn’t belong to her anymore and she hadn’t actually called him in that in what felt like several lifetimes, but she hadn’t told him everything yet either and it was a weird line to walk in the doorway of an absolutely enormous hospital. And she wanted to be there when Killian woke up. She wanted...a whole slew of things she absolutely should not in a moment like that, but she almost didn’t care because the only thing Emma truly needed was to tell Killian she loved him.

An absolutely absurd amount.

David still wasn’t blinking, staring at Emma like he’d never looked at her before and she tried not to blink or blush or dissolve into a puddle of girlfriend-type terror. “Ok,” he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Ok, come on.” He led her to another waiting room and a small row of chairs he’d, apparently, commandeered for himself and they sat there for hours with updates coming few and far between and David fell asleep at some point.

Emma just kept sitting and waiting and hoping and he’d be fine – he had to be fine. She’d left her bag in her car and her charger was in her bag and she had no idea what time it was when an absolutely exhausted looking doctor in slightly dingy scrubs appeared in front of her, stepping into her line of vision and coughing pointedly when she didn’t immediately look up.

David almost punched her in the face when he jerked awake.

“You can come in now,” he informed them and Emma’s lungs felt like they were shrinking. “He’s still a little groggy from the anesthesia, so he may be in and out of consciousness, but it’s important that he knows you’re here.”

David was already standing up, holding out an expectant hand towards Emma and she nodded before she took it, like she was trying to psych herself up for the moment and after so much waiting and swearing at other cars and hoping, she was, suddenly, absolutely terrified.

“You coming, Em?” David asked, a picture of certainty and older brother that extended to Killian too and she nodded again.

She didn’t let go of his hand when they walked down the hallway or pushed open the door and she’d never seen so many machines in her life.

There were wires everywhere and several different things were beeping and the bed looked far too big. Or, maybe, Killian looked a bit too small and Emma squeezed her eyes shut, willing the scene in front of her to change.

It didn’t.

David tugged on her hand when she stopped moving, pulling her forward and oblivious to the tears on her cheeks again. Killian blinked slowly, as if he were moving in slow motion and Emma tried to stay upright when his gaze drifted towards her.

Something about gravitational pull.

“Emma,” Killian breathed and it sounded like a question and she couldn’t stop nodding. HIs eyes widened slightly, as much as they could under the lingering effects of medically administered drugs, and she was fairly certain several of her organs were going into failure.

He tried to move – of course he tried to move – shifting to his left to block the blunted arm at his side and Emma made sort of absurd noise halfway between a gasp and a whimper and she let go of David’s hand when she all but lunged forward, palm resting on Killian’s cheek.

He closed his eyes.

David looked confused.

Emma didn’t look at David.

“Hey,” she whispered, leaning forward until her forehead nearly rested on Killian’s and that probably wasn’t advisable by several different medical journals. “It’s...it’s ok. You’re ok.”

Killian didn’t open his eyes, but she could hear him exhale softly and maybe that was a step in the right direction. “Emma, love, I…” “I know,” she said. And she did. “I’ve known forever.” He did something absurd with his eyes and she tried not to think about how it was just the ridiculous amount of morphine they probably had him on, but she hadn’t actually moved her hand and he was still impossibly warm. “Go back to sleep,” Emma continued. “We’ll be here.” “You?” Killian asked, a desperation in the question and the letters and Mary Margaret had almost been too right.

Emma nodded. Again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He seemed to accept that, making a quiet noise in the back of his throat when his eyelids fluttered shut again and Emma tried to ignore David’s stare in between her shoulder blades. She didn’t move immediately, brushing her thumb over the scar on Killian’s cheek and the curve of his jaw and fuck it, she kissed his forehead before she pulled away.

David waited a full five minutes before diving into the interrogation. She was sure she’d appreciate that at some point.

She didn’t in the moment.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on, now?” David asked, pushing on Emma’s shoulder until she spun around and there was a challenge in his gaze.

She shook her head. At least it wasn’t a nod. “Nothing,” she lied. David laughed at her. “There is nothing going on, Detective. Stand down. Put the badge away. Anything else you can think of that would make sense in this moment.” “I’m not sure anything makes sense in this moment.”

“Seems awfully melodramatic don’t you think?” Emma challenged. David tilted his head. “He’s...this is...I’m here to make sure Killian’s ok,” she said and the lie seemed more obvious the longer she kept talking. “Exactly what I told you.” “Yuh huh.” “Why would I lie about that?”

“I have no idea,” David sighed and it was difficult to feel every single human emotion at once, but Emma’s brain seemed determined.

They stood there for a few moments, an impasse of stubborn and worried and guilt that was probably deep enough to drown in at this point, the only noise in the room the incessant beeping of half a dozen different machines and she never figured out who moved first.

They probably moved together – some kind of weird sibling-like wavelength that didn’t make sense in the realm of science and medicine – but Emma didn’t care about any of that when she crashed back against David’s chest and his hand cupped the back of her head while she promptly sobbed into his cotton t-shirt.

“It’s going to be fine,” David mumbled, a quiet metronome of certainty and optimism spoken mostly into her hair. Emma lost track of the number of times he said it, the words starting to jumble together the longer they stood there and she wasn’t aware a person could run out of tears until she did, sniffling against fabric and dragging her knuckles across her cheeks until she pinched her own skin.

They sat in a different set of chairs for another round of waiting and David’s phone, somehow, hadn’t died – just enough power to book a hotel room a couple hundred feet away. “Double beds,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple when she rested her head on his shoulder. “It’ll be like camping out when were kids.” It felt unnatural to laugh and her whole body ached with a distinct lack of sleep and possibly hunger and that gnawing sense of guilt in the back of her brain. She didn’t want to leave. And David knew it. “That’s ok,” Emma muttered. “I’m so used to not sleeping at this point, it’s almost easy. And I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes up again.”

David’s eyes flashed with something that looked a lot bigger than just understanding and he kissed her again before he stood up. “Sure, Em,” he said. “I promised Mary Margaret I’d give her some updates soon anyway and I think that one nurse behind the desk is going to strangle me if I use my phone again.”

She nodded again. God.

“Ok,” Emma mumbled, sitting up straighter when David took a step towards the automatic doors and away from the vaguely judgemental stare of that one nurse.

She waited until he was gone to move, muscles protesting at the shift and she was fairly positive there was a thin layer of gross lingering on her skin. Her hair felt like it was on the wrong side of greasy and she’d been wearing the same RPI Engineering t-shirt for twenty-seven hours straight.

Ah, shit she forgot she was wearing that shirt.

Killian was still asleep when she padded into the room – where she absolutely wasn’t supposed to be because there were rules and regulations and probably something about air-quality control that wasn’t helped by the fact that she hadn’t actually showered in two days. Emma didn’t care.

She sank into the empty chair a few feet away from the bed, stretching her legs out and she fell asleep because she almost slid on the floor when she heard her name.

“Emma,” Killian said, voice still scratchy with sleep and medicine and he looked at her with something that felt like abject terror.

She blinked, licking her lips and trying to shake away a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to her forehead. “Hey,” she smiled, but that felt foreign too and Killian flinched when she took a step towards him. “Are you…” “Don’t finish that sentence.” Emma swallowed. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s kind of a dumb question, huh?” “Not dumb, loaded,” he corrected. “What time is it? How long have you been here? How did you get here even?” “I have no idea to questions one and two. And, uh, Mary Margaret called. About twenty minutes after the hospital called David as your emergency contact, but that was yesterday, so if we’re circling back around to question number two, then something like nearly thirty hours.”

Killian’s jaw dropped and he let out a soft exhale. “You’ve been here the whole time?” “Where else would I be?” “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I...it was my fault, Swan. There was a mistake and faulty equipment and they couldn’t move the fucking cargo out of the hold and I went down there because it was something like a trillion dollars on the line and that’s not even really my job…” “Yeah, well, no one really knows what your job is,” Emma muttered, the half-hearted insult falling out of her with practiced ease even in the most inopportune of moments.

Killian’s eyes flashed again, but there wasn’t that hint of something in his gaze, it almost looked like disbelief or amusement and one side of his mouth ticked up. He moved his right hand. And she practically sprinted to hold onto it.

“Are you making jokes, love?” he asked softly, thumb brushing over her palm.

“Yeah, well, I really don’t understand how your job works. And I don’t know what else to do. I was...I nearly killed twenty-seven different people trying to get here.”

“That’s a very specific number.”

“If I was counting then I was focused on that and not on crying or coming up with absolutely horrible scenarios in my head. The second one only kind of worked.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Killian said softly, squeezing her hand as tightly as he could. It wasn’t very tight. “But, I um....”

He shifted again, trying to roll his left shoulder back and keep his arm pinned at his side and Emma’s lungs were doing that shrinking thing again, but her tongue felt too big for her mouth and she was crying.

She couldn't’ seem to stop crying.

She squeezed her own fingers, trying to pour every single ounce of emotion and feeling she could into one movement and she wasn’t really sure it worked because Killian didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips together when Emma’s eyes landed on his left side.

It was a clean break – and really she wasn’t sure what she expected because modern science was, well, modern science, but she hadn’t been lying about absolutely horrible scenarios and she’d come up with some slightly mangled images in her head.

The rounded edge took her a bit by surprise though and she figured it had to do with the several pounds of gauze and whatever else modern science used to prevent infection or gangrene and she wasn’t even sure gangrene was a threat in situations like these. She kept staring.

She still hadn’t actually told him.

Killian’s mouth moved again, eyes flitting across her face and down her body, twisted so she was balanced just on the edge of his bed and he made a noise when his gaze landed on her t-shirt. “They haven’t actually been in here much yet,” he started. “At least not while I’ve been awake, but I’d assume there are...options about what happens next or what could happen next and I don’t think it has to be like that forever.” “What?” Emma asked, snapping her head up at the bitterness in his voice and she shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I’m just saying it probably won’t always be quite that, you know, jarring. Just nothing at the end of my arm. There’s probably prosthetics and maybe some kind of lawsuit coming and it won’t...well it’s not something that’ll be that way forever. It’d be almost whole again.”

She stood up, pulling her hand away from Killian’s so she could cross her arms tightly over her chest and he couldn’t seem to hold her gaze anymore. “What are you saying?” Emma asked.

She already knew.

“I knew it as soon as they got me back on deck,” Killian continued, right hand flexing slightly like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out for her. She was worried he was going to tug the fitted sheet off the mattress. “I couldn’t feel my hand and I could...the smell, fuck, it….Emma, it hurt to breathe and I couldn’t move and I knew. I knew what they were going to have to do and it was my fault. I’d walked right into the failure, certain I could fix it and I just wanted to get off the goddamn boat so I could go home and you were texting me about cannolis.”

Emma bit the side of her tongue, trying to will herself to hold it together, but it was touch and go and Killian was still talking. “And everything hurt, like a shockwave through my whole body and I don’t really remember most of it, but they airlifted us out and I kept coming in and out of it and I kept,” he paused to take a deep breath and Emma’s tongue was bleeding. “I kept thinking about you and how much I wanted you here. I thought I was dreaming the first time I woke up.”

“Mary Margaret knew,” Emma whispered. “About us. She told me and said that I should be here and I...I was terrified something had happened to you.” “It did.” “No, but…” “Emma,” Killian snapped and the lack of nickname wasn’t quite as surprising anymore. “It did, but there’s got to be options. We can, well, I can fix this. Then I wouldn’t be…you wouldn’t have to...” “Don’t finish that sentence,” Emma warned, throwing his own words back at him and it was immature and petty, but he kept staring at her like she was getting ready to run for the metaphorical hills. She took a step back towards him, pressing her thighs against the side of the bed until the metal frame felt like it was trying to work through her jeans.

“I want you to listen to me, right now, ok,” she shouted, voice rising of its own free will and she was going to bruise both her thighs. They were probably going to draw several scandalized nurses soon. Killian nodded. “I don’t care. And I don’t mean that I don’t care about what happened to you. I would have run here to make sure I was here when you woke up, but I...I am in this for the long haul and eighteen-thousand different things could have happened today and none of them would have changed how I feel.”

“Emma…” “No! You don’t get to Emma me a hundred times like actually using my name is going to distract me from the point I’m trying to make.” Killian’s eyebrows leapt into his hair, the blue in his eyes suddenly sharper or something that was probably impossible. Maybe she’d ask a doctor. “And what point are you trying to make, love?” “I love you,” she yelled and it was loud and aggressive and probably not appropriate for the moment, but this whole thing started because they started making out on the floor, so maybe it kind of made sense for them. “Just...forever and I don’t think I realized until I told you there wasn’t an us, but there’s always been an us, hasn’t there? Because you’ve always kind of been there and it’s always been…” “Been what?” “Easy,” Emma finished. “It was easy. Like waking up or falling asleep and I can’t think of any other examples.” “Those work, Swan,” Killian said. He almost smiled, finally moving enough to brush the pads of his fingers across her palm and she flipped her hand to hold onto him. “This isn’t going to be exactly easy, love.” “I'm not expecting it to be. But I’m not looking for an out. You just have to tell me what you want.”

He tilted his head, staring up at her with something that felt a bit like awe and just a hint like reverence and she still wasn’t ready for the words when he opened his mouth. “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

In theory, actually swooning during a moment like that was probably somewhere in the realm of romantic, but Emma couldn't bring herself to actually move – far too aware of all the wires and the beeping and one of the noises was getting faster and that probably should have been a sign.

A nurse sprinted through the open door, glaring at Emma when she noticed her there. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “You can’t be in here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma stammered. “I can, uh, I can go back in the waiting room.”

She tried to move – mostly so she didn’t turn into stone under the seemingly growing glare of every single person employed by Massachusetts General – but that was difficult to do when her fingers were still wrapped up with another human being.

“Hey,” Killian muttered and he looked exhausted. Emma ducked her head, brushing her fingers through his hair and back across his cheek and he almost smiled. “I love you.”

They’d watched a documentary one time about the temperature of Mercury and the sun and something about warmth that Emma only kind of remembered, but in the moment, with the words feeling as if they were hanging in the air in front of her and Killian’s hand in hers and another nurse joining the fray to exercise hospital authority, Emma kept thinking about Mercury and the sun and warmth and how similar it felt to being loved.

He knew.

And she knew.

And they’d find a way.

Killian was right – it wasn’t easy. It was exhausting and depressing and challenging and Emma took a week off work so she didn’t have to leave Boston right away and she bought one of those portable charger things so her phone was always somewhere around ninety-percent charged.

It didn’t make it any easier.

There were post-op decisions and prosthetic decisions and PT decisions and an entirely brand-new lifestyle to adopt, but her life was in Portland and Killian’s life was in Boston and it was some kind of miracle that everyone in the entire world didn’t realize they were dating with the amount of time she spent driving south on I-95.

She put several thousand miles on her car in the next six months and by the time things got, relatively, back to normal it was nearly April again and she had two days off after catching some guy who blew off bail for larceny. Emma had finally gotten a box of cannolis, stopping on her way to Killian’s apartment, and she was struggling to keep her balance as she tried to hold a small smorgasbord of Italian pastries in one hand while fishing her keys out of her pocket with the other.

Emma was half a moment away from kicking at the door when it swung open in front of her. Killian grinned, a pen stuck behind his ear and a notebook stuffed in the back of his jeans and he moved before she was entirely ready, mouth catching hers with practiced ease until Emma nearly forgot about the goddamn cannolis.

He wrapped his right arm around her waist, tugging her against him until her flats dragged across the floor and they stumbled back into his apartment, a mess of limbs and mouths and that fucking tongue thing.  

It had taken some time to regain their rhythm, so to speak, but they’d started this whole thing on the floor, after all, and they were both, apparently, very good at making out and it was difficult not to do that when she wanted to, just...a questionable amount of the time.

And they’d both been cautious at first – far too aware of stitches and, then, prosthetics and modern science wasn’t always quite so modern because there was a lot clicking and undoing and the first time they’d just been so determined they barely even paused to worry about any of it.

But that changed eventually too and there was snow on the ground when Emma promised it’s alright and Killian didn’t blink when she pulled the plastic away from his arm and trailed her lips against the edge that shouldn’t have been there and he told her he loved her no less than forty-seven times.

It got better. He still cared and worried and probably would always be both, especially when people’s eyes flitted his direction, but he was a little less when he was with her and she’d let her fingers brush down his arm and over his hand and he started holding onto her with both arms.

“I’m going to drop the cannolis,” she mumbled, drawing a laugh out of him that seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach and in between each one of her ribs.

“I promise, this is more important than the cannolis,” Killian said. Emma sighed, but the sound turned into something decidedly different when he started dragging kisses along the curve of her neck and he was already trying to tug the box out of her hand and work the bag off her shoulder.

“See, I know you didn’t mean to insult the cannolis, but I almost got a ticket in pursuit of the cannolis and the one lobster tail that’s in there. Don’t touch that one. That’s mine.” “Swan, stop talking about Italian desserts for two seconds.”

She leaned back at the tone in his voice, the excitement  in those few words and whatever feeling that had landed in her stomach a few moments before seemed to grow exponentially when Emma met his gaze.

“What’s going on?” she asked, fingers moving towards the front of his shirt and he reached his right hand up to wrap around her wrist. He kept his left hand anchored on her waist.

“They called.” “Who?” “That firm in Portland I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. I just got off the phone with a Mr. McDonnell who is very interested in bringing my very impressive talents on board. As soon as possible. Those were verbatim quotes, by the way.” Killian beamed at her, eyebrows doing something totally unfair if he wanted to have an actual conversation and not just start making out with her in his kitchen again. And it hadn’t been bad recently – it had been good, really, all things considered – but this was like taking good and throwing it into a particle accelerator and then sending it to the moon.

Or something.

She couldn’t think when he was staring at her like that.

“Yeah, I believe you,” Emma muttered, trying to piece together the news and what it meant and he’d told her about the job two weeks ago, a FaceTime call while she was sitting in her car and waiting on some degenerate to stumble out of a bar downtown.

She’d tried not to get her hopes up.

God, she wanted him in Portland.

It’d make this whole making out in kitchens thing much easier.

Killian tilted his head when she didn’t say anything else, didn’t come up with some sort of follow-up or the string of questions she absolutely did have, but couldn’t bring herself to articulate.

“Is that…” Killian said. “Swan, they want me to come on. Officially. Soon. Within the next couple of weeks and it’s different than anything I’ve done here, way more environmental-based, but there’s a lot of design work involved and I’ve always wanted….”

She cut him off. With her mouth. They had a habit of doing that.

Killian sighed against her, fingers threading through her hair when he pulled her closer to him and Emma’s hands moved quickly, trying to pull off clothing or just use him as some kind of anchor when her knees started to feel a bit more wobbly than a normal human’s should.

They were moving, which was probably for the best because she couldn’t really stand, and her feet barely brushed over the floor when he tugged her up. Emma pushed on his shoulders, some kind of unspoken command for something that just served to work a laugh out of him and Killian’s arm tightened around her waist when they moved back into the living room. He dropped back into the corner of the couch and it felt like the entire building shook when the piece of ancient furniture pushed up against the wall.

They didn’t stop kissing. Or trying to tug off clothing.

Emma rolled her hips, trying to push herself up at the same time she was trying to do the opposite and she grinned against Killian’s mouth when she was rewarded with a slightly breathless fucking hell, Swan. “You are wearing way too many clothes,” she muttered, appreciating the way his whole body shuddered underneath her when she dragged her mouth across his jaw.

“I’m going to assume this means you want me to move then, right?” “Was the jumping you not confirmation?” He laughed, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder and his fingers felt like sparks when they slid under the top of her jeans.“I had my suspicions,” he admitted. “But actually hearing it’s not all that bad either.” “You’re very greedy.” “When it comes to you, love, absolutely.” Emma groaned, but it was mostly to fight off whatever was happening to her stomach – twisting and turning and maybe beating out its own pulse to try and match up with the rhythm of her heart and it was the most absurd thing she’d ever thought, but he was moving to Portland.

He was moving for her.

“What a line,” she mumbled, tugging on his t-shirt tight enough that she was almost worried it was going to rip. “God, seriously, take off your clothes.” “Pot and kettle.” “Now is not the time for clichés.”

Killian hummed, the smirk on his face doing something stupid to Emma’s higher brain functions and he was moving for her . “Of course not,” he laughed softly, canting his hips and her breath audibly caught in her throat. His left hand worked under the hem of another stolen shirt – RPI alumni emblazoned across the front and at least three sizes too big – and Emma’s back arched when he managed to unhook her bra without looking.

He flashed her a knowing grin, eyes brighter than she could remember seeing them in months and this was going to do dangerous thing to his ego. “Should I be impressed or worried that you’re able to do that?” Emma asked, standing up to tug her jeans over her hips.

Killian’s eyes widened. Maybe this would do dangerous things to her ego too. “Impressed, definitely,” he grinned and he shuddered again when Emma’s fingers trailed over the top of his thigh. She nodded towards him again, an unspoken command to seriously take of your clothes and he didn’t object that time, making fast work of buttons and pants and the shirt until they were both decidedly less dressed.

He didn’t blink and she didn’t move – some sort of romantic interlude and possible impasse that felt a lot like it did at the very beginning, standing and waiting and hoping that this would all work. It absolutely was going to work.

And she moved first because that was kind of how it always went for them, him waiting on her and her plunging in and they both might have groaned when she moved back onto his thighs.

“Shit, my wallet,” Killian mumbled, hand everywhere and left arm wrapped tightly around her waist and Emma’s knees were going to protest to every single one of these moments later on that night. “I have no idea where my wallet is.” Emma shook her head and she was momentarily concerned with the damage Killian was doing to his eyes – the way they kept widening in surprise and then narrowing in confusion and back again several times. “It’s ok,” she said quickly, rocking her hips again and his teeth sank into his lower lip. “I, well, it’s good if you’re good and we’re not...I went back on the pill when this all started on the chance that this happened.” “That I couldn’t find my wallet?” “That I really wanted to have sex with my boyfriend and didn’t want to stop and try and fish through drawers and or pants pockets for a condom.” He groaned, but it was as far away from frustrated as an actual groan could be, particularly when his hand started moving and their not-so-small pile of clothes got even larger. Emma moved again, several different muscle groups unhappy with the shift, but she couldn’t focus on that when it felt like everything all at once and she couldn't seem to catch her breath when Killian’s fingers shifted a very particular way.

“I love you,” he whispered and she wasn’t sure he meant to say it out loud, but she heard it and that was kind of par for their emotional course.

Emma laughed softly, pressing kisses wherever her lips landed. “Charmer,” she muttered, closing her eyes when she felt his hand brush up her spine. “And we haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.” “I think you’re underestimating the amount of fun I’m having, Swan.” She almost fell off the couch – head thrown back and shoulders shaking and Killian’s smile was probably going to be imprinted on every inch of her brain, but she was happy and excited and hopeful. It was a heady kind of feeling that was, probably, amplified by the distinct lack of clothing between them.

There wasn’t anything to tug, but there was the rest of the night and, maybe, the rest of their lives and they’d get there at some point. Emma was much more interested in the very comfortable bed at the other end of the hall, however, and at some point maybe she’d mention he should bring that to Portland with him.

He was moving to Portland.

And they didn’t eat the cannolis until somewhere in the realm of four in the morning – words ringing in the air above them and around them and her I love you didn’t seem quite so terrifying when it was mixed in with several different variations of fuck you feel good and yeah, like that and Emma fell asleep eventually and easily with Killian’s arm wrapped around her waist.

He moved on a Saturday with a few boxes and pizza that Emma ordered when they’re friends helped lift things and unpack other things and David kept glancing at them whenever they walked by each other, doing their best not to actually touch each other.

It didn’t really work.

Which was how they ended up with a list of rules and a set schedule for how this was going to work before David’s very fancy event on the other side of city. And Emma hadn’t really been spending much time in her own apartment for the last three weeks.

“See, these are the things you can’t be doing when we go to David and Mary Margaret’s,” Emma mumbled, but the words didn’t hold much weight when they were spoken mostly into Killian’s lips.

“I’m getting it out of my system,” he challenged and he’d absolutely done it for the reaction. She rolled her eyes, swatting at his shoulder and she clearly wasn’t quick enough or his reflexes were just insane, but it ended with his fingers wrapped around her wrist and his lips brushing across her knuckles and it had to be fine.

So they’d kind of been lying to everyone for...years. It was fine. They were going to come clean and there was going to be a painfully adorable baby present so no one could murder anyone.

Except Emma murdering Killian if he broke those rules she’d handwritten the night before.

“It’ll be fine, Swan,” he repeated, tapping his thumb on her knuckle for emphasis. “And if not, we’ll just remind him that Ruthie’s there and he can’t actually yell because he’ll scar her for life.”

“Jeez.”

“There’s a plan.” “I know, I wrote it.”

“Then trust it. And me. We’ll be fine, love.”

They made out for five more minutes before they left the apartment. And Ruby totally knew.

“You guys got a look,” she said, barely letting them in the apartment before descending on both of them with a smile that felt a little wolfish. “Awful convenient you just showed up in the hallway at the same time, huh?” “Awfully,” Emma corrected and Ruby’s smile took up most of her face.

“Excuse me?” “The correct form of that word is awfully. Adverbs.” “Are you correcting my grammar, Em?” Emma nodded and they’d already broken rules one through four. Killian's hand landed on her back. “It’s a nervous habit,” he muttered, pressing the heel of his hand into her spine and she probably shouldn’t have worn a dress because she swore she could feel him everywhere.

“Oh yeah?” Ruby asked, twisting one eyebrow in an almost pitiful imitation of Killian. “And tell me something, Jones, just how long have you been aware of Emma’s nervous habits?” “Oh my God,” Emma sighed. She rolled her head back, resting most of her weight against Killian’s hand when his arm shifted and there went rule seven. “Rubes you were, literally, the first person to know. Stop acting like you don’t.” She made a dismissive noise and there was no way David wasn’t listening to all of this somewhere. Ruthie was shouting not-quite words around the corner and Emma could dimly make out the scent of something baking. “Oh shit,” she hissed. “Should we have brought something? Were we supposed to bring something?” “I thought you guys didn’t come together,” Ruby said. “And if you want to get technical, Belle was the first person to know when Jones decided he was going to play internet hero and force you to watch space documentaries or whatever.”

Killian sounded like he was choking. “Yeah, there were no space documentaries.” And Emma probably would have appreciated the slightly stunned look on Ruby’s if she weren’t so busy blushing and trying to melt into the floor at the same time.

“Behave,” Belle said, moving into the foyer from the kitchen and this was in direct violation of rules eight and nine. There wasn’t supposed to be any clumping. They weren’t supposed to draw attention.

They were supposed to get in and eat whatever baked goods Mary Margaret was obviously baking and then they’d tell David and, hopefully, he’d understand the lie because this had just happened – for years. Actual years.

And Emma wanted to move out of her apartment.

“Who are you talking about, me or Jones?” Ruby asked and Emma tried not to kick something. She had very violent tendencies.

“Both of you,” Belle said. “I thought there were rules. Six feet of separation or whatever.” Killian glanced at Emma. “Are you sharing rules with other people, love? That almost seems wrong.”

“We went to get coffee the other day and I asked about David’s...event, whatever we’re calling this and how it would affect you guys, you know, being you.” “Being us?” “Staring at each other like you’re the center of the universe.” “That was a space pun,” Ruby added. “Did you pick up on that Jones?”

He glared at her, pressing his lips together tightly and he hadn’t moved his hand. “Take twenty steps back, Lucas.”

There were footsteps coming towards them and it was definitely Mary Margaret because Ruth’s voice was getting louder and there were shouts of words that might, at some point, actually resemble their names.

“Hey guys,” Mary Margaret grinned, shifting her kids weight on her hip when the not-quite toddler tried to launch herself at Killian. “Did you just get here?” “Yup,” Emma answered immediately. Ruby laughed. Loudly. “Definitely just got here. Not together.”

“Really selling it, Em,” Ruby muttered.

Emma barely heard her. She was far too preoccupied watching Killian tugging Ruth away from Mary Margaret, smiling when she tried to pull on his shirt and he mumbled hey there, little love under his breath.

“That’s good, Em,” Ruby continued. “You’re making this whole thing look totally legit.” Emma glared at her. Mary Margaret was very clearly trying not to laugh. And David was walking towards them.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” he asked, but he looked straight at Emma and she felt that same sense of guilt land in her very center like several different boulders and possibly an asteroid. Or a meteor. Shooting straight through her.

It wasn’t a very well thought out metaphor.

“Talking,” Emma answered and, well, it was kind of an answer.

David hummed, rocking back on his heels when he glanced towards Killian, still muttering words against Ruth’s not-quite curly hair. “Huh,” he muttered, lifting both his eyebrows and Ruby made some kind of impossible noise.

“Of course,” Ruby mumbled, glancing in Mary Margaret’s direction. “Did you tell him?” Mary Margaret shook her head. “Not a word.”

“What?” Emma asked, voice cracking just a little on the word and that was definitely like a meteor because the realization seemed to slam into her at an almost violent rate. She groaned. “Oh my God, for real?”

Killian looked like some kind of human-type statue, frozen with his cheek resting against Ruth’s head and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to use her as some kind of shield.

David shrugged. “Were you guys going to say anything before you, like, got married or were we just going to show up at a ceremony and you’d be like...this is happening?” Emma exhaled a huff of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding onto and she moved or, maybe, Killian moved, but this whole six foot thing was an absolute joke. “We probably would have mentioned something before then,” Killian muttered and Emma was going to fall over.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Mary Margaret suggested, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder. It didn’t really work.

“Ah, well, at least there’s that,” David grinned, making a face when Ruth turned towards him. “You drop my kid and I really will you kill you, Jones.” “I’m not dropping your kid,” Killian said. It didn’t feel like they were talking about Ruth.

“How long have you known?” Emma asked, practically shouting the question and Mary Margaret’s baked goods were probably going to burn. “Is that what this is? Is this not a fancy party with lame e-mail invitations is this…” “An intervention,” David finished. “I mean obviously. Wait, did you say you thought my e-mail invitations were lame?” “They were definitely lame,” Killian promised, both Belle and Ruby nodding slightly in the background. Mary Margaret kept trying not to laugh. “And we don’t need an intervention. There were rules and a schedule and we were absolutely going to tell you. Today.” “Because of the e-mail invitations and the belief that this was something else entirely. You’ve been in Portland for weeks. You’ve been dating my sister for years, what the hell have you been waiting for?” Killian blinked, head snapping towards Emma and she had no idea what was going on. None of the rules prepared her for this. “How long have you known?” Killian asked. “Because this has…” “Years,” David said. “Literal years. You came for a weekend or something in...July? Was it fourth of July?” “Who are you asking?” “Yes,” Mary Margaret answered and Emma wondered how much damage she could do to her retinas if she just stopped blinking. “It was definitely fourth of July.” David nodded, settling into the story. “Right, right, so it was fourth of July and you came for the weekend and you were like some kind of Emma-based satellite, just stuck in her orbit or whatever and…” “Did you get that space joke, Jones,” Ruby interrupted and the whole house groaned.

“God, Lucas, stop,” Killian sighed. She laughed when she leaned back against David, reaching a hand out to tickle Ruth’s stomach. .

“Anyway,” David continued. “You showed up for fourth of July and there were space puns and that one time I came outside because, you know, you guys had disappeared and uh...you were…” “Making out,” Ruby finished, ignoring Mary Margaret’s reprimand. “You were making out. And just for the record, we’ve all known since then for sure. I mean, Belle knew from the very beginning, but that was kind of confirmation.” Emma shook her head. “Wait, wait, wait, fourth of July here with us at a restaurant downtown?” David grinned. “But that was…that was the beginning!  I mean, well, that was only a couple weeks after Killian fixed the internet.” “Is that a euphemism?” Mary Margaret asked and it was the single most un-Mary Margaret thing anyone had ever said.

It seemed to fit in with the theme of the day.

“No,” Emma sighed. “Well….no, oh my God. But, seriously, back up. You guys have all known the entire time? Why wouldn’t you say anything?” “Why wouldn’t you?” David challenged.

Emma didn’t have an answer for that. This whole party thing had completely fallen off the rails. She needed to look at the rules. “Because...you...I mean it’s such a cliché isn’t it? Your sister and your best friend and everyone always thought it was inevitable and we were just friends for awhile and…” “And then you were making out on fourth of July and doing a really crap job of trying to pretend.” “Yeah, that.” “I wouldn’t have been mad,” David said. “I mean I’m disappointed you guys thought I would have been, but we’ve all known the whole time anyway, so the point seems kind of moot.” “He just told you he wasn’t mad, he was just disappointed,” Belle laughed and maybe they’d all developed different personalities at some point that afternoon. Emma gaped at Killian, as stunned as she was and Ruthie was absolutely unaware of anything that was going on.

“So then I figured when Killian got the job in Portland, you’d guys would finally come clean, but then you’ve been acting like Emma’s actually still living in her apartment and, so, enough was enough or whatever.” “Or whatever,” Emma repeated, still staring at Killian who, at some point, had just started laughing. It sounded a little manic. “And I am still living in my apartment.” “Eh,” Killian objected and that was the last thing she expected. “I mean, that’s kind of true, love.” “Oh, add that to the reasons too,” Mary Margaret said, bouncing on her toes with barely contained excitement and Emma knew it was because the secret was, finally, out. “Killian’s been calling you love for as long as I’ve known you guys.” “Longer,” David muttered. “Since the very beginning.” Emma’s eyes somehow managed to get even wider and she really needed them to move so she could sit down and try and keep her heartbeat even. She shook her head, not entirely sure what she was arguing and Killian’s eyes seemed glued to his shoes. “That’s not,” Emma mumbled. “I mean...maybe I’m not really living in my apartment anymore. I don’t really want to live in my apartment anymore. Just for the record.”

“Yeah?” Killian asked softly, shifting Ruth when she tried to climb onto his shoulders.

“I mean...yeah. If you want.” “Swan, are you kidding me?” “You’re taking all the romance out of this.” “We were supposed to be standing six feet away from each other at all times, love,” Killian grinned. “I think we’ve been lacking a bit of romance all day.” Ruby groaned. “Agh, is it going to be like this the whole time now? You guys just making eyes and being grossly in love.” “Yeah, probably,” Emma admitted, smiling despite the complete deviation from the plan and they’d been lying for no reason at all for the last two years. “Hey, but I have another question. If you guys all knew from fourth of July then, David, you knew why I came to Boston.” He hummed, shrugging and slinging an arm over Mary Margaret’s shoulders. “Oh, yeah, I totally knew, but it seemed like kind of an asshole move to ask about your boyfriend while he was in the hospital, right?” “Yeah, I guess so.” “I’ve got another follow-up. Did you guys really not get together at our wedding? We all thought…”

“Stop talking about this,” Killian muttered, a tone that left little room for argument. “Nothing happened at the wedding, nothing was ever going to happen at the wedding, we were not operating on your timetable.” He turned, hitching Ruth over his shoulder with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist and it didn’t help Emma’s pulse at all. “You want to move in with me, Swan? Like later tonight?”

Emma laughed, reaching forward to rest her hand on top of Ruthie’s back “Yeah, I definitely want to do that.”

It took a little longer to actually move in – but Emma’s lease was almost up and that seemed a bit like fate, or so Mary Margaret announced while putting towels into a cardboard box and they didn’t unpack anything when they got to Killian’s apartment.

They ordered more pizza and drank shitty beer and set up Netflix and the last thing she heard before the door slammed closed later that night was David shouting let us know before you get married, ok as the theme for Cosmos played in the background.

They did.

They hosted an engagement party and sent invitations by e-mail.