#captain swan january joy

[ohmightydevviepuu]

fanbinding: hello love (a silent kiss from a wish)

a lil bedazzled octavo of a short story from the 2020 Captain Swan January Joy inspired by the wishing star that kicks off the action.

method: modified paperback/sewn boards hybrid technique. sewed the text block normally and sealed with archival tissue and paste mix before drumming on marbled end papers. cover constructed from a sheet of kraft paper and then covered in homemade bookcloth and sealed marble paper.

the bookmark charm was attached to the rear end paper before i drummed it to the back cover. i made the charm after several trips to local craft stores to scavenge something that gave me that wishing star feeling. it's clamped with a jump ring and ribbon clamp.

paper: 80# text weight white neenah

[caught-in-the-filter]

Emma Was Cold

A Neverland smut fic for @neverlandnewyear​ and @csjanuaryjoy​

Summary: Emma Swan finds that Neverland nights get surprisingly cold. Luckily, Captain Hook has some experience in keeping warm.

4006 Words; Rated: E; AO3

A/N: This is basically Neverland PWP. It was inspired by something I commented in the CS Movie Marathon Discord a while back, and I never expected to actually write the thing myself. This is the first full smut fic I’m publicly posting with one of my urls attached, so I’m both excited and scared to share it. First, I need to give a huge shoutout to all the lovely people on the CSMM, CSNLNY, and CSJJ Discords for all their encouragement and assistance while I struggled to write this fic. Special shoutouts to @teamhook​, @kmomof4​, @hollyethecurious​, and @donteattheappleshook​ for reviewing bits of the doc for me as I went along and being super supportive, and especially to Maddie for also giving it a last minute full review once I finished it and helping me with edits. Also a big thank you to the mods for running these amazing events and for working together to allow us to cross-post between the two.

Alright, here we go....

——

“Are you alright, Swan?” Hook asked as he turned toward Emma to find her shivering where she lay a few feet away from him, his question prompted by the fact that he could actually hear the clacking sound of her teeth chattering.

“I’m f-fine,” Emma answered, curling further into herself as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms beneath the threadbare blanket that provided her with such little warmth. Who’d have thought Neverland would get so cold at night? She wished she’d worn more than a thin tank top, which served her well during the blazing heat of the day but offered no protection from the cool temperatures she faced now.

“Are you sure?” he prodded with a smirk, “If you’d like me to keep you warm, love, you need only ask. I’d be more than willing to—”

“I said I’m fine,” Emma snapped, “and I’m not your love.”

“Suit yourself.” Hook rolled back onto his side. “Like everything else on this island, Neverland nights are not kind. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

——

Emma was cold, so cold that she couldn’t stop shaking despite her best efforts. Tensing only made it worse, but she just couldn’t relax either. She cursed herself under her breath, knowing she shouldn’t give in but desperate for the rest she knew she’d never find in such a state.

“Hook?” she whispered, padding over to where he lay apart from the rest, half hoping he would already be asleep.

“Hm?” He turned toward her once more, the smirk returning to his face and burning a hole right through her.

Emma wondered if the embarrassment that set fire to her cheeks would be enough to warm her, but she’d already gained his attention.

“Did you have a change of heart then, love?” Hook questioned. “Are you ready to warm up to me? Or with me, I should say.”

“Nevermind,” Emma rolled her eyes and stepped away from him in annoyance, hoping he couldn’t see her shivering.

“Swan—”

“No.”

“Swan, please look at me,” he pleaded, more softly than she’d have expected. She turned toward him impatiently, ready to go off on him if necessary, but found a gentle look in his eyes and let him continue.

“I may be a bit brash when it comes to making my interest known, Emma, but I assure you I am nothing if not a gentleman. Neverland is a cruel place and I would not wish to make it any more so. If we are to share warmth in a strictly practical manner, so be it.” He waved her over to him, his hooked arm outstretched in invitation to serve as her pillow. “You need rest, and I won’t let you freeze to death in your sleep before we rescue your boy.”

Emma approached him with caution, hesitating before she sat and turned her back to him as she rested her head on his arm. She wondered how he could sleep in that leather duster of his, but as he held her close, pressing his chest flush against her back but making a point to turn his hips away from her, and draped the thick material of the coat over her as well, she realized just how comfortable it actually was. She wouldn’t admit to the sudden and surprising sense of calm that washed over her as she settled next to him, but in the unexplainable safety, it didn’t take long before she was sound asleep.

——

Though it was still dark when she awoke, Emma felt as refreshed as if she’d had a full night’s sleep, a feeling and a feat she hadn’t achieved in a very long time. She huffed out a breath with a roll of her eyes when she realized she’d been pinned by Hook’s other arm which curled loosely around her middle. He must have turned in his sleep, somehow gently enough to not wake her. Her instincts said to shove him away, but he had been decent enough to respect her boundaries in his offer. And, after all, she was much warmer this way, which was the whole point of moving closer together.

He suddenly shifted in his sleep again, and Emma gasped when she felt his clothed warmth brush against her denim-clad ass. Wait, was he actually hard?! Before she could stop herself, Emma let out an involuntary moan when he rubbed against her again and she immediately froze, wide-eyed and praying he didn’t hear her as all the heat they’d shared travelled south, save for that which reddened her cheeks. After a moment had passed without a reaction from him, she allowed herself to relax again, only to be suddenly pulled closer to him.

“Sounds like you liked that, Swan?” Hook remarked and rolled his hips ever so slightly. She could sense the shit-eating grin returning to his smug face.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he did it again before she responded, “Please, you couldn’t handle it,” and returned the motion, surprising him with the unexpected reciprocation.

“I do love a challenge. But tell me something, love,” he said, his hand traveling down towards her waistband, passing over the zipper and slipping between her thighs as his lips hovered over her neck and his hot breath seared her flesh, “can you handle staying quiet?” He lifted her leg and draped it over his own, giving himself the space to cup her through her jeans. “Everyone else is still asleep, and in any case it’s still too dark to journey on.” He placed a kiss just below her ear and continued, his voice a low growl just above a whisper, “Just say the word, I can help you ease your mind for a while.” The corner of his lips twitched upward as he teasingly flexed his fingers against her and added, “And the ache you might be feeling, if that moan were any indication.”

Emma silently cursed herself for letting that sound escape from her lips, and once more for what she knew she was about to give in to so quickly. He was right, she could use a distraction from her racing mind now that she was more awake again, and he was a damn tempting one. Her breath hitched when he caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged, eliciting another soft moan from deep within her, and her decision was made.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, love?” he asked, nosing down her neck until his mouth latched onto the space between it and her shoulder, nipping and sucking her flesh and laving over it with his tongue.

“Yes, I can stay quiet.” Her hand reached up to find purchase in his hair, encouraging him to continue his claim of her collarbone. “Yes, I want you to ease my… well, everything.” He chuckled at that, the vibration of his laughter against her skin sending a chill down her spine.

“As you wish.” Hook wasted no time popping the button on Emma’s jeans, pulling down the zipper, and slipping his hand beneath the denim. “Oh?” He said, his eyebrow raised in wonder at the soft, thin material covering his goal. He rubbed his fingers over it, feeling her arousal soaking through it as he teased her. “You certainly do.” Hook pushed her panties aside and sank two fingers inside her.

“Ohh fuck,” Emma choked back another moan, the sinful sounds as he plunged them into her dripping core again and again filling the air instead. His rings bit into her skin with every thrust, the cool metal a jarring, yet welcome counter to the hot friction they were creating. She rocked her hips to meet him each time, and his breathing grew ragged as he rutted himself against the curve of her ass in synchrony. As Emma’s movements grew frantic, Hook’s slowed to a stop, and Emma groaned in protest when he removed his fingers from inside her, dragging them through her folds to brush her clit for just a moment.

“Not yet, Swan.” Hook carefully slipped his arm out from beneath her head and gently turned her towards himself so that she lay on her back. Getting to his knees and stripping off his duster, he knelt between her spread legs. “I’m a fan of every part of you, and I intend to show you just how much of a fan I am.” 

He slipped his hooked arm beneath her tank only to find his access to her breasts blocked by another bit of material. Lifting the top to reveal the offending garment, he looped his prosthetic beneath it, the tip of the hook scraping against her skin as he did, and tugged. He noted that the small scrap of fabric differed from the corsets he was used to removing from women he’d bedded in the past but assumed it would be no less easy to snap than the laces he’d encountered on them.

“Hey!” Emma caught his wrist before he could succeed in his efforts. “I need this! Let me just….” She sat up for a moment to take off her tank top and undo the clasps at her back so she could toss her bra aside. “There.”

“Apologies, love,” Hook said, “and thank you.” He guided her back down with his hand just beneath her now exposed breast, thumbing at her tightening nipple as his mouth tended to the other. “Bloody magnificent, these are,” he mumbled against her as he teased them to stiff peaks. Emma tried to relax as the throbbing between her legs became almost unbearable and she longed for more friction to soothe it.

When he was at last satisfied, Hook released her nipple from his mouth with a resounding pop, flicked it a few times with the curve of his hook for good measure, and gave the same treatment to the other, relishing the way she squirmed beneath him as he nibbled and sucked and kneaded.

Emma gasped when the cold air rushed over her wet skin as Hook finished with her breasts and slid his body lower between her legs, trailing sloppy kisses down her abdomen along the way until he reached the top of her jeans.

Glancing up at her, he kept his eyes on hers as he gently tucked his fingers and hook just under the edge of her waistband.

“May I?” he asked, waiting for her approval to proceed.

“Yes,” she answered, “god, yes.” He grinned at that and very slowly tugged her jeans down her legs, distracted by the view of the place where his hand had been, covered only by the thin strip of fabric that had grown damp beneath his touch, pausing for a moment to slip off her boots when he reached them before removing the denim completely.

“You,” Hook said as he took in the sight of her almost completely naked form, “are absolutely stunning, Swan.” He scanned her body a moment longer, watching the blush spread over her cheeks and across her chest as she flushed pink under his desirous scrutiny. He nosed along the creases of her thighs and up the material that hid his goal before taking the top hem between his teeth, pulling it down until it hung from his mouth and letting it fall beside her on the blanket beneath them.

Fuck, that was hot, Emma thought to herself as she watched him lower his head and raise his hungry gaze to hers. The smirk on his face made her wonder for a moment if she had actually said it out loud.

Any concern she had about her comment was swept away as he gently flattened his tongue against her slick flesh, never breaking eye contact as he slowly licked an inquisitive stripe along her folds, dipping it between them just enough to pass over her clit before departing. The shiver that passed through her whole body at the contact was enough to make him do it twice more before diving in as deep as he could and mapping her inner walls with his tongue. He mumbled soft praises as he worked her—“Delicious…. Exquisite…. Divine….”—without ever fully pulling away to say them, too lost in the taste of her, as if he couldn’t get enough and didn’t want to lose even a drop of her essence. Soon he found the spot that made her hips buck and her thighs pull together, pressing against the sides of his head, and he reintroduced his fingers inside her as he licked at the spot relentlessly, knowing she grew ever closer to her release.

His scruff raked against her skin as her legs locked around him, her heels digging into his back, and she knew the raw streaks of raised red would burn later as they continued through Neverland on foot. But with the way he was making her feel in that moment, she figured it would be worth it.

The shaking overtook her suddenly and her back arched as he gave a particularly strong suck on her clit, and she came as he continued to fuck her with his hand and mouth. He reached up to silence her by pressing the curve of his hook to her lips as an overwhelmed cry caught in her throat. Taking the prosthetic into her mouth, she gently bit down on it and laved over it with her tongue to distract herself from the way he tended to her dripping core in kind. He lapped at her entrance until her waves of pleasure receded and she relaxed against the blanket, their chests heaving in an attempt to catch their breaths. He crawled over her body, hovering above her looking absolutely wrecked before he’d even been touched, his chin glistening with her release and his eyes blown wide with insatiable desire.

Their mouths crashed together and he laced his fingers through her golden locks while her hands anchored in the hair at the nape of his neck. She tasted herself on him as she traced his lips with her tongue and opened hers in invitation for his further exploration.

“You, my wanton lass, are far from quiet.” Hook attacked Emma’s lips with his own, her false rebuttal lost before it could be voiced as his tongue dipped between them and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth upon its retreat.

Emma hadn’t seen him reach for the panties he’d discarded next to her earlier until he pulled away and sat back on his haunches as he replaced his tongue with the wet scrap of material.

“Any other time, I’d love nothing more than to hear how I make you feel, but given the circumstances…,” he trailed off with a glance in the direction of their slumbering company not too far away, before returning his gaze to Emma with a smirk. “Luckily, there are ways to assist you.” He leaned over her once more to whisper in her ear, “Perhaps another time we can meet on my ship, sail far from the shore, just the two of us, and I’ll make you produce all manner of sounds for only me to hear. Hm?”

If he were expecting an answer, Emma couldn’t give him one. She told herself this was a one-time thing, just a way to blow off some steam and clear her head before the next long stretch of their journey through this land of mysterious horrors she wished she’d never have had to encounter like this. She wished Neverland could have stayed a story, though she wouldn’t admit out loud that she did prefer this real version of the fearsome Captain Hook.

Well, that and she now had a mouthful of cotton.

Emma watched as he unlaced his trousers, and she found herself unable to look away when he took himself in hand and passed the tip of his cock along her folds, aligning himself with her entrance before he stopped.

“Swan?” Hook said, bringing her out of her distracted stupor and calling her attention to his searching eyes, all of his bravado gone and replaced with a serious, patient tone. “Emma, are you sure?”

She hadn’t expected him to ask again, and that consideration for her wishes she hadn’t often encountered, paired with his rare use of her first name, only increased her desire to say yes. Unable to actually speak it, she held his gaze, hoping hers looked just as soft, and gently brushed her fingers down his cheek before she trailed them down his arms and gripped his hips with an encouraging nod.

Emma bit down hard on her makeshift gag and her head lolled back as he slowly sheathed himself inside her, the stretch burning in the best way with every inch as her body responded to his entrance with slick heat until he was fully seated within her. The feel of her around him took his breath away, and Hook braced himself on his elbows at either side of her as his head fell forward next to hers and he panted over her shoulder.

“Gods, you’re fucking perfect,” Hook whispered in her ear through gritted teeth. He finally began to move, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as he pulled back and slid home again and again. She pivoted her hips to meet him with each thrust, feeling a euphoric fullness every time she took him in deep that left her softly whimpering in protest upon his retreats.

It was too much and not enough and just right all at once. Emma’s hands slipped beneath Hook’s shirt and she raked her nails up and down his back before digging them into his flesh as she scrabbled for purchase to steady herself beneath him, and to draw him ever closer to her.

Her mouth grew dry as the material between her teeth absorbed what little moisture wasn’t being expelled from her body in arousal and sweat. She wanted to kiss him, but even if she could, his mouth was otherwise engaged, sucking a mark into the side of her neck before tonguing at the hollow of her throat on its way to brand her collarbone. She couldn’t be bothered to care if anyone would see the evidence of his claim, not while he was giving her nothing but pleasure as his hips snapped with purpose.

“Come for me, Emma.” Hook’s fingers returned to her clit to circle and tease it as they both neared their releases. “Let me feel you come on my cock.” He groaned louder than he meant to when her hands cupped his ass through his trousers. “I won’t last much longer, love.”

He almost lost it when she gripped him tighter and nodded with a downward glance before meeting and holding his gaze.

“Fuck, Emma,” he breathed, a lightheadedness overtaking him as everything inside him tensed and he slammed into her with abandon. Looping his hook under the edge of her panties that peeked out from between her lips, he tugged the material to remove it without wasting time to toss it aside, letting it drape over his prosthetic as he filled her mouth with his tongue instead in a hot slide.

“Killian,” she moaned in a whisper against his eager lips, finally able to speak to some extent as he ravished both her mouth and her aching core.

“What?” He said in breathless surprise, unsure of whether he’d heard her correctly or imagined it with his own pulse pounding in his head, his hungry and frantic eyes flitting from side to side as they searched hers. A soft smile spread across his face. That was the first word she’d spoken, not even his more colorful moniker she’d been accustomed to using, but—

“Killian,” she called him by his name again, feeling that same dizzy high he felt as she rocked forward into him. “Yes. Yes.”

Something inside him snapped, and he muffled his pleasured cries against her lips as he poured himself inside her, relentlessly thumbing at her clit to bring her to release. A rush of heat spread through her body as his cock pulsed inside her, and her walls fluttered around him as she rose and fell with him.

He pulled back for a moment and caught the thick whitish fluid that dripped from her core with the tip of his cock before pushing it deeper inside her with a desperate grunt until they both finally slowed their movements to a stop.

“That was—” Hook, the man full of innuendos, fell speechless as he carefully held himself above her, propped up on his elbows, and let his forehead drop to hers as he panted with hot breath over her lips.

A one-time thing, Emma wanted so badly to say, but she had trouble even believing herself then. The way he made her feel, the way she knew he felt, the way they felt together. None of it felt like a one-time thing. She knew what those were, but this right here with him, this could be so much more. And it both thrilled and terrified her.

“I know,” she said instead, trying desperately to process everything that had just happened, and everything she might have wished would happen in the future, if they’d have a future at all. Would they?

She subtly shook her head in an attempt to clear it and pulled him to her for another kiss before she lifted her panties off his hook and pressed her other hand to his chest where it was exposed by the low neckline of his shirt and vest, following his body with hers as she guided him back so she could sit upright. Flattening the material over her palm, she passed it between her folds and stared into the depths of his ocean blue eyes as she rubbed the damp cotton over his wet cock, making his jaw drop as his breath hitched in his throat.

“We can’t leave a mess, now can we?” Emma smirked. Pumping him with her covered hand, she took his cock into her mouth, and he hissed when she passed her tongue over the tip and groaned around him at the taste as it leaked a bit more of his release.

“Gods, Emma,” Hook stuttered as he leaned back on his hand for support before he stilled her by catching her wrist with his hook, and she released him with a soft pop and a mischievous smirk as she looked up at him. “Keep doing that, love, and there’s going to be a much more obvious tell.”

“Fine,” she conceded with a sigh, getting to her feet and slipping on her wrecked panties with a taunting wiggle of her hips as she pulled them up under the weight of his entranced gaze until he realized he’d been staring and cast his eyes toward the ground. She’d probably feel it later, the sweltering heat of the Neverland sun bound to leave her feeling stickier than its induced sweat already would, but knowing he’d know that his effects on her would be keeping her wet long after they’d finished their more enjoyable activities… well, her own potential discomfort would be a cross she’d be willing to bear without regret.

She continued to get dressed, and he gave her the decency of turning his back to her as she did and as he righted himself as well, an admittedly unnecessary gesture after the rather indecent act they’d just committed together, but oddly endearing nonetheless.

“Here, love,” Hook picked up his duster and held it open in offering for her to wear, but she waved him off with a smile.

“I’m okay now, thanks. It suits you better anyway. And besides,” Emma winked at him, “I think I prefer sharing it.”

Hook swirled it around himself with a dramatic flair to put it on, tucked his hand and hook in the pockets, and reached out to enwrap Emma in the heavy leather with him, eliciting a giggle as he held her close.

She certainly wasn’t cold anymore.

[csjanuaryjoy]

CSJJ 2021:  Week One Roundup!

We had an absolutely fantastic first week of posts for the CSJJ2021!  If you missed any, catch them up with the list below, and stay tuned for 3 more weeks of great stories and artwork!

January 1:  always feel like part of this was mine by @ohmightydevviepuu Modern friends-to-lovers AU.  In all the years Emma Swan has known Killian Jones she’s never felt anything like this–this tension, as if at any moment she might break.  Or he might.  What would it be like?

January 2:  Beautiful by @thesschesthair A canon-inspired mix of two prompts: “Fireworks at midnight” and “Reflections on the old year” as CS ring in the new year together and think about some of their adventures.

January 3: good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea by @profdanglaisstuff The Jolly Roger is truly more than just a ship. There’s something about her magic that allows Killian to sail her on his own, and a special relationship between them.

January 4:  Home (there and back again - a Saviour’s tale) by @katie-dub and @anxioussquirrel Her little brother is saved, the Wicked Witch defeated, and now Emma is back in New York, where she belongs. Only… Does she belong there? 

January 5: “Cuddles”, a painting by @svenjaliv​ CS keeping warm on a cool winter’s night

January 6: “Whatever the Weather (You Make Everything Better)” by @snowbellewells​ Emma has a lovely moment of reflection and gratitude during the six weeks of peace.

January 7:  “The Rescue” by @everything-person​ Princess Emma has gone missing and with the king’s promise of a special reward for the one to bring her home safely, her friends plan to be the ones to do just that.

January 8:  “Could This Be Us?” by @killiansprincss​  During the six weeks of peace, Emma and Killian agree to babysit Neal and Emma slowly begins to let down her walls and Killian becomes vulnerable.

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 22: what a plot twist you were (1/1)

Emma’s life is solid. She has her few friends, a job that pays decently enough, and a schedule that works for her. She doesn’t want any of that to change. But when she gets a call saying she’s been left a house in Storybrooke, Maine, she ends up leaving Boston intending to deal with the house and then return to her life like nothing has changed. 

Intentions never quite work out, however, especially when she runs into a blue-eyed bartender who just might entice her to stay. 

Rating: Mature

a/n: This story is the result of late night baby feedings, leaving plot notes on my phone in the middle of the night, and then not understanding what the heck the notes section on my phone means when I wake up in the morning. Thanks to the ladies at @csjanuaryjoy​ for bringing some joy to January 💙

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

Thick bunches of trees with deep green leaves line the road. They’re on each side of the concrete, dark gray with a faded yellow line in the middle, and she can’t see anything in the woods through the fullness of the forest. She’s never seen anything like this, not that’s so natural, and the darkness of the sky and the gentle rain falling down make it almost haunting.

She’s not lost, but it sure as hell feels like it.

“Keep going for another five miles,” her GPS says in the British accent she can’t figure out how to change.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffs, turning up her radio and increasing the speed of her wipers. “I got it.”

In a split second, the rain turns from gentle to harsh, water beating down against Emma’s old bug’s windows so hard that the glass may break, and if she could see the sides of the road, she’d turn off the road and wait the storm out. She’s got a bag of Chex Mix and several bottles of water in the back. She could definitely wait it out. But she’s also ready to get to where she’s going and out of this car, so she pushes through and keeps driving until she reads the sign in front of her.

Welcome to Storybrooke.

Finally.

Emma’s phone rings in her passenger seat, and she reaches over to press it, hitting the buttons to put it on speaker.

“Hey, Rubes.”

“Emma Swan,” Ruby huffs out, “where the hell are you? I got home from work expecting you to be here so we could eat entire gallons of ice cream, and I do mean gallons and not pints, but you were gone. I thought tonight was our pity party night.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m…going on a trip.”

“You have never gone on a trip that wasn’t with me.” “I like to try new things.”

“You’re a liar. You hate new things. Seriously. Where are you?”

“Storybrooke, Maine.” “What the hell is a Storybrooke?”

“I don’t know,” Emma huffs, peering forward to try to see where she’s going. Buildings are starting to come into view, short ones all pressed together like some kind of Hallmark movie downtown where they decorate for every holiday with an insane budget that’s not at all realistic. Maybe this is the place where they shoot those movies. The name of it sounds made up enough. “It’s just somewhere new.”

“I repeat: you are a liar.”

Emma hums as she tries to ignore Ruby and look for a place to stay tonight. It’s only ten o’clock, but everything seems to be closed, all the storefront lights turned off to cloud the town in near darkness.

Of-freaking-course.

“Look, can I tell you about it later, okay? I don’t really want to get into it. I should be home next week.”

“Next week? How are you going to be –  ”

Emma ends the call and switches her phone onto silent. Ruby is going to keep calling until Emma answers again, but she’s too tired to explain it tonight. All she wants is a warm bed and possibly a shower. She probably should have looked up hotels in this town before she came, but it was a last-minute decision fueled by the need for a change of scenery.

She pulls into a parking lot between two buildings and then stares up at the neon sign on one of them. It might be the only light on. “Who names a bar The Rabbit Hole? This town keeps getting weirder.”

There she goes talking to herself again. Maybe she’s the one who is getting weirder.

Sighing, she shuts off her car, grabs her phone, wallet, and keys before running inside the building, only getting slightly soaked. The lights inside are dimmed and it smells of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Sweat is also likely in the air, but it’s better if she doesn’t think too much about all of the disgusting things that have been spilled in this place. The bar isn’t full, only a few people playing pool or throwing darts, and Emma ignores them to walk up to the bar and sit down on a stool.

“Can I have a glass of whatever your strongest whiskey is?”

“That’s like asking to light a fire in your stomach.”

“Whiskey,” she repeats, tapping her nail against the bar top.

The bartender hasn’t even turned around to look at her, but he nods his head, reaching up on a shelf to grab a bottle and then pouring her a glass. She doesn’t bother looking at him either, simply taking the glass and downing half of it so that it easily burns, most likely lighting a fire in her stomach. She should be asking about a hotel room and getting out of here, but the reality of the past few days is starting to hit her enough that she needs a drink.

Boyfriend cheated.

Couldn’t catch her skip that would have paid rent for the next two months, something that’s been happening a lot lately.

Received a call from a lawyer saying her foster mom from when she was fifteen left her a house in Storybrooke, Maine.

That woman had been crazy. She’d been Emma’s best foster parent, one that genuinely cared, and then one day she pushed Emma into the street when there was oncoming traffic because she’d believed Emma had magic or some bullshit like that. The woman was declared mentally unstable, and yet somehow her lawyers have allowed her to give a vacation home to Emma, someone she has no relation to when Emma knows the woman had family. Sisters, she thinks.

Walsh cheating and the skip being elusive suck, obviously, but they haven’t quite shaken her to her core in the same way.

Her past is her past, and she doesn’t want to relive it.

So why the hell is she here?

“Are you passing through, or are you visiting?”

“Hm?”

“Are you waiting out the storm, love?” the bartender repeats in a deep, foreign accent. He sounds like her freaking GPS. “Or are you visiting the town?”

Emma finally looks up from her drink to see him. The light in here is so poor that she can’t quite make out his face, but there’s a hint of ginger in his beard covering a sharp jawline. A quick glance down shows her muscles under a tight plaid shirt, and that has her looking back up. He’s got dark, messy hair that’s been tousled one too many times, but mostly, all she can see is the blue of his eyes.

Damn.

“I could be from here,” she sighs, running her finger of the rim of her drink.

He scoffs and tilts his head to the side, tongue running over his bottom lip. “This is true. About twenty-thousand people live here, and while I don’t know each and every one of them, I do know that this bar really only sees regulars in here. It’s not often that I get to see someone new.”

“So you’re guessing I’m new on a hunch.”

“Ah, well, that and the fact that your t-shirt says ‘Boston Bail Bonds’ on it. I’m assuming that can only be found in one place.”

“Maybe I just collect t-shirts.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Maybe. Can I get you anything else, Boston?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Another glass of this and directions to the nearest hotel.”

“That I can do for you, love.”

“Not your love, buddy.”

“Pity that.”

She downs the rest of her drink before he refills her glass and then slides a piece of paper in front of her, quickly drawing a map of downtown and where she can find a hotel. It’s a bed and breakfast behind a restaurant, and Emma commits it to memory because there’s no way this piece of paper is going to make it through the weather outside.

After she pays her tab, Emma makes her way out of the bar with the umbrella the bartender gave her, and quickly hops in her car to drive the few feet to the bed and breakfast only to find that there’s no parking and she has to park back at the bar and run across the street in this New England monsoon.

This town makes no sense.

And she could totally be staying in Ingrid’s house for free, since it is her house now, but that’s creepy and disturbed on so many levels.

Then again, so is all of the floral wallpaper at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast.

“Welcome to Storybrooke, Emma Swan,” the old woman says as she hands Emma the keys to her room.

-/-

Emma sleeps until two in the afternoon.

She doesn’t mean to, not really. She was supposed to meet with Ingrid’s lawyer about the house at noon, but apparently she can’t be a responsible adult and make her appointments on time. The moment she wakes up and realizes it, she calls the law firm and tries to reschedule only to be told that she’ll have to wait at least two weeks because Mr. Nolan has gone out of town for vacation.

He has got to be kidding her.

He’s not. He’s going to Nevada to visit his wife’s family.

Emma groans and falls back onto the springy bed. What is she supposed to do now? She wanted this over with, and as much as she deals with the law on a regular basis, it’s more dealing with scummy guys not paying child support or assaulting someone. It’s not real estate law or anything having to deal with what happens when someone leaves you a freaking house.

Her phone buzzes next to her.

Walsh Osbourne: Can we talk?

Walsh Osbourne: It wasn’t what you think it was.

Walsh Osbourne: Please, baby. I just want to talk. I love you.

Emma could vibrate out of her skin she’s so angry to see texts from him. What a douchebag. Real scum of the earth, that one.

Emma Swan: I hate when you call me baby. You should know that. I pointed it out every fucking time. We’re over, Walsh. I don’t deal with cheaters.

The little bubbles pop up, but she doesn’t wait to see the message. Instead, she blocks his number and keeps herself from having to ever hear from him again.

Asshole.

Food. She needs food. It’s too early to have another drink, but food sounds like a great idea.

After showering and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and a white sweater, she runs downstairs to the diner attached to the bed and breakfast. There’s only one other person in there, and it doesn’t bode well for Emma not getting food poisoning from the food. But the grilled cheese and onion rings end up being good, the hot chocolate even more so, and when she’s finished, Emma tips her waitress and asks her for directions to the police station.

If she’s going to be here for two weeks – because there’s no way in hell she’s going back and then doing this drive again ��� she might as well see if she can make some money. She knew getting licensed in Maine would come in handy eventually.

“What can I help you with, lass?”

“Um, yeah, my name is Emma Swan, and I was wondering if you guys were in need of a bail bondswoman.”

“Graham Humbert,” he says, sticking his hand out for her to shake. “We usually deal with bonds in the neighboring country. They have an office already, though, so if you’re thinking about setting one up, I’m not sure you’ll have much business.”

“I do more of the tracking down than the office work.”

He cocks his head to the side and softly smiles at her. She’s only seen two men in this town so far, and both of them have been attractive and had foreign accents.

They’re in rural Maine. That makes no sense. None of this does.

“So more of a bounty hunter then?”

“It’s a mixture. So do you have any jobs? Short-term probably.”

“Do you know how to mix a drink?”

Emma turns to where the familiar voice is sitting. It’s the bartender from last night, and in the light of day, he looks much the same but with clearer features. It’s just those damn eyes – they’re even bluer in the sunlight, and they have to be contacts or something.

“A few.”

“Well, Swan,” he sighs, her name curled on his tongue with his accent, “I’m looking for an extra hand at the bar if you’re going to be in town for awhile. If Sheriff Humbert doesn’t have something for you, of course.”

“I’m sorry, lass. I don’t think I do. You’d have to go to Easton and ask them there.”

Emma sighs and turns to the other man. “You’d hire me just like that? You don’t want to run background checks or call my references?”

He waves her away, standing from the desk and sliding over paperwork to Sheriff Humbert. “No, I’m good. I can train you this afternoon, and then if you’re dreadful, I’ll let you go.”

“Do I get to keep tips?”

His smile curves up on one side. “Of course. Killian Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you, milady. Or, rather, to make your acquaintance again.”

Great. The guy who’s giving her a job is also some freak who talks like he’s from another century.

(Or maybe just likes he’s British.)

Killian finishes up whatever business he had in the police station, talking to Graham for a few minutes, before he asks her if she’s ready to go. They walk the few blocks back to The Rabbit Hole, which looks far seedier in the light of day, and Killian unlocks the door before holding it open for her.

“So are you a gentleman or something?”

“I’m always a gentleman, love,” he says, leaning into her and lowering his voice. “Though, don’t feel special. I do like to hold the door open for most anyone, just as I call most people ‘love.’”

Her cheeks flush red, memories of her grumbling about his term of endearment last night. “Well, I’ll try not to be too disappointed.”

He chuckles and keeps walking through the bar, flicking the light switches until the place is illuminated. It’s actually much cleaner on the inside than it was last night, the haze of the night gone, and she can see where all of the chairs are resting on the table and the floor has been freshly mopped.

“So, it’s pretty simple. We open at four and close at two. Weekdays are calm, just a few regulars who almost exclusively drink what’s on tap, and then on the weekends we’re usually a little more packed with everyone trying to unwind or find a date.”

“People come here to find dates?”

“It’s the only bar in town, so if that’s how you’re looking for a date, yes.” He stares at her, but when she doesn’t say anything back, he nods his head and keeps walking through the bar. “Restroom is back down that hallway as well as the utility closet. The kitchen is directly behind the bar. My old buddy doubled as bartender and cook before he moved. Can you do both?”

“Not unless you want your customers to get food poisoning.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile. “We’ll figure something out then, Swan.”

-/-

Her first night at the bar is hectic.

There’s a bachelor party from two towns over coming in on a Wednesday night of all things, and every one of them hits on her. They don’t do it well either. How one of them is getting married is a mystery to her because he both doesn’t know how to flirt and obviously has no respect for his future wife. Killian asks her if they’re bothering her, she tells him she can handle herself, and they move on with their night and their jobs.

That’s pretty much the only time they talk the entire time unless he’s giving her some kind of instruction. Being behind the bar is a completely different experience than the two of them being on opposite sides.

It’s quieter, much quieter.

At least she thinks that it is until it’s six nights in, a rainy Monday evening much like the one when she got here, and they have no customers.

None.

He asks why she’s in town, she evades the question again, but eventually the quiet begins to get to her, and she huffs and starts talking while focusing on getting a stain off the bar top.

“Just wanted to get away.”

“Ah, so relationship problems.”

She turns to him then. “Wait, just because I’m a woman means my only problems can be relationship problems?”

His brows arch. “I simply meant any relationship. Romantic, familial, friendship. I find most everybody who’s running from something is running for one of those reasons. I’ve never known too many people to leave a place because they were upset over a job.”

“Yeah, well that seems like something a personal thing. People run for all kinds of reasons.”

“Fair enough.” He tugs the sleeves on his flannel shirt up, rolling the cuffs until they’re at his elbows, and Emma gets a glance of toned forearms and angry red scars inching up his left arm. She wants to ask, but it’s none of her business. And asking him questions means he’ll feel more entitled to ask her the same things. “Your business is your business. Simply figured you might want to make a little conversation since we don’t have any business.”

“Nope,” Emma sighs, “I’m good.”

The next night is better, and the night after that. Though, Emma does realize that she’s now fascinating to the town as a new person, which they apparently don’t get a lot of. It’s obnoxious, but it also means the bar starts getting a steady stream of people who are curious as to who she is and what she’s doing.

At least they give good tips. She’s all about the tips.

“You’d think you had magical powers for how they’re all staring at you,” Killian mumbles as he walks past her with a tray of drinks.

“It’s creepy.”

“It dies down. Trust me.”

For a moment, she wants to ask, to get to know more about him, but she doesn’t want to open that can of warms. It’d be too difficult to close.

-/-

“This place is a piece of shit.”

“It’s certainly got character,” David Nolan says, obviously uncomfortable with her language. He is not what she expected Ingrid’s lawyer to look like, but he’s what she’s got. A forty-year-old wearing a flannel shirt and dirty boots while meeting a client is definitely unlike any attorney she’s ever met, but so far, she doesn’t mind him. “Ingrid was never here. I only met her once or twice. I think this was her aunt’s house, so it’s definitely on the older side.”

Emma nods and presses her foot down on the porch only for the wood to start cracking underneath her. The foundation of the house is probably falling apart, the windows are broken, roof shingles are falling off, there’s some rot on the columns, and she hasn’t even gotten to go inside.

“Did she not hire someone to do maintenance?”

“What do you think?”

Emma scoffs and presses against the front door until it’s opening for her and revealing dust-covered furniture and more decay. It’s not as bad as the exterior, but it’s not good. “So, what exactly do I do here? Can I refuse the house?”

“You can.”

“But if I do keep it, what happens then?”

“Well, it’s yours, and you’re responsible for it and for paying property tax. It’s not much, but honestly, I think your best option is fixing the place up and then putting it on the market. It’s basically free money.”

“There’s no such thing.”

David laughs, and she can’t help but feel like he’d be someone who would be good to have around in life. “Think on it, okay? You have some time.”

-/-

“Do you know anything about house repairs?”

“Pardon, love?”

“Home repairs,” she repeats, tipping back her bottle of water. “You look like you’re…handy. Do you know how to repair things like windows and floors or putting a hinge back in a cabinet?”

“Well,” Killian starts, “window frames I can do. Window glass repairs require a professional. Hinges I can do, though. I think I’d have to know what kind of floor repair you need. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Killian quirks his brow. “Believe it or not, Swan, but I’m actually quite perceptive. You’re not asking for no reason.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“Oh, so you’ve been watching me then?”

“I’ve been working with you every single day for two weeks.” Emma rolls her eyes at his smirk. “I notice things.”

“Funny, so do I. You’re more of an open book than you think.”

With that, Killian walks away to move across the bar to tend to a group of linemen sitting at the table in the back. They all go by some kind of ridiculous nickname, and she can’t remember any of them at the moment despite them always being in here. But the asshole probably said that line and walked away just to annoy her. He seems to like to do that, getting some kind of reaction out of her and then walking away.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? She’s an open book?

Killian’s words nag at her all night, his accent curling around each of them in her memory, but he goes on as if everything is normal. Nothing about her life is normal right now. She’s living in a strange town, sleeping in a bed and breakfast with flowers on all of the walls, and working at a bar all the while avoiding everything about her life.

“Someone left me a house in town,” Emma blurts out two hours later. They’ve only got seven people in the bar now, and she can’t distract herself by flattering men so they give her more tips. “That’s why I’m here. I had to deal with it, and then the lawyer was out of town for two weeks because apparently that’s a thing he does. But I went and saw the house today, and it’s a disaster. That’s why I asked about the home repairs.”

Killian’s mouth curls from one side to the other, and she wants to smack it off of his smug face. She also kinds of wants to kiss it.

Woah. Where did that thought come from?

(Probably from having her life turned upside down and losing her boyfriend and being left a house by her crazy ex foster mother.)

(And staying in this town instead of going home and calling her boss about her not being available for jobs.)

(Not having Ruby to complain to likely doesn’t help.)

“Are you planning on living here then, Swan?” He leans forward and props his chin in his palm while his brows reach his hairline. “Did you find me that irresistible?”

“Shut up.”

“You have a way with words.” Emma groans at him, and Killian keeps on smirking. “Look, I’ve been renovating this bar and the apartment above it for about a year now, so I know a thing or two about home renovations, as I told you. I can take a look at the house for you and answer any of your questions.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You were asking for advice earlier.”

“But I don’t need any help!”

He holds his hands up and steps away. “I apologize, love. I seemed to have misread the situation. I won’t do it again.”

Shit.

She messed up, didn’t she? Of course she did. Why is she always so rude to people who are trying to help her?

“Killian?”

“Mhm?”

“Would you like to come look at the house with me tomorrow before work?”

He turns to her and smiles again, a little glint in his eyes. “Meet me here at noon.”

-/-

Killian tells her the place isn’t in as bad as shape as she thinks it is. Emma can’t imagine that as a giant spider crawls across the living room, but he swears that it’s true.

He also offers to help for no cost to her other than the supplies.

“Why would you do that?” “I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me, and I enjoy the work.”

And for some insane reason, she makes the decision to stay in this weird as hell town and fix up this house so that she can sell it and leave this whole thing behind her. Her life was going to shit in Boston, and she needs a break from that. She needs some kind of change and purpose, and maybe she’ll end up being able to fix this house up and sell it for enough money that she comes into an actual savings account for the first time in her life.

What a thought.

On slow nights at the bar, Emma watches videos on the best ways to paint window trim and how to buff hardwood floors. She looks into the electrical stuff too, but that seems like a recipe for disaster. Or death. Really, it looks like a recipe for her death.

Definitely.

Killian will walk by, muttering comments under his breath about the videos she’s watching and how absolutely inane some of the people are, but she ignores him and keeps trying to learn. Fixing up a house, even a rotting pit like this one, shouldn’t be too hard. It’ll be fine.

It starts with having all of the wiring inside the walls stolen, which is decidedly not fine.

“Who the hell steals electrical wiring?” Emma huffs as she and Killian walk through the house, cold morning air nipping at their extremities. “What’s the purpose of that?”

“They sell it.” “For how much?”

“Not much, but it’s something.” He hits his hammer against the hole (one of them, at least) in the drywall. “I can call Scarlet and have him fix your wiring, but we’ll have to fix the walls ourselves.”

“I can’t afford an electrician right now.”

“Don’t worry about it, love. He owes me a favor.” “A favor to rewire an entire house?”

He winks. “Trust me.”

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second, Jones.”

He freaking bows, throwing in an exaggerated wink too. “I would despair if you did.”

The entire month of September is spent the same way. She and Killian meet up at the house at noon with takeout from Granny’s for lunch (which is really breakfast for them since they wake up at eleven most days) and work on the house until they have to go to the bar. They’re the only two people working there right now, which has got to be against some labor law, but Emma doesn’t mind not having the days off. She likes the money and likes keeping busy. When she asks Killian about it, though, he simply hums and says that he hasn’t taken a day off since he bought the place.

She had no idea he was the owner. She thought he was the manager or something who happened to be living there.

(Not her brightest moment.)

How does a British man end up owning a bar in a small town in Maine?

She almost asks, but it’s not her business. None of his life is.

But that doesn’t keep her from learning that he’s got a penchant for rum and for double-stuffed Oreos. There’s a dirty joke there, and Killian most definitely makes it. He’s also got a penchant for making a dirty joke or sliding an innuendo into every possible situation. It’d be creepy if it wasn’t so damn charming sometimes.

But it’s not charming. Nope. It’s just…it’s who he is. That’s all. And it’s something she’s got to get used to since this is apparently the man she’s going to be spending all of her time with. It would scare her because in a situation like this, she’d usually have already had sex with him and then have some kind of meltdown. She doesn’t know why she does stuff like that, but she does.

(That’s a lie. She definitely knows why.)

Emma is not going to sleep with him, though. It’s not going to happen. Ever. She is not going to be doing the whole dating – or not dating – thing again anytime soon. Or forever.

It’s October when she starts to feel like maybe this house has hope. It’s still a mess, but it’s making definite progress.

It’s also when she realizes that maybe she doesn’t hate this town so much. It’s still weird and kooky and doesn’t quite make sense, but it’s also full of good people. David, Ingrid’s lawyer, ends up pitching in a hand on window repairs, and his wife Mary Margaret may be one of the sweetest people Emma has ever met. She bakes food for Emma and talks paint colors and cabinet stains and always has a smile on her face. Will Scarlet is always lurking around, even once the electrical work is done, and as obnoxious as he can be, Emma kind of likes him. He’s helpful and kind of funny and he beats Killian’s ass at pool at the bar every single time they play.

Killian pouts and mopes around after he loses, and Emma gets an infinite amount of joy out of it.

“You look pathetic, Jones.”

“I do not look pathetic.”

“You do.” She turns around behind the bar to tease him as he grabs a bottle of his favorite rum off the shelf and pours himself a small glass, gulping it down. “You should really learn not to be such a sore loser.”

His brow arches. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be a sore loser?”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t lose.”

Killian exhales with his laugh before putting his glass down and inching closer to her until his back is behind hers, warmth from his body covering her so that little bumps pop up over her skin and her breath hitches. It takes everything in her not to shiver while her stomach flips.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” she whispers, trying to keep her breath steady.

“Well,” Killian whispers right back, his scruff brushing up against her cheek and sending a shiver down her spine, dammit, “I do love a challenge.”

With that, he moves away so quickly that his heat immediately evaporates, and if it wasn’t for the swirling in her stomach, Emma would swear it was all a dream.

What the hell just happened?

There’s a low whistle across the bar. “Emma fucking Swan.”

Emma whips her hair toward the sound, and her jaw may literally drop. “Ruby?”

“Oh, so you remember me,” Ruby scoffs. She’s smiling, but there’s fury in her eyes. “I figured you’d forgotten since we only talk on the phone and you’re not living in our apartment anymore.”

“What are you doing here, Rubes?” Emma asks as she leans over the bar to hug her. At least Ruby hugs back. She doesn’t have to, and Emma appreciates that.

Ruby settles down on the stool in front of her, and Emma realizes the entire bar is staring at the two of them. “I took off for your birthday, remember? We were going to binge watch TV and stuff our faces with junk food and feel no guilt about it.”

“Shit happened.”

“And by shit you mean Walsh cheating, your job sucking, and then this crazy lady leaving you a house even though she tried to kill you when you were a teenager?”

“Ruby,” Emma hisses, “shut up. Everyone can hear you, and I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Emma doesn’t dare look over at Killian to see if he heard all that. She doesn’t need to. She knows that he heard it all. It’s that whole perceptive thing. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? You must be so tired after the drive.”

“The biggest glass of wine you have. You know what I like.”

Emma nods and turns around to their wine selection before Killian walks up behind her again, this time putting more distance between them. It still feels like he’s right there though, like he never really left.

“You okay, love?”

“Just dandy.”

“Well, your use of the word ‘dandy’ makes me think otherwise.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at him. His eyes are stupid concerned and stupid blue, and who does he think he is being so concerned about her when he barely knows her?

“I’m fine.”

“Hey, hot guy who’s flirting with my friend,” Ruby yells out. Killian’s brow raises at her as his eyes glance to the side. He’s silently asking her for permission to talk to Ruby, and her resolve deflates immediately. She nods and steps away with the wine, leaving him to Ruby. “What’s your name?”

“Killian Jones. Are you the infamous Ruby Lucas?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. That’s funny because I’ve heard nothing about you.”

“You’re obviously much more interesting than me.”

Ruby takes a sip of the wine Emma pours for her before Emma is called to the other end of the bar to deal with some of the cops who are here after their shift. Her ears never leave Killian and Ruby’s conversation, though.

“I mean, obviously,” Ruby agrees, leaning forward so her boobs are nearly falling out of her dress. Emma almost drops a beer glass. “What exactly do you think you’re doing with Emma? She doesn’t need some knight in shining armor to rescue her just because she’s a little vulnerable right now. I mean, you obviously ran a background – ”

Emma’s grip loosens until the tray of beer glasses she was holding slips out of her hands and falls to the ground, glass splitting off into shards and covering the floor.

Shit.

“Don’t move, Swan,” Killian calls out, immediately moving away from Ruby and coming toward her, glass crunching underneath his boots. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she croaks out. In truth, she doesn’t know. her heart is in her throat, and she can’t really breathe. “I’m fine.”

His eyes scan over hers, but he doesn’t dispute her words. “I’m going to clean this up, okay? Why don’t you go sit with your friend? Be careful. I’m not sure how thick your shoes are.”

All Emma can do is nod, and she’s basically a robot as she walks toward Ruby, who is still sipping on her wine and tapping away at her phone. Emma loves her, but sometimes she doesn’t think before she acts. Half the time it works out, and half the time it means Emma is stuck cleaning up Ruby’s messes.

(While Killian seems to be stuck cleaning up Emma’s.)

“What the hell?” she hisses, trying to keep quiet. “You’ve been here for ten minutes, and you’re already telling everyone shit they don’t need to know.” “I didn’t mean to! I mean, I figured he did know since you’re obviously sleeping with him as well as working for him.”

What the hell?

“I’m not sleeping with him. I’m not sleeping with anyone. And he didn’t run a background check on me. Killian’s a good guy, and he’s doing me a lot of favors, okay?”

“If you’re not sleeping with him, he definitely wants to sleep with you. Like, he’s having eye sex with you right now.” “You’re gross, and you have the mind of a teenage boy.”

“I’m speaking the truth,” Ruby nods while her mouth opens with a long yawn.

“Rubes, why don’t you go back to my hotel room, okay? It’s late, and you’re tired. I’ll meet you when my shift is over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “and we can talk about what we’re going to do for my birthday tomorrow.” Ruby smiles, and Emma tries to let some of her anger fade away. This is her best friend, and she’s got her own faults just like Emma does. Hell, Emma pretty much ghosted her for two months, and Ruby isn’t even really mad. They’ve both got their issues. It’s fine. It’s life. Ruby has never done anything to purposefully hurt Emma.

Ruby takes Emma’s hotel key and leaves, and for the rest of her shift, Killian tiptoes around her. He’s timid and not making any of his jokes. There’s almost no personality to him, and for a few moments, she starts to believe that he’s mad at her. In actuality, he’s probably just realized he’s been working with someone with a criminal past for two months.

“Hey, Killian? Can we talk?”

“Swan – ” he hesitates, holding the chair he was about to put up.

“No, just, please let me explain some of this, some of what Ruby said.”

His lips are pressed tightly together. “You want to come upstairs? I have coffee there.”

“Coffee sounds great.”

They stop what they’re doing, and Killian turns on his heels to walk up to the second floor of the bar to where she knows his apartment is. She’s never been up this staircase, never even thought about it, but she follows him without question. His apartment isn’t much. It’s clean, which doesn’t shock her for how Killian is, and all of the appliances have been updated. Other than that, though, it’s pretty bare bones – brown leather couch, television mounted on the wall, coffee table full of books that should be on the tall bookshelves against the wall, and a bed with a deep blue comforter pushed back against the wall behind a half-wall.

Oh, and a coffee machine. An actual one. Not a Keurig.

That’s where Killian starts puttering around, not bothering to tell her to make herself at home or not to touch anything. His words can be flowery sometimes, but oftentimes he doesn’t say anything at all, simply letting her decide what she wants.

She kind of likes that.

Except for right now when she’s freaking out.

“So,” she begins.

“You want milk in your coffee right? I’m afraid I don’t have your preferred creamer.”

“Milk is fine. So, Killian, I – ”

“Look,” he starts, his voice gruff, “I don’t care about your past. We all have one, myself included, and it’s not great. So unless you’re a murderer or are going to rob me blind, I don’t need to know.” He turns to her as the coffee percolates and raises both brows, wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “Are you a murderer or are you going to rob me blind?”

“No,” Emma quietly admits.

“Then I know everything I need to know unless you really want to tell me why I would need to run a background check on you.”

She bites down on her lip, her stomach twirling. She never wants to tell anyone this, but the words are at the tip of her tongue. “I was sixteen, had just been taken out of Ingrid’s custody, and I was dating this older guy. I loved him, thought he loved me too, but then he stole some watches, framed me for it, and got the hell out of dodge. I went to jail for it, but I promise I didn’t do it. I’m not going to rob you blind. The only things I’ve ever stolen were some keychains and food when my foster parents didn’t give me dinner.”

Straightforward and only the facts. That’s the only way she can talk about Neal without hurling.

Killian’s brows furrow, and she wonders if he can express every emotion with just his eyebrows. It almost seems like it. “He’s a bastard. So is the bloke who cheated on you, by the way. A bloody fool.”

“I agree with that.”

Killian breathes out and turns around, opening up a cabinet to pull down a coffee mug, pouring milk and coffee into her cup before pouring black coffee into his. He hands hers over to her, and she immediately takes a sip while Killian stares down at his mug, tapping his fingers on the countertop.

And then he’s pulling up his Henley’s left sleeve until she can see those familiar red scars.

“I was in the Navy in England,” he begins. “I thought it was my calling. I loved everything about it, and then there was a damn mechanical misfiring that caused an explosion and tore up my arm and part of my torso. Hurt like hell, and I don’t know…I guess I kind of lost the passion for serving, and when my contract ended, I didn’t reenlist. Then I moved here. I’ve got dual citizenship. Mum was an American.”

“I thought you said people don’t run because of jobs?”

“I did say that.”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“I ran because of my girlfriend ending our relationship to go back to her husband I didn’t know about and my brother’s death,” Killian corrects. The job simply happened to give me the push.”

Emma’s got a million questions, but she doesn’t think she should ask them. It’s probably best not to. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Aye,” he laughs, scratching his ear. “It does. Life sucks, as you put it. That’s why I don’t judge you. That’s why I’m so willing to help you out with the job and with your house. You looked like you needed some help, and I know what it’s like to be in your position.”

Oh.

No one has ever done something like that for her, not really, and Emma thinks to herself once more that under all of his gruff and brooding and penchant for getting angry at customers, he’s a good man. She gets up and walks over to him, pressing up on her toes to lightly brush her lips over his cheek. His scruff burns against her lips, and she gets a stronger whiff of cologne than she ever has as her own cheeks heat up.

“Thank you, Killian.”

He scares her, in more ways than one, but weirdly, she almost craves that little jolt of fear, one she feels in the tingling of her lips far after she leaves his apartment.

-/-

Things shift after that night. It’s not in some monumental, earth-shattering way, but there’s definitely a difference in how Emma and Killian interact. Ruby spends the weekend with them, touring the house and sharing her opinions on what it looks like now and how it should look in the future. Ruby doesn’t get why Emma is staying in Storybrooke, doesn’t understand why she can’t get rid of the place and come back to Boston, but she still supports Emma. It’s what friends do unless they’re making batshit crazy decisions.

Ruby’s words. Not hers.

Besides, Ruby is convinced that Emma is staying for Killian, which actually would be batshit crazy. She’s not staying here for him. She’s staying here because she needs to fix up this house. She needs to fix up this house to prove she can, sell it, and wash her hands of anything and everything that Ingrid left behind.

Killian gives her the night off for her birthday, tells her to go out and have fun, but since there’s only one bar in town, they hang out at the Rabbit Hole and drink fruity drinks Killian hates making and eat onion rings he made specifically for her, mumbling something about how he knows that she really wanted to spend her day at home in pajamas eating junk food instead of hanging out at the place where she works.

She doesn’t mind, not really. Especially when Killian tells her that he’ll cover her tab for the night, throwing her a downright dirty wink and whispering in her ear that he’d take tips in other ways.

Ridiculous man. Such a cocky asshole sometimes.

When Ruby leaves town and heads back to Boston, she tells Emma to stop being stupid and to do something good with what she’s got here. If she’s going to be here, she needs to make it worth it.

Emma tries to do just that. She really does, but as the months pass and the house gets closer and closer to being presentable (and functionable) enough to sell, all Emma can think is that she’s got an apartment back in Boston and a job that will take her back if she begs just enough.

Boston is safe. Boston is…home. In Boston, there’s no man with blue eyes and a sharp wit who makes her stomach swirl like she’s got damn butterflies fluttering around in there.

Leaving Killian makes her heart ache, but admitting that to herself is something she’s barely capable of. Admitting it to him would be damn near impossible.

-/-

“Swan,” Killian calls out as she walks into the bar, “come help me get these blasted lights up. I thought it would be nice to make it a little festive in here for Christmas.”

He’s standing on a chair up against the wall, box after box of white lights scattered around his feet, and as capable as Killian is, this seems like a disaster waiting to happen. She takes a step toward him, a step toward his bright smile and slightly overgrown beard, but then she stops. She was supposed to be in and out, just like that. She wasn’t supposed to get attached.

She can’t stay.

“I sold the house, Killian.”

He drops a string of lights to the ground, small shards of glass scattering everywhere.

Shit.

“You what?”

“I’m going to sell the house,” she corrects. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has. “I got an offer from a couple from New York who wanted it as a vacation home and are going to finish the renovations and add on an extra room. I don’t really know. But it’s money that I need and that will help me out back in Boston.”

“Emma – ”

She hates when he says her first name. It makes her throat tighten and her stomach ache, and no matter how many times he says it instead of calling her by one of his many names for her, she’ll never get used to it.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“You’re leaving?” Killian asks, obviously devastated. She hates that she knows the looks on his face and knows how he feels without even a word now. She nods. He knows her looks as well. “Stay, Emma.”

“I can’t.” “Why not? Why can’t you stay?”

“I don’t live here. I have a life back in Boston. I have friends, a job, a – ”

“A what?”

“I don’t know,” Emma groans, hot tears pricking in her eyes. When did any of this happen? How did it happen? How did she allow herself to have so many feelings? “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here. It was only supposed to be a day, maybe a week. It wasn’t supposed to be months. It wasn’t supposed to be this.”

She motions between the two of them, speaking the words that neither of them have spoken over long days working at the house, long nights working here, and too quick of times watching movies in his apartment or grabbing lunch at Granny’s or even racing each other on their runs.

She knows. He does too.

“You can see a future here, and that scares you,” Killian tells her, stepping close.

“Oh, let me guess, with you.”

“Aye,” Killian says as he steps into her space, the now familiar scent of his cologne surrounding her while the warmth of his hands presses through her jeans and then her sweater as his hands move from her hips to her shoulders. “You and I both know – ”

“We don’t know anything!”

His jaw clenches, and she knows he’s holding back. She knows him well enough to know he’s pressing down the fire within him.

“Emma,” he whispers, and her heart does that thing again that’s got to be medically impossible, “you have been the best part of my life for the past four months, and I know that I can’t ask you to stay. I have already, but I can’t honestly be selfish enough to think that you’ll stay just for me. What I can’t do, darling, is let you go without telling you how I feel.”

Her heart may be in her throat now because she can’t breathe. Not at all. Why the hell are his eyes so blue and earnest? Why is he so earnest?

She nods again, and he smiles this soft little smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

“I am rather fond of you, Emma Swan. I’m fond of the way that your smile shifts from small to absolutely beaming and the way that you laugh at your little comedy podcasts we listen to while we’re working. I’m fond of the way that you call me out on my shit and the way that you help me every day, even if you don’t know it. I’m fond of the smell of your perfume and the way I find long blonde strands of hair on all of my clothes even if I didn’t wear the shirt around you. I’m fond of the way you’ve weaved your way into every part of my life so seamlessly while I’ve had to carefully take a hammer to the bricks you built up around your heart.”

His hands trace up her neck, shivers running down her spine and bumps rising up over her skin. “I like you,” Killian continues, “and I don’t want you to go back to Boston thinking that you don’t have a life here. Everyone in this town would welcome you with open arms, but I’d be standing at the front waiting for you.”

Emma’s never been good with words, has never been an expert at expressing how she feels, but she has been good with actions. It’s why she wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tickling along the nape of his neck and into his hair, and kisses him.

She kisses him.

His lips are soft, softer than should even be possible, and his beard brushes against her skin much like it did when she kissed his cheek a few weeks ago while Killian quietly grunts into the kiss. They don’t move much, mouth pressed against mouth, but Emma finds herself getting lost in it. She imagined what it would be like kissing Killian Jones, something she would never admit to anyone else, but it was nothing like this. She didn’t feel it all over her, didn’t feel emotions swirling in her stomach and spreading over her skin, and she definitely didn’t think it would make her this happy.

She’s not sure when or how this happened, how exactly he hammered down the bricks around her heart, but she’s infinitely glad that he did.

Piece by piece and stone by stone.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” Emma whispers when she pulls back from the kiss, her forehead resting against his while her heart beats too fast. “I don’t – ”

“You don’t have to stay, darling. I simply ask that no matter your decision, you still allow me to be a part of your life, however you decide.”

Emma nods in affirmation before kissing him again, hungrily gliding her lips over his while heat curls between her thighs at the feel of Killian pressed up against her. The first kiss was soft, gentle, and while this one could still be described that way, there’s a fire simmering underneath her skin that comes to the surface with Killian’s hearty growl and the way that he starts backing her across the bar until her back is against the wall next to the staircase. Killian captures her gasp with his mouth, and she melts into him some more.

They should talk more. They really should, but they’ve talked for four months, and when Killian asks her if she’d like to go upstairs, she gladly says yes.

They shed their clothes the moment they’re in his apartment, tugging at shirts and pants as Killian finds the skin of her neck and leaves warm, open-mouthed kisses there while it takes everything in Emma to keep running her hands over his sides, feeling the warm skin and slightly marked up places. She’s already warm everywhere, gooseflesh rising, and her breathing is uneven as Killian keeps touching her.

It’s amazing.

And he’s beautiful. It’s all dark skin and lean muscle, someone who doesn’t work out much at the gym but is active, and he’s got dark patches of hair covering his chest and stomach, some of the black hiding the tattoos he has scrawled across his skin. She thinks most of the ones on his torso are there to cover up the scars from his accident, and Emma takes the time to trace her finger over the ink and over the scars, making sure to occasionally watch Killian’s face as she does so.

Of all of the times Killian has looked at her with admiration in his eyes, it’s never been quite like that.

She is so screwed.

When they reach the bed after Killian slamming his lips back into hers and whispering absolutely filthy things into her ear, his hand easily finds where she’s sensitive. He runs his fingers there, making her gasp and moan and whine that she needs more. Killian gladly gives her more.

There’s a push and pull, whispered words of want shared, and she gets lost in it.

He’s warm and thick when he buries himself inside of her, and his moan is one of the most delicious sounds she’s ever heard. His blue eyes are almost completely black now, but they’re no less beautiful. Everything about this is intimate, from the way that Killian kisses her to the controlled movement of his hips, sliding in and out in a slow rhythm that she knows is for her. A part of her wants more, wants faster and harder, but the other part of her is still catching up to the fact that this is real.

This is happening.

And she’s happy.

That might be the most shocking part of the entire thing. Emma is happy, which kind of snuck up on her without her really realizing it, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, she can feel herself smiling during sex.

Is this what this is supposed to be like? Is this what it’s always supposed to have been like?

Killian smiles right back at her, letting his brows unfurrow from how they were folded in concentration, and then he’s dipping back down to move his teeth over her lips, a light graze that means almost everything to her all the while his hand dips down to where they are joined, the movement making her see all of those metaphorical stars.

Or, at least, something similar in blue orbs and a kind smile.

This is good. This is how things are supposed to be.

Happy.

“Killian?” she asks later. Sweat has dried on her skin, her hair curling around the temples, and she’s folded herself into Killian’s side while her legs are tucked between his calves. Her fingers can’t stop moving through his chest hair, untangling the patches, before moving down to trace over his tattoos and scars once more. She likes the way the red mixes in with the colors of ink.

“Yeah, Swan?”

She nearly giggles at the deep set of his voice, at how it’s harsh and soft all at once, kind of like him.

“I’m rather fond of you too. I thought you should know that.”

“The sex kind of clued me into that.”

“No, I meant. I – you…”

“I know exactly what you meant, love,” he promises as his head dips until his lips press into hers. “I was teasing you. You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I know, but I still want to. You deserve to hear the words as much as I do.”

-/-

She ends up selling the house to the couple from New York.

She puts away the money into her savings account, which was really nothing more than pennies and a few dust bunnies, and for the first time in her life, she has options.

Go back to Boston. Go anywhere.

Or stay in Storybrooke.

Stay in Storybrooke where the people are kind and know her by name, where the beach is nearby and often empty, where she could have a bit of quiet in her life, something that’s also been a novelty for someone who has never really had a quiet she liked. They’ve always been too haunting. This is comforting.

Stay in Storybrooke where there’s a man with blue eyes and the devil in his smile.

Only in the best way, of course, and she can’t keep her own smile away when thinking of him.

Of this life here.

So she stays. It’s what she feels in her heart is right, even if it means leaving her life in Boston behind. And she’s not staying for Killian. As great as he is and as happy as she is that she’s going to be around him, this is all for herself. After Emma tells Ruby her decision, Ruby is disappointed at first, but she promises to visit and still annoy the hell out of her. Emma doesn’t doubt it for a second.

Killian helps her find a place of her own after she tells him that she’s staying. The smile on his face has never been brighter, even when she rejects his offer to stay in the spare room behind the bar that he can renovate into a bedroom. It’s a kind offer, and she imagines she’ll be there often to spend time in Killian’s apartment, but she needs to do this on her own. It’s a new adventure, and she likes a challenge. Besides, if she and Killian keep flirting and making out like teenagers, she imagines one day she’ll be fine living with him.

Who has she become? Being so hopeful like that.

She likes it.

It’s a year and a half later when she and Killian sign the deed to a house on the shoreline, shutters falling off and porch rotting.

“So, Swan, you ready to fix up our new home?”

His fingers tangle into hers while her lips press into his jawline.

Our home.

She likes the sound of that.

“Yeah,” she smiles, “I am.”

-/-

-/-

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[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

CS JJ Day 27: My True Love Gave to Me (1/1)

A/N: This began life as a Secret Santa gift, but I had to abandon it halfway through when my first giftee went AWOL and it didn’t fit the desires of my new giftee.  However, I really enjoyed this story and decided to finish it as my entry for this year’s @csjanuaryjoy!  Thank you so much, mods, for organizing this event and facilitating all the joy!  This a small, Christmas-time, neighbors AU and I hope you enjoy!

AO3

                                                        ~*~

       Emma Swan knew that she tended to be a bit of a Grinch during the holiday season. She’d spent too many Christmases watching happy families celebrating while whatever foster family she was with barely acknowledged her existence with gifts of second-hand clothes to develop the warm, fuzzy feelings people associated with the season. Not all of the families were like that, of course, but few had bothered to put real effort into presents.  Only Ingrid, the woman who had tried desperately to adopt Emma but was denied by the state, had ever given her gifts that really meant anything when she was young.

      She spent Christmas with her chosen family of friends now and had received a plethora of thoughtful gifts, but she still hadn’t been able to bring herself to really care about the holiday.

      Given her general disregard for winter festivities, it was quite a shock to come home one day and find that her apartment, in which she lived alone, looked like the Christmas aisle of a department store had exploded inside of it.

      Soft blue lights twinkled in her windows and garland hung from almost every available shelf or ledge. The side table by her front door now sported a festive red and green quilted runner and a reindeer shaped dish held the miscellaneous change and spare key that usually were strewn haphazardly on the table’s surface. With a sigh, she dropped her keyring with the others.

      Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Emma proceeded into her home. A tree, an honest to god real tree, now dominated one corner of her living room.  Gold tinsel and bright, colorful lights wrapped around it and simple round ornaments of red and silver hung from the branches. Her heart dropped, just a little, when she saw that there were no gifts piled underneath.

      There was, however, a nutcracker sitting on her coffee table, and a small cat asleep on the back of her couch.  

      “Killian, you asshole,” Emma growled.  The cat’s presence revealed the identity of the orchestrator behind the home makeover.

      Now awake, the cat, a lovely calico named Tinkerbelle, stood, stretched, and jumped off the couch to rub herself against Emma’s ankles.  

      “Tink, did you help your owner with this… this… travesty?”

          The cat just stretched and rubbed herself against Emma’s pant legs. With a chuckle, Emma lifted the interloper and settled her against her chest.  That elicited a loud purr and a head-butt against her chin.  

      Tinkerbelle belonged to Emma’s upstairs neighbor and friend, Killian Jones.  The day he’d moved into the third floor, Tink had shown her displeasure at the move and escaped.  Emma, just home from grocery shopping, heard a very irate “Bloody hell!” echo down the stairwell before a small ball of fur ran right into the bags she had set down on the landing in order to unlock her apartment door.  After a quick scramble and a few scratches, Emma had extracted Tinkerbelle from the bags just as a sweaty man came bounding down the stairs after her.

      Emma held out the hissing cat as she asked, “does this belong to you?”

      “Aye, that she does.”  With a sigh, he had taken the pissed off cat and held her firmly against himself with one arm.  The other he held out as he introduced himself as Killian Jones, her new neighbor.

      “Emma Swan.” She shook his offered hand.

      She’d stared in shock as he lifted her hand and placed a quick kiss on the knuckles.  

      “You have my thanks, Emma, for your assistance. May I offer you an IOU for a drink, for some time in the future after I have unpacked?”

      Emma blinked before finally replying, “That isn’t necessary.”

      “Maybe not, but the offer is open.  I will let you know when my apartment is fit for company.” With that, Killian had made his way back up the stairs and Emma had to scold herself for admiring the way his jeans hugged his backside. The man had just moved in; she shouldn’t be ogling him like a teenager.  Even if his accent sent shivers down her back.

      Eventually she’d taken Killian up on his offer of a drink. That had led to more drinks, casual dinners, and nearly three years later, Emma considered him one of her closest friends.  He was the one that had her spare key and watched over her apartment when her work as a bail bondsman took her out of town.  A trust she was now rethinking since he’d apparently used the privilege to infest her apartment with holiday cheer.

      Emma cuddled Tink as she wandered her apartment. The kitchen wasn’t too bad; a few towels decorated with snowflakes and a snowman shaped cookie jar were the only new additions she could see.  The guest bathroom, however, nearly burnt her eyes with how much red and green was packed into the small space.  There was a new Santa toilet cover with a matching bathmat.  The hand towels looked like the bottom halves of elves and her simple soap dispenser had been replaced with a Christmas tree one.  

      Blessedly, her bedroom and attached bathroom had been spared the Christmas invasion.  Killian obviously knew better than to mess with her private space.  

      Tinkerbelle jumping from her arms and Emma heard the squeak of her front door’s hinges.  The culprit returning to the scene of the crime, she thought, as she heard Killian chuckle when Tink greeted him with a meow that seem far too loud to have come from the cat.

      “I know, it’s time for dinner,” she heard Killian matter-of-factly tell Tink. “I just need to add the finishing touch to the tree.”

      Realizing Killian didn’t know she was home, Emma toed off her shoes and softly walked to spy out the bedroom door.  Wanting to remain hidden, she used the reflection in her TV to watch Killian. He had a simple box, which he laid on her coffee table.  Whatever item he pulled out was too blurry to make out clearly, but she surmised it was some time of tree topper as he stretched to reach the top of the tree. She risked a real look as he fiddled around behind the tree a bit and saw that it was a gold star.  She swiftly ducked back into her room when it illuminated, Killian having finished plugging it in.

      “There,” she listened to him say.  Tink meowed in reply.

      “Alright, fine.  Let’s get you some food.” With that, Killian collected the empty box, scooped up his cat, and left her apartment, locking the door behind him.

      Once he was gone, Emma stood in her living room and gazed at the tree.  It was, she realized, the first Christmas tree she’d ever had. That thought immediately brought tears to Emma’s eyes, which she roughly wiped away.  She didn’t need a tree; especially not one that was going to shed pine needles all over her floor for the next few weeks.

      Later that night, when Emma went to turn off the lights before heading to bed, she couldn’t help but admire how lovely it looked in the dark room.  As she lay in bed, she sent a text to Killian.

Thank you.

                                                         ~*~

      Three days later, Emma noticed that the Christmas tree in her living room had gained some ornaments.  Where before there had only been classic glass bulbs, there were now wooden figures nestled amongst the branches.  All of them were birds of some type, which Emma found odd.

      Three looked like chickens. Four were small, dark birds.  Two were obviously doves and the last was an odd looking bird with stripes on its wings that had a pear dangling by the stem from its mouth.  

      Emma held the pear-holding bird that she had found near the top of the tree in her hand.  Something about the bird felt familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t until she was placing it back in the tree that the answer hit her like a ton of bricks.

      It was a partridge.  Holding a pear…

      A partridge in a pear tree… well, a pine tree, but the connection was there.

      Two turtle doves.  Three French hens.

      And a quick google told her that the fourth gift in the 12 Days of Christmas song was either “calling” or “colly” birds, deepening on the version, and that colly was believed to refer to blackbirds, which were dark like “col”, the Old English word for coal.

      Leave it to Killian, an English Literature professor, to give her a gift that involved Old English.

      Pulling her phone out, Emma autodialed Killian’s number.

      “Evening, love,” he answered.

      “If you keep breaking into my apartment, I’m going to make sure that Santa leaves only col in your stocking.” She put extra emphasis on the word col.

      She could hear him laughing in the apartment above her.

                                                       ~*~

      As expected, Killian did not stop adding more decorations to the Christmas tree.  The next day brought five gold painted rings, followed by six geese with eggs.

      On the seventh day, Emma found more than just seven wooden swans a-swimming on her tree after returning home.  A new picture frame adorned her wall, containing a collage of pictures of Emma herself swimming.  Or at least interacting with water.  She didn’t think that sitting on the side of the pool with only her feet in the water really counted as swimming.  Most were from that summer, when Killian had been her plus-one at a friend’s wedding in Cape Cod.

      In one, which she couldn’t remember seeing before, she was “manning the helm” of a sail boat with Killian standing behind her, his hands on hers.  Killian had insisted on renting a small sailboat while they were out of the city so that he could show her the joy of sailing.  Emma smiled as she remembered how he’d gently guided her movements and ensured she didn’t kill everyone on board.

      Well, he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for any possible dangers, but in this specific photo, Killian wasn’t looking at the waters around them.  Instead, his attention seemed to be solely on herself.  He was smiling, but it was… different.  It seemed softer, somehow.  In fact, his entire expression reminded her of the ones she usually saw on the face of her best friend’s husband, David, when he was in awe by how much he loved the woman before him.

      Emma stepped away from the picture, her heart pounding. She had to be reading too much into a simple facial expression.  There was no way Killian was in love with her.  He would have told her if he was.  Probably with a poem.

      Or by breaking into her apartment and recreating an old Christmas carol.

      “On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…” Emma sang softly to herself.

      Before she could stop herself, Emma ran upstairs to Killian’s apartment.  It was only when Killian open the door in response to her insistent knock that she realized she had no idea what she was going to do.  So she did the first thing that came to mind, which was to grab fistfuls of his shirt, drag him toward her, and hope the kiss she gave him conveyed what she couldn’t put into words.

      He responded instantly. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him.  She followed when he began to slowly step back into his apartment, only to find herself pressed against the door moments after it was closed.  Emma couldn’t help running her hands through Killian’s impossibly soft hair as the kiss deepened.  

      It was Killian who managed to regain control of himself first, pulling away from the kiss and resting his head against hers.

      “Emma… I…” he began.

      Emma smiled.  “I know.”

[lassluna]

CSJJ 2020 Day 1: Good Times, Bad Decisions

Emma Swan was supposed to go to a Halloween party. It was a set up and she knew it. Honestly, the last thing she wanted to do was go to this party. She was not supposed to end up sleeping with a pirate.

AN:  This is my contribution for @csjanuaryjoy​ 2020! I'm so happy to be apart of this event for the third year in a row. I can't wait to see all the amazing creations this fandom can create! (Title from Bastille, Quarter Past Midnight)

Ao3 FFN

The last thing Emma expected to do was spend Halloween with a pirate she met at a bar.

It had begun with a simple idea, get a drink and text Mary Margret with a quick excuse as to why she wouldn’t be going to her Halloween party. It certainly had nothing to do with the neighbor her childhood friend invited that would supposedly be perfect for Emma. 

No not at all.

But it wasn't the first time she'd done so, and Mary Margret had pretty bad taste in men when it came to Emma. Emma had initially reasoned that enough of their friends were going to act as a buffer for whatever low life she'd invited. 

But honestly, the last thing she wants to do is spend her evening engaging in small talk and finding delicate ways to let both the guy and her best friend down easy when it came to romance.

Emma didn’t even want a relationship. She'd tried it. Once. It didn't take.

Her plan was going well. She'd gotten her drink, so she was halfway there, but the text message wasn’t going so well. She kept seeing her ecstatic face, how excited she’d been at the prospect and- well she didn’t have a good reason.

Emma had just caught her last skip yesterday, so she had the money to relax for a few days, a fact she'd mistakenly told her friend’s husband, David. She couldn’t help it. He was the cop she handed all her skips to.  

So she got another drink, then another, the third purchased by a hot pirate who also seemed to be avoiding something.

(She distantly remembered his phone going off a few times)

By the fourth and fifth, well Emma Swan did have a good reason. She was too busy making out with the hot british pirate in the corner of the bar.

Not that she told Mary Margret that. By that point the keyboard was just a blur. She’d tried sending something, but she knew that whatever garble of a message she concocted was terrible and she deleted it. 

"Want to get out of here, love?" He'd whispered in her ear after he'd made her see stars just by sucking at that spot below her collarbone."A nightcap perhaps?" She saw his eyes, blue and absolutely staring right into her soul.

She'd nodded and gone with the pirate to his apartment just down the block.

Sleeping with the pirate on Halloween was one thing she did not regret. 

It was filled with more searing kisses and probably was the best sex she’d ever had. 

Waking up the next morning with said pirate in his bed was absolutely not the plan. Like, not even remotely in the plan. She didn’t remember how she planned to get home last night, but sleeping over is never the plan. She usually makes plans to avoid that option.

So, in typical Emma Swan fashion, she grabs her clothes, thrown around the room at drink six or seven.

Emma barely takes a glance at the sleeping man in the bed, eye liner running over his face, and still somehow looking too fucking good, before heading towards the exit of the apartment.

She was well prepared to do the walk of shame back to her car, then back to her apartment where she would beg her friend’s forgiveness for completely standing her up.

But well, that was not in the cards because Emma got blasted in the face by gusting winds and snow. 

"Fuck." Emma cursed, pulling the door closed as fast as she can. The storm threatened to rip the door off the freaking hinges with its howling. 

There was no way in hell Emma was going out in that. 

Which led her to her current situation sitting on the bottom of the steps, still in her jeans and hoodie. Clothes not at all appropriate for an absolute blizzard. 

Who the hell heard of a blizzard in freaking october?

Climate Change! 

The news articles announce as the cause, which honestly more people should pay attention to, but that doesn't at all help Emma's current predicament.

Staying the night was bad enough, but being trapped here was beyond bad. It was terrible. What the hell was she going to say to a man that she'd just slept with and had planned to run out of without a word?

Her phone buzzed in her hand from all the unread text messages.

Emma can you pick up beer?

Don't worry, got some.

Are you coming?

What time are you arriving?

He's here if you're wondering. I promise he's a good guy.

All from Mary Margret. Emma sighs; feeling guilty for not responding.

If you're on your way, don't bother, there's a freak snow storm coming in. We're snowed in, everyone is crashing on the couch, or in our spare bedroom.

This was from David. Emma sighs, knowing that if she was half the friend they were she wouldn't be in this situation.

But at least I'm not bunking with the rando Mary Margret found. Emma thinks.

She's a terrible friend. Absolutely terrible.

"Bloody hell." Says a voice behind her. Emma turns around, and the pirate is there on the bottom level of his apartment bleary eyed and in skull and crossbone boxers. The smeared makeup is mostly gone, as is his shirt. 

(even like this, he was absolutely as attractive this morning as last night)

Emma raises a brow. "Seriously taking the pirate thing all the way don't you think?" She asks.

He smirks at her. "I pride myself on my commitment." He tells her. "And I assume you got the same weather alert as I did." Emma nods. "18 inches of snow, who'd a thought?" He asks. 

Definitely not her. 

"Then let's go back to my apartment to ride it out." He offers. "According to the news, it won't be clear until tomorrow; which means a whole day in the home of a stranger.

Emma hesitates. 

"I promise love; I'm still a gentleman, even without the leather." He says with a teasing tilt of his brows.

Emma sighs, because she honestly doesn't have a better option. So, she makes her way back to the apartment she woke up in.

Silently, and still without putting more clothes than his boxers, he proceeds to his kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee.

Next, he goes to his fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs. Emma watches in silence as he methodically makes them both scrambled eggs and toast.

"Cheese?" He asks like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"I typically don't do this you know." Emma blurts out.

"The one night stand?" He asks, glancing back at him.

"The staying the morning after." Emma clarifies. "So don't think that this." She gestures between them and at the eggs for good measure. "Means anything. I would've been gone if it there wasn't a blizzard outside." She assures him. “This is just a one time thing.”

The last thing Emma needs is him getting the wrong idea.

He nods, looking her solemnly. "Of course." He says. Even without the alcohol, Emma swears his blue eyes can still see into her soul. Emma wonders what he sees.

"But that doesnt tell me if you like cheese in your eggs love." He's smirking now. Emma rolls her eyes.

"Who doesn't love cheese?" She asks. Putting her stuff down on the couch nearby. "Now where are your mugs, I think the coffee is ready."

Breakfast is surprisingly easy, the eggs taste good, he has a varied collection of jellies for the toast, and the coffee is already doing its job to combat the hangover induced headache she had woken up with.

"So love." He asks as she stuffs a fork full of eggs in her mouth. "I regretfully have forgotten your name." He says, scratching behind the ear. Emma can already tell that the guy does that when he's embarrassed. 

Not that it matters of course.

"Emma." She replies. "And I probably didn't give you my name, or ask yours, I think we had better things on our mind..." She trails off. God she'd been so drunk.

“Or bigger.” He says with another waggle of eyebrows; it makes Emma flush brightly.

“Oh my God.” She moans at his joke. “Do I have to call you Captain Innuendo now?” She says. 

"Killian will do just fine." He says with a laugh, standing up to clear their plates. A silence takes over the room, because of course it does.

Because what does one say to a stranger you met in a bar and properly slept with?

"What made you dress like a pirate?" Emma blurts out watching him wash the dishes.

 She instantly regrets her question when she sees some serious scarring over his left hand. She vaguely recalls that one of his hands had a hook. It feels insensitive all of a sudden. 

It catches him off guard, but that might just be the fact that he’d caught her staring at his hand. He instantly hides it from sight. "I was supposed to go to a costume party." Killian says, 

"But soon after I arrived, I learned the hostess was trying to set me up with someone and well..." he says trailing off. "I’d prefer not to have others interfere with my life so much." he reasons, another sheepish smile. 

Emma nods in agreement. "I feel the same way. Would you believe my friends were doing the same thing?”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“I’ve always been a bit of an outsider, I’m a glass half empty kind of person. But my friend is convinced that there’s someone out there perfect for me, that I should open my heart to love and romance and all that stuff she loves but...” She trails off.

“Love has been all too rare in your life hasn’t it?” Killian asks. He’s doing it again, that looking-into-your-soul thing. It makes Emma feel a bit exposed. But at the same time, she sees something reflected back to her. A familiar gaze she’s seen all too often.

He laughs, breaking the odd tension.  

"Bloody hell, looks like we both dodged a bullet then." He says. "Because as odd as this current situation is, I’d much prefer this than rebuffing the attention of someone while also not insulting my friend..." he says trailing off. 

His phone buzzes on the counter. He reaches for it. 

"If you excuse me." He says disappearing into the bedroom with his phone. She can hear him talking with his friend, it seems a bit tense if Emmas honest, but thats none of her business. 

Rather than eavesdropping Emma surveys the room. Considering Emmas been in Bail Bonds as long as she has, she can tell quite a bit about a man by the condition of his apartment.

Its neat. That’s the first thing she notices; neat and organized. Everything has a place, and everything is returned to its place. His bookcase is full, she notices most of his books are worn from frequent use. 

They had eaten on a kitchen island with three chairs, not a dining room in sight. 

His couch is of moderate size, but the reclining armchair has more use.

Emma takes him for an orderly person who reads quite frequently; he must even reread his favorites when he’s stressed, cooks for himself but not often for a group. He’s a loner. But not alone.

"Turns out the girl didn’t show either." It makes Emma jump in surprise to see him standing behind her as she snoops. "Sorry love, didn’t mean to spook you." Killian says with another sheepish expression.

It makes Emma wonder about the swagger he had last night. She chalked it up to the rum.

"Wanna watch something?" Killian asks, gesturing to the Tv. Emma nods her head.

“Do you have Netflix?”

//

They put on a rom-com. Something light and funny, How to lose a guy in 10 days, one of Emma’s favorites.

“Honestly.” Emma says. “They’re both trying so hard to be people they’re not. She’s trying to be terrible, and he’s trying to be perfect.” 

Killian shrugs. “It’s definitely funny.”

Once it ends, Killian makes them a frozen pizza while they put on the next movie. Stardust. Emma had never seen it so Killian had insisted.

It was about a boy who was alone, an outcast and a girl desperate to get home, hunted by absolute nutjobs but risk it all for each other. 

Honestly, Emma kinda loves it. It also definitely confirms what Emma thought she’d seen in him. 

“You were alone too weren’t you?” She asks. He’s not surprised by her comment. Not in the slightest. 

“Lost sees lost. That’s what my brother always says.” He murmurs. “My mother died when I was six, our father walked out on us soon after and my brother and I were put in the system until we aged out.”

Emma nods. She understands his lack of details. It’s not someone anyone wants to talk about. “I was abandoned as an infant, maybe hours old.” She replies. “Love’s been all too rare in your life hasn’t it?” Emma repeats. It brings a sad smile to his face. “What are the odds that we’d meet last night?” She asks. 

“Perhaps we saw something in each other?” He wonders. 

“I’m pretty sure you just thought I was hot.”

“Still think you’re hot.” 

Emma laughs, easing back into his couch. It’s comfortable, both the couch and hanging out with this man. It was nice in a way Emma didn’t expect.

//

They move on from movies to books and he had a lot of books. Emma had fallen a bit behind on reading lately, but considering she had nothing but time today and Killian’s massive library, it felt like a good use of her time.

“How do you have time to read all these books?” Emma asks, flipping through a few to try to decide what to read first. She had Pride and Prejudice in her hand currently.

“I’m a librarian.” He replies with a smile. “So being well read comes with the job.”

She nods. A librarian makes sense for him, considering his books, his quiet sheepish expressions, and his way with words. 

(But it didn’t explain the scar on his hand, that was not from a papercut, not that it was any of her business.)

She ends up reading Pride and Prejudice for a bit. She’s definitely beginning to enjoy it, when her phone buzzes in her lap.

Emma, are you alright? The snow is clearing and David’s heading over to you’re apartment. Considering the drunk text you sent me last night, I have a feeling they’re not finding you there...

Emma grimaces. She didn’t remember sending Ruby a text... She scrolls up to see it.

sLeepin wt pirates no paty don be ma.

Yup. Pretty bad. 

Instead of replying, she decides to call her friend.

“Well the dead arose.” Ruby snickers as she answers the phone. 

“Ha ha.” She says standing up to go to Killian’s bedroom for privacy. “Was Mary Margret mad?” She asks. “I honestly was going to come but...” She says trailing off. 

“Nah. You know how she is, forgiving as always. David was a little peeved, the guy left a few minutes in but damn Emma, he was hot with a capital H.” Ruby says. Emma can practically hear the wolfish smirk that was characteristically her. “But what about you? Spend the night with a hot pirate?”

She hums in agreement. “I’m still at his place.” She says. “Got snowed in.”

“Dang! You never stay the night.”

“I never get that drunk. But honestly Ruby, I’m having a good time. It’s strange.” She says. “Like really strange.” 

“Oooh.” Ruby says. “What his name? Tell me everything.” She says. But Emma’s not sure. She’s scared that voicing her thoughts into the universe would ruin whatever it was.  

  She thinks maybe that this isn’t a one time thing.

Then of course, she sees something that ruins everything. Because on Killian’s nightstand was a photo. A beautiful woman with Killian. She was in a wedding dress, he in a tux.

It was a wedding photo.

           “Ruby. I have to call you back.”

 //

“You’re not married right?” Emma blurts out. Because there’s no point beating around the bush. 

Emma refuses to even consider fantasising about a married man, not that she was fantasizing of course. 

She would rather walk back home, than be here another minute if he truly was-

“I was.” He states, not looking up from his book. “She died.” He responds. “Which is why I don’t want my friends to set me up with anyone. Because I know that I won’t find her. The perfect person they want me to find. Because she’s gone.” He’s looking at her now.

All the anger fades from Emma at his words. Because of course he’s not married, or cheating. Of course this good man wouldn’t do that. Not to her, not to the woman that he obviously loved so very much.

“I’m sorry.” she says softly. All of a sudden feeling like the biggest ass in existence. 

“Car accident, if you’re wondering, that’s how I got this.” He says lifting his hand, showing off the jagged scar that starts at his wrist and goes up his arm. “I was lucky.”

He says lucky like he doesn’t believe it. “Tell me, have you ever been in love?”

“Yes.” She says softly. 

“Then you know that I was anything but lucky that day.”

“I do.” She replies. Because she knows that pain, knows a pain so very similar it hurts just to think about. Like touching an old scab that still stings.

“I was in love once.” She says. “He was everything to me, but it wasn’t-it wasn’t real. He didn’t-” She loses the words. “He didn’t love me like that, he left me and I was...”

Broken

“It’s not the same thing. I know that.” She says. “I know my friends mean well but I can never let anyone hurt me like that again. Ever. But they’re so sure that there’s someone out there, someone who will never leave me, not like everyone else has.”

“But you’re not so sure.” Killian says, he’s standing now and Emma’s not sure when he did that. “I assure you Emma, take it from someone who’s known you only a short time. You are not someone who deserves to be left behind.”

She bites back a gasp at his words.

“And maybe there’s hope for us yet?” Emma responds. He reaches out and hugs her. Then he kisses her and well...

They end up in bed together once more. 

//

The storm stops and reality settles in. It’s time for Emma to go home.

“I never did get to finish this.” She says, putting the book back in his shelf.

Killian smirks at her, he’s in real clothes now, she has on a band T-shirt and sweats. It’s a size too big on her, but it’s a lot warmer. “Keep it.” He assures her. “Keep it as a reminder, that if we can cohabitat for a day, then perhaps...perhaps someday...our friends will no longer need to play matchmaker.”

She smirks at that. 

He looks at her for a moment and Emma thinks he's going to ask for more. He's going to ask for something stupid and romantic like an actual date or a kiss in the rain, or any of those chic flic things.

But after everything, a part of Emma wants him to. She wants him to want her to stay, to tell her it wasn't just her, that he felt it too. 

The spark, the connection, a kindred spirit in her that just wanted something. That it wasn’t just drunk sex, that it wasn’t just two ships in the night.

And yet, all Killian does is put on a smile, offer out his hand and shake hers.

"It was nice riding out a blizzard with you."

Emma smiles back. 

Because of course he doesn't say any of those things. Emma had said herself, that this was a one time thing.

Emma Swan doesn’t do relationships. She'd tried it once and it didn’t take.

It wouldn’t take here either. Not that Emma thought it would.

She walks away from Killian Jones, prepared to never see his smiling face.

 //

The last thing she expects is to see him again on New Years Eve.

Part Two to be released January 30th

[demisexualemmaswan]

turtles, jellyfish and otters

Summary: Emma, Killian, and Hope spend a day at the aquarium together. Hope loves it, and Emma’s so surprised that Killian’s never been before that they just have to show him! 

A/N: This is my contribution for Day 8 of @csjanuaryjoy​! I was at the aquarium on Monday and I thought to myself “wow this is what parents must do with their kids when they’re too young for school”. And then I thought about Killian seeing otters and this happened. I’m sorry this is so late in the day...I had jury duty and was writing this in between breaks. Hope you like it!

[Ao3]

--

“What shall we do today, little love?” Killian murmured into his daughter’s hair. His fingers gently tickled her sides and smiled when she let out a peal of laughter. He couldn’t help but love these mornings...when it was just him and his little pearl cuddled up together in bed. 

“Mama!” the girl giggled, clapping her hands together. Her wavy blond hair swung back and forth as she moved her head.

“I’m not Mama,” Killian said, scowling deeply for his daughter. Her giggles intensified at his face and even he couldn’t keep the smile back for long.

“Mama!” Hope repeated brightly. Killian scowled again and Hope fell back with laughter.

“I’m not Mama,” he growled, no menace actually behind it. This was a game he was fairly well used to with his daughter. Besides, it was hard to be menacing when a toddler was shrieking with glee at you. 

Hope sat up once her giggles had subsided, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief.

“Mama!” she repeated.

This time, a pair of hands plucked Hope up from the bed and a new laugh joined them. Emma leaned over Hope to kiss Killian sweetly on the lips before peppering Hope’s face with kisses. She sat back down in the bed beside them and grinned up at Killian.

His wife was the only thing that made these mornings even better. Hope seemed to agree as she linked her arms around her mother’s neck gently.

“So, have you decided what we’re gonna do today?” Emma asked.

“No, not yet,” Killian hummed softly. “Our little lass decided that she would be a trouble maker first thing in the morning.”

“Our Hope?” Emma gasped, making a silly face so Hope would laugh. “Never.” Hope nuzzled closer and Emma smiled, kissing the top of her head. “So what are we gonna do today?”

“Ee-bee!” Hope exclaimed excitedly.

“No, we are not watching tv all day,” Killian laughed.

Hope frowned as if in thought. She almost seemed to be thinking: well if we can’t watch television, what can we do?

Both Emma and Killian looked at each other, smiling softly.

“Fishy?” Hope asked brightly, gently tapping Emma’s hand to try and get her attention.

“Fishy?” Killian asked curiously. “Like the harbor?”

“Fishy!” Hope repeated. She looked up at her mother. “Mama! Mama! Fishy!”

“Fishy...” Emma repeated quietly, brows furrowed in thought. Then her eyes brightened--just like Hope’s had--and she exclaimed, “Oh! The aquarium!” Smiling down at her daughter, she added teasingly, “We were just there, are you sure you want to go again?”

“Fishy!” Hope insisted.

“Yeah you’re definitely your father’s daughter,” Emma murmured affectionately. “Okay, Cygnet. We can go to the aquarium and see the fishies.”

“Ah!” Hope added, tapping her cheek.

“And the otters too?” Emma asked, kissing Hope’s palm. “Well that sounds like a lot for one day, we should ask Papa if he’s up for it.”

“Papa?” Hope asked, turning her bright blue eyes to him. As if he could ever deny her anything.

“What’s an aquarium?” Killian asked slowly. He’d never heard of it before. Where once he’d be bothered by these things, he wasn’t so much anymore. However, it still surprised him that he had been living in Storybrooke as long as he had and hadn’t heard of or been to an aquarium. 

“Fishy! Papa! Fishy!” Hope repeated, as if it would be all the explanation in the world. 

“An aquarium is like...like a really big fish tank,” Emma explained. “One of Regina’s new initiatives for the United Realms was to like...open a conversation space for injured wildlife across all realms, which is how we got the zoo, and then I guess Henry said--”

“Ry?” Hope interrupted her mother. “Ry, Mama?”

“Yes, little love, we can ask Henry to come,” Killian soothed. “But only if you listen carefully to Mama.” He tapped his ear and put his finger to his lips. Hope copied this gesture with the utmost seriousness and Emma couldn’t refrain from pressing a kiss to the top of Hope’s head. “Continue, love,” Killian said warmly, kissing the tip of Emma’s nose. 

Emma blushed a little bit--and to be honest, in warmed Killian to see that he could still make his wife blush after knowing each other for so long--and smiled up at him. “So...I guess Henry said that it might be more helpful and create more jobs if you had like...a zoo and aquarium conversation thing. I’m not really sure where the line blends because like...the zoo has penguins, and the aquarium has like, a desert exhibit?’ 

“Fishy, Papa!” Hope added, reaching out to tap his hand to make sure he understood.

“And of course, they have fish,” Emma laughed, her giggles only increasing when Killian made a face. “Don’t like fish, do you, pirate?”

“Fish are fine, but the smell is another,” Killian groused. 

“The fish are on the inside of the tanks. No smell,” Emma explained, reaching out to tuck some hair behind his ear. There was still a hint of a giggle to her words and he couldn’t help but lean over to kiss her and try to capture this moment. 

“Kissy me!” Hope exclaimed. “Kissy me!”

Emma and Killian exchanged a grin before peppering their daughter’s face with kisses, laughing as she laughed.

--

An hour and one tantrum about not being able to bring a chair into the car (he was sure he would never understand toddler logic as long as he lived), they strolled into the aquarium entrance. It seemed like an ordinary building, and he was automatically disappointed that he couldn’t see fish right away. “Let me get the tickets, and can you just have her like...make a turtle or something while we wait?” Emma asked, kissing his cheek. “Thanks, babe.”

“Make a turtle?” Killian asked confusedly, looking around. It was then he spotted a series of benches with screens on them. A family was sitting by the screen, putting colors on a digital turtle. When they pressed a button, the turtle appeared on a larger screen.

Killian carried Hope over to the screen and sat down on the bench with her on one knee. Hope stared at the screen confusedly before looking around. She watched another kid for a minute and then began pressing buttons. She let out a cry of delight when she would add colors. 

“Aye, that’s right, you smart lass,” Killian praised. 

He tried to add colors himself, but Hope gave him a very stern, “I do.” So he let her continue on with her work. She finally slid off, deciding that she had to be closer to the screen in order to make better art. 

Again, toddler logic.

He was so engrossed by the process, however, that he was nearly thrown off balance when Emma sat on his other knee. “Oof!”

“Getting too old for this?” Emma teased, resettling her weight. She leaned over to kiss him and he quickly pecked her back. 

“Hardly, love,” he explained. “I was just so captivated by our little lass’s artwork…” Emma rest her head on top of Killian’s, just watching their daughter for a moment. His arm curved around Emma and held her there for a moment. “She’s really something, isn’t she?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered, her hand sliding to its usual perch over his heart. She gently nudged his head with her own and added, “She must get that from her Papa.”

“I’m not sure, I bet her Mama had something to do with it,” Killian hummed, bringing his wife’s hand to his lips so he could kiss it. “That’s probably why she has such an incredible brother.”

“We forgot to call Henry,” Emma groaned, burying her face in his scalp. “Ugh, let me do that now.” She opened her phone and clicked on Henry’s picture in her contacts, and Killian’s heart clenched a little bit at his contact photo. It was a picture of Henry, fully grown, helping Hope take her first steps. 

Emma put the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?” Henry’s voice was loud and clear. “Mom? What’s up?”

“Hey, kid,” Emma said, putting it on speaker. “I’m here with Killian and Hope.”

“Hello, m’boy,” Killian greeted.

“Ry!” Hope immediately stopped what she was doing and turned around. She looked around for a minute and frowned when she didn’t see him. “Ry?”

“I’m right here, squirt,” Henry soothed, and Hope toddled closer to the phone. “What are you guys up to today?” 

“We’re at the aquarium,” Emma explained. “We were hoping you had some free time…”

“I wish I could,” Henry said sincerely. “Lucy’s got like a...United Realms cultural thing at school later today since it’s their first day back from winter break. I’m trying to make lasagna.” He paused for a minute and then added sheepishly, “It’s not going well…”

Killian and Emma exchanged a worried look, and quickly Killian asked, “Do you need us to come and rescue your dish?” 

“No, no,” Henry chuckled. “Ella has Tiana on speed-dial for this exact reason.”

“I’d trust the actual chef in the kitchen,” Emma answered, an easygoing smile on her face. “Well, it sounds like your morning and afternoon are swamped. But you could meet us at Granny’s for dinner?”

“Ry?” Hope piped up sadly. “No fishy?” 

“No fishy for me today, squirt,” Henry said sadly. “But I’ll see you later. We’re going to have dinner at Granny’s. Is that okay?” 

Hope put her finger on her chin and pursed her lips in thought for a minute. Killian very discreetly took a picture of her to send to Henry later. 

“Otay,” she told Henry. “My ry?” 

“Yeah, squirt,” Henry promised. “I’m your brother and no one else’s. I’ll see you at dinner.” The smoke alarm began blaring in the background. “I gotta go! Love you!”

“Love you!” Emma was able to get in quickly before the line went dead. She looked at her husband one more time, trying to figure out if it was worth going over to Henry’s to help him out or not. 

“He’s fine,” Killian soothed, gently squeezing Emma’s hand. He gently extracted his hand from Emma’s to cup Hope’s face. “Now, I was promised some fishies, was I not?” he asked his daughter, gently wiping away a few tears that rolled down her cheek. 

Killian scooped Hope up into his arms and stood up. “C’mon, little love,” he murmured into her hair. “Let’s go.” 

The first thing in the aquarium was a touch tank. There were small rays flapping about in the tank as people gently stroked the top of their bodies. Killian’s eyes widened. “Can they just do that?” he asked, a little bit of excitement entering his voice. 

“Yeah, babe,” Emma chuckled. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t have it. Go on, let’s go pet the baby rays.”

“What kind of rays are they?” he asked, his eagerness only growing. Hope’s head perked up when she heard the splashing.

“I’m not a ray expert, but why don’t you go check it out?” Emma encouraged. “Hope, baby, show Papa how to pet these fishies.”

“Down, Papa,” Hope requested gently. Killian put her down and Hope immediately slipped her hand into his, guiding him to the touch tank. She gently laid his hand on the top of the water and then put hers beside it. When a ray came closer she submerged her hand a little-- “Gentle, Cygnet,” Emma encouraged from beside her--to pet its top and making sure to avoid the stinger.

“It’s so smooth,” Killian replied breathlessly, his eyes wide as he looked to his wife. “When we would sail foreign waters, we saw rays that were wider than the Jolly herself, and far larger than any man. I’d always wanted to pet them, but the ship was too far up and they didn’t care for shallow waters. But this world’s ones are so small...they’re wonderful.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile at Killian’s glee. Watching her husband live out a lifelong dream--something that was mundane to her and she’d done a few times with Henry in New York--was something that she was privileged to get to see.

She kissed his cheek and added, “You know, there’s still a whole aquarium. We get to see.”

“Fishy!” Hope exclaimed, starting to race off.

“Ah ah ah!” Emma called after her. “We have to wash our hands first.”

--

“I’m surprised at how many children there are here, given that all should be back in school around Storybrooke,” Killian noted, watching Hope tumble around the play area with some strange children.

“Well, I guess when they’re too little for school, this is what you do with ‘em,” Emma replied, resting her head on Killian’s shoulder. “After all, we can’t just watch ‘ee-bee’ all day.” She threaded her fingers with Killian’s and squeezed his hand gently. “Do you think it’s bad that one of the words Hope knows so young is TV?”

“Well, to be fair, we do watch a lot of television,” Killian hummed. “But she knows other words. Like Mama and Papa and--”

“Jolly!” Hope bellowed, pointing at something further down the way. “Papa! Jolly!”

Killian looked up and saw the model of a ship in a glass case. “Do you want to see the ship, my dear?” 

Hope nodded brightly and raced down the way with him. He lifted her up again and cradled her to his chest closely as they looked at the ship. “Aye, you love the Jolly, don’t you, my lass?” he murmured, kissing her head.

“Jolly!” Hope said seriously. All ships were the Jolly to her, that much Killian knew.  

“Aye, love, that’s a nice ship, isn’t it?” Killian hummed, kissing her temple softly. 

In the reflection of the glass, he could see Emma taking a picture of the two of them. Still, he did not pose much but rather rest his cheek on top of Hope’s head and closed his eyes for the briefest of movements. 

When he opened them again, he set Hope down. “Do you want to go see more of the fishies, lass?” he asked gently, holding her little hand in his one. 

“Fishy!” Hope said excitedly. Then, as if she realized something exciting, she added, “Ah!” 

“Ah?” Killian asked.

“Oh, wait until you see this,” Emma said eagerly, wrapping her hand gently around Killian’s prosthetic. “Let’s go.” The three of them walked down to the otter enclosure, where two or three otters were swimming around.

Hope immediately chased them with a squeal of delight, which only intensified when the otters swam after her when she ran in the other direction. 

“She did this for hours the other day,” Emma laughed. “Just running after the otters and letting them swim after her.”

“Oh...ah,” he realized himself, guessing that the only part of ‘otter’ she retained was the first syllable. It was fascinating, watching a whole person learn the intricacies of a language, and it was something he was eager to learn more and more of every day. 

But still, he found himself entranced by the little furry creatures and saw why Hope was so entranced by them. There were toys in the enclosure as well and some of the otters were gathered together and playing. 

He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. 

And that caused Emma to smile too.

--

The last thing that Emma and Hope so desperately wanted to show him was something called a jellyfish tank. While he was familiar with the creatures, he still excited to see how they existed in this world. He had seen all sorts of magical creatures--which were in the aquarium as well--but none were as entrancing as the ones he’d never seen before.

Moreover, they were exciting to his daughter and wasn’t that what it was all about?

“I’m glad that Regina decided to do this,” Emma murmured as Hope all but ran from exhibit to exhibit. “And not because she’ll tire herself out and sleep through the night. I’ve...it’s nice to see you learning new things. She looks just like you when her eyes light up.”

“Does she now?” Killian asked. “There are so many things that I see about her that are the same of you. She’s assertive and vivacious and wonderful…” 

Emma stopped him in front of jellyfish tank.

At first, all he saw were the white blobs, but then he gasped when the lights of the tank changed colors, the jellyfish did too. Emma took advantage of this moment to kiss him sweetly, squeezing his hands tightly. 

“I love you, Killian,” Emma whispered softly against his lips. 

“I love you too, Emma,” Killian responded against hers.

[blackwidownat2814]

CS January Joy, Day 17: The One With Emma & Killian’s Fancy Party

The One With Emma & Killian’s Fancy Party                                              AO3

Emma did not like many things.  In fact, she hated most things. Being abandoned on the side of the road in the middle of October in Maine a few weeks after birth by one’s parents will do that.

She hadn’t always been that way.  When Emma was 17, she’d run from her last group home and found him.  Neal was everything to her and the first person to show her what she thought was love.  Then he’d left her, like her parents.  He left her pregnant and holding stolen merchandise.  Then, a few months into her 11-month sentence, Emma lost her baby.  Her anger for Neal grew to insurmountable heights.

So when she met Killian Jones and his weirdly overactive eyebrows, Emma told him (and herself) that she was not going to fall for his charms.

How wrong she was.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Try as she did, Emma failed, and after a year, they moved in together and for a while, all Emma could do was wait. Wait for him to realize she was too much work and leave. Wait for him to realize her insecurities would really never go away and leave because of that too.  

But he never did.  And a year after they moved in together, Emma finally realized that when Killian said he was in it for the long haul, he meant it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Emma, love!  Have you seen my favorite tie?” Killian called from their bedroom.

“I swear Killian…”  Emma came in and went to the closet, digging in the far corner.  After finding her quarry, she turned in triumph and tossed him a navy tie with white and red anchors all over it.  “If you head wasn’t attached to your neck, you’d probably lose track of that too.”

“Aye, but you love me anyways.”

“Maybe”, she replied with a wink as she headed back to her office.

“Are you going back to hide away and work on my birthday present?”  

“Maybe”, Emma said again.

“Alright then, keep your secrets.  I am off to heal the young children of Storybrooke.  I’ll see you tonight my love.”  Killian turned to leave, but Emma stopped him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, crooking her finger at him.  Killian laughed and leaned on her desk.  Emma reached up and grabbed his tie, pulling him down for a kiss.  “I love you, Killian.”

“I love you too, my Swan.”  He gave her another quick peck and left.  Emma smiled as she watched Killian walked away, feeling so proud of him.  

When she and Killian had met, he had been working at Storybrooke General Hospital as a member of the pediatrics department and were set up (oh so shadily, Emma liked to say) by the Sheriff’s wife.  Mary Margaret Nolan wanted everyone to be happy and in love, just like her and David.  

Emma shook her head of the wonderful memories of her time with Killian and turned back to her computer, opening the manuscript for The Savior and The Privateer.  The series, which was set in a land called the Enchanted Forest where fairytales were real, followed the adventures of The Savior, who was on a quest to break a curse cast by an evil witch that had plagued her home for many years. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

A couple of days into the new year, Emma surprised Killian with dinner.

“This is wonderful darling!  Thank you!”  He leaned over the table and gave her a kiss.  “However, my birthday isn’t for another few weeks…”

“I know, but I did something special for your birthday this year”, Emma replied.

“Can I see it?  Please love!”

“No!”  Emma laughed at his childlike enthusiasm when it came to things like presents.  “You have to wait until after dinner.”

“Swaaaan…”

“No.  Eat first, presents later.”

They chatted throughout their meal and Emma couldn’t help but laugh when she noticed that Killian ate more quickly than he usually did.  When finished, to mess with him, Emma had Killian do the clean-up.

“I’m done!  How about now love?”

“Okay.”  Emma had him take a seat on the couch and close his eyes.  “No peeking!”

Killian’s eye popped open when she dropped the box in hands and he immediately ripped the paper and box top off to reveal a stack of papers.  

“The Savior and the Privateer?  Emma, love, is this your latest novel?  You said you weren’t going to let me read it before everyone else!  It does seem--”

“It’s just the first chapter and I know.  But after thinking about it, I changed my mind.  I think I’d like to know what you think before my editor gets her hands on it.”

“Regina means well my love.  She just wants the best possible outcome for you.”

“I know, but that red ink she does her editing in...oof, I get why people like to call her the Evil Queen.”

“Wouldn’t it be the most humorous thing for those people to know she’s actually the absolute nicest?  And funny at that?”

“Very.”  Emma sighed.  “So!  Give the chapter a look.  Right now, the book is sitting at 15.  When you finish one chapter, I’ll give you the next.  Cool?”

“Very cool.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days later…

Killian carried the manuscript for Emma’s novel in his briefcase in the days after she gave it to him.  He was anxious to get to reading it, but work was busy, and he hadn’t yet had a chance.  So, when the weekend rolled around, he poured himself some rum and sat down to read.

When he finished the first chapter, there was neon yellow sticky note on the last page and it held a loving message:

“I feel like everything in my life has led me to you.  My choices, my heartbreaks, my regrets. Everything.  And when we’re together, my past seems worth it.  Because if I had done one thing differently, I might never have met you. -Unknown”

A long time ago, I wasn’t good with words...I didn’t have the right ones.  So, I’m going to tell you how much I love you with other people’s words.  Like Big in the Sex & the City movie (which I know you hated watching with me, but hey...you love me).

I love you Killian Jones.

Killian smiled and peeled the sticky note from the last page and went to the office and stuck it on the wall.

“I see you finished the chapter.”  Killian found Emma leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a big smile on her face.  In that moment, he couldn’t not think of a time when he hadn’t loved her.  Try as she did to dissuade him from pursuing her, he wouldn’t.  Killian recognized the same sense of loss and loneliness in her that he carried with him.  Emma’s strength in the face of everything life threw at her was what made him love her even more.  She didn’t take his crap and she took no one’s crap, and she wouldn’t change for anyone, not even him.  He loved her just the way she was.

“I did, my love, and it was remarkable.”  Killian walked over and pulled her into his arms, laying a soft kiss on her head.

“Thanks for remarking on it.”  Emma leaned away with a sly smile.  “Do you want to read some more?”

“Yes!”  He watched as Emma went to her desk and unlocked a bottom drawer, pulled out Chapter 2 and handed it over to him.  Killian kissed Emma on the cheek.  “Thanks love. I’ll leave you to yourself, because I need to know what happens.”

“Have fun then.  I have to go take care of a few things.”  Killian looked up from his spot on the couch.  Something was off.  He could always tell when something wasn’t going right with his Swan.

“Is everything okay Emma?”

“Yeah!  Yeah.”  The fact that her voice went up several octaves did nothing to quell his thoughts.

“Emm-”

“Everything’s fine Killian.  With the way the flu is going around, I’m just worried.  You know I hate getting sick.  I’m just going to go to Dark Star Pharmacy for a flu shot.  So don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you Emma.  I love you.”

“I love you too.  Enjoy your reading.”  Killian watched her as she left, knowing that there was something she wasn’t telling him.  He wouldn’t push, Emma would tell him when she was ready.

Killian was on the last couple of pages when his love returned.  Something had happened the hours she was gone because when she returned, Emma glowed as if she’d had a weight lifted off her shoulders.

“Hello love!  How was it?  Does your boo-boo need a kiss?” he asked cheekily.

“Tonight.”  She winked and took a seat next to him, kicking her now socked feet up onto the coffee table.  “So, what’d you think of this chapter?”

“Well, I’ve not finished yet.  Just some pages to go.”

“Finish up then!  I need to know.”

“Of course my darling.”

Killian went back to the page he was at and read on.  This time when he was done, there was a neon pink sticky note that read:

“You find somebody you like and roll the dice.  That’s all anybody can do.  -Ron Swanson”

You inspire me every single day Killian.  When I rolled the dice on you, I got a Nat 20.

Killian laughed to himself at Emma’s talk of dice.  No one would know his Swan was a diehard fan of Dungeons & Dragons fan.  He himself had never played, but started learning from Will Scarlett, a nurse at the hospital, so he could share in something she enjoyed.

“So, did you like it?” the woman in question asked from her spot at the end of the couch.

“Of course I did Emma.  Have you got the next one ready?”  She giggled, her entire face lighting up with happiness which, in turn, made Killian happy.

As her phone rang, Emma handed over chapter 3.

“Enjoy while I take this.”

“Thank you darling.”  He watched as Emma went into the office and shut the door. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.  I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.  I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.  I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you’re always right.  I hate it when you lie.  I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.  I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call.  But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.  Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. -Katarina Stratford, 10 Things I Hate About You”

 Sometimes I felt like Kat did, because I saw so much of myself in her: angry at the world because of what some asshole did to me.  It’s why I was so mad at myself when I met you.  I was mad that you were so perfect for me. I was mad how good of a person you were.  I was mad that you were proving me wrong.  I was mad that you basically kicked down the walls around my heart like they were a flimsy door.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

It went on like this for every chapter.  

For every chapter Killian finished, there were neon colored sticky notes at the end with quotes from some of Emma’s favorite movies or books or whatever, and little notes from her too.  Killian kept them all, adding each new note to his colorful collage.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The day before his birthday, Killian was in the kitchen when Emma found him.  He smiled at her over his favorite mug inscribed with LIKE A BOSS on the front, noticing she was hiding something behind her back.

“What have you got there Swan?”  

“Oh nothing.  Just the final chapter in the main story”, she said and pulled the stack of papers from behind her back.

“This is the last?”

“No, actually.”  Emma slid the chapter into Killian’s black leather briefcase and snapped it shut.  “There’s going to be an epilogue. But you aren’t getting it until tomorrow.  It’s your birthday present.”

“I thought the whole book was my birthday present?”  Killian rinsed his mug and slipped on his suit jacket, taking the briefcase from Emma.

“The epilogue is...special.”

“Uh huh.”  Killian gave her a deep kiss and pulled back to leave.  “Like I said before, keep your secrets.  I can’t wait to read this chapter.  See you tonight my love.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“When did I fall so deeply under your spell, [Killian]?  I cannot fix the hour or the spot or the look or the words which lay the foundation.  I was in the middle before I knew it began. -Mr. Darcy, Pride & Prejudice & Zombies

“The very first moment I beheld you, my heart was irrevocably gone.  -Lizzie, PPZ”

Remember when I told you ‘I love you’ for the first time?  How you asked what was wrong because all of a sudden, in the middle of wrapping some birthday presents for David, I just drop the scissors on the floor and yelled ‘Fuck!’?  That moment.  That moment made me realize that I basically loved you from the beginning but I was all the way in before it had even hit me.  I love you Killian.

 Killian never meant to cry into his lunch, but he did.  And when he got home that night, he made sure to let Emma know how loved she was.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma was happy that Killian chose to work a half day on his birthday.  He met up with her, Mary Margaret, and David for lunch, but it grew to include Will, Robin and Regina, Tina and Jefferson, Ruby, Archie, and Belle, who had wanted to surprise Killian and rounded up his and Emma’s friends.

They spent the afternoon eating, laughing, and telling stories at Killian’s expense.  Emma hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time, and she was happy to see boyfriend happy.  The feeling of when the shoe might drop had gone away for good and she knew everything was going to be okay.

Later that night, when they returned home, Emma went straight to her file cabinet and pulled out the epilogue.  Killian hung his jacket on the rack near the door and went to pour himself some rum.

“Here.  I’m going to change into some PJs.  It’s pretty short, so you’ll probably be finished by the time I’m done.  Enjoy...and happy birthday.”

“Thank you love.”  Emma hurried (but not obviously, she hoped) back to their bedroom and dug around their closet, where she hid the ring she intended to propose with.

Emma took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to do when she heard Killian’s footsteps heading towards the bedroom.  When she emerged from the closet, Killian was standing in the doorway, staring at her and holding the final Post-It plus something special.

“Did you like it?”  Emma took a seat at the end of their bed.  She looked down at the ring in her lap, worrying.  She knew he loved her but what if this was what he thought was too much.  It’s not something she ever would’ve predicted.

Killian knelt in front of her, sticking it to her knee.  Emma didn’t have to look down to know what it said: 

"I guess I kind of hate most things. But I never really seem to hate you. So I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Is that cool?  -April’s vows to Andy”

I know you think it should’ve been you to propose, but guess what old man?  It’s 2020 now.  ;-)

Don’t be sad you didn’t do it first.  Be happy instead.  Happy that we’re going to be a family.

I love you so much Killian. 

“Emma?  What is this?”  Killian handed her a small, grainy picture.  In it, what looked like a small kidney bean just floated in the middle.  “Is it what I’m hoping?”

Emma took the picture from him and wiped the tears she saw skipping down his cheeks.

“This”, she held up the picture, “...is your son...or your daughter.  I can honestly say that I don’t really have a preference.  How about you?”

“You’re pregnant?

“That’s what the picture means, yeah.”

“Is this why you went to see Whale?”

“Yup.”  He hadn’t shown any kind of reaction, positive or negative, and she was a little worried.  Kids weren’t something they had talked about.  Emma hadn’t known that she wanted to get married, much less have a kid, but now that she knew she was pregnant, she was already in love.

“How long?”  Killian was staring at her midsection.

“He said about six weeks.”  They were both quiet as Killian started to cry in earnest.

“This is the greatest birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

“You never answered me you know.”

“What?”

“I asked you to marry me and you never answered.”

“Isn’t it obvious Swan?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma and Killian got married some months later.  They tied the knot at Village by the Sea in nearby Wells, Maine.  Emma in blushing pink ankle length gown that proudly showed off her five months’ pregnant belly and Killian in a dark navy suit with his favorite tie.  

Meera Alice Jones was born in early August on a beautiful Friday afternoon.  Bright blue eyes and tufts of dark hair, just like her father. Meera’s brother, however, was just like their mother.  Oliver David Jones came into the world 16 minutes after his sister, sharp green eyes and wisps of blonde.

There was always love in their family.  Were they a perfect family with no problems or arguments or anything like that?  No. Far from it. But the point is, even with those arguments and stress and everything else…they were happy, for as long as they lived.

[wellhellotragic]

CSJJ Day 23: A Rather Common Name (1/2)

Whoaaaaa. What’s that? I made words? Trust me, I know, and I’m just as shocked as you all are. It’s been months since I’ve written anything (my poor little book included) but I’m back and hopefully words will continue to come.

I have to send out a huge shout out to everyone at @csjanuaryjoy. Thanks to the mods for hosting this year and bringing everyone together. It’s been so much fun hearing about all of the fics that everyone’s been working on. Now that this is done I’m about to dive into all of them with my greedy little reader eyes. Also a huge shout out to all of the fam in the discord channel. It’s been such a privilege and so much fun to get to know you guys. You all make me laugh daily with the complete randomness. And thank you all for letting me bounce ideas off of you! Also, much love to the wonderful @profdanglaisstuff for chopping this up with her red marker of death (and surprisingly there’s no sarcasm there at all). You’re fantastic for helping me out! <-- See that? No past perfect! 😂

With that super long thank you out of the way, this is a two parter. The back half is coming in a few days on the 28th.

In case AO3 is more your jam

Summary:

She hated him. Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but he was a dick when they met. So why did she tell him about the apartment for rent in her building? And why did she let him in? Let him climb her walls? Why did she let herself trust him when every man she'd ever been with had betrayed her? Why did she think he'd be different?

And why, despite it all, did she still love him?

The hustle and bustle of Christmas had come and gone in the Nolans’ Boston apartment. The tree had been taken down the day after Santa had delivered his presents, yet the lights remained, strewn up in the living room to keep the festive spirit alive. Mary Margaret was insistent that the lights could be recycled into New Year’s Eve decorations. The only concession given to David’s objections was the removal of the brightly colored bulbs wrapped around the railing of their balcony. Apparently red and green didn’t exactly scream New Year’s.

Instead, they were swapped out for some of the trendier hanging lights that she’d seen in all of the design magazines. The same magazines that usually covered Mary Margaret’s coffee table, something to be left up year round. But on that night, they’d only be admired from the living room. When the invitations went out, Mary Margaret had clearly not expected the massive nor'easter coming through. The news said that five inches had already been dumped on the city with no end in sight.

Mary Margaret had always been the perennial mother hen of the group, throwing all of the holiday parties. Christmas and Thanksgiving had come later, after they’d graduated and decided to become adults, but the New Year’s eve tradition had started back in college, right around the same time that David had appeared. Emma hadn’t missed the connection between her best friend throwing her first ever party, and the fact that said party was for a holiday that traditionally included kissing at midnight.

Not coincidental at all.

At the time, Emma had rolled her eyes, never understanding the build up. Always wondering why everyone bought into the idea that starting the year kissing a drunk loser was supposed to set some amazing standard for the next 365 days. Of course, that had been before Killian. He’d blown into her life like a torrential whirlwind, systematically setting her world on fire even as she felt like she was drowning in the sea.

Emma didn’t date. It was a promise she’d made to herself after Walsh. Twice burned, but never again.

Never let people in and you won’t get hurt.

But Killian, he’d snuck his way in while she wasn’t looking, and for the first time in years, she was ready to take a risk. Ready to open the door to her heart. But that’s the problem with opening doors in the storm. Sometimes the wind is so strong that you get blown away in the process.

There’s been an accident.

With one phone call, her entire world was rocked. The storm around her raged as she stood there at the door, rooted to her spot in sheer agonizing fear. Crippling paralyzing fear. The open shutters an invitation for her desolation. The ground shook, knocking her from where she stood. Windows shattered, shards of glass strewn on the floor around her. One piece aside, her heart stabbed clean through.

New Year’s Eve: 2 Years Earlier

“Emma, it’s only twenty minutes to midnight. Surely you’ve picked out someone by now?”

There was a sickeningly sweet tone to Mary Margaret’s voice as she said it. Some odd notion that happily ever after was achievable to anyone if you only had hope. Normally Emma would let it roll off her shoulders like water off a duck’s back, but having just collected her pay for bringing in another cheating runaway embezzler, Emma’s faith in love and hope was at an all time low. There was absolutely nothing appealing about kissing a stranger, not that she was necessarily opposed to doing other things with strangers on any other night. Something about New Year’s Eve was clichéd though, raising expectations.

Emma scanned the room. Most of the guests included the usual suspects. Graham, David’s partner at the precinct, who by all accounts was actually a stand up guy, but he was already off limits. He’d been in love with Ruby for years, pining away for her in secret. A secret kept from Ruby alone. He wasn’t Ruby’s type though, and she’d never once considered him in that way, never noticed the way his eyes stayed glued to her from across the room. Never noticed the way he always made sure to have a full glass in front of her before she could finish her beverage. How he was always bringing extra tapenade hummus to their get togethers knowing that it was her favorite. Instead she’d always picked party boys. The love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

Talking animatedly next to Graham was David, who was ‘out’ for obvious reasons. Beside them though was a man Emma had never seen before. Brooding heavily. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he chugged back the rest of the drink in his cup. But before she could get a better look at him, her attention was dragged back to Mary Margaret.

“If you haven't picked anyone out yet, then I have this guy in mind for you. He teaches with me at the school and he’s so sweet. His name is Jefferson and-”

“Whoa, are you talking about that guy that always wears those crazy different hats around town?”

Emma hadn’t even noticed Ruby approaching.

“Yes, and I think he’d be wonderful for Emma.”

“Uh, Mags. That guy is certifiably crazy. You know that right?”

“Ruby, he’s not crazy, and that’s not even a politically correct word to use anymore. Yes, he may be a bit eccentric, but all of the kids love him.”

“Listen to me. Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m not kissing anyone tonight.” Emma watched as Mary Margaret tried to interrupt, but stopped her before she could argue. “The only man that’s going to be touching my lips tonight is Mr. Jose Cuervo.”

With that, Emma grabbed the half empty bottle off the kitchen counter and made her way through the crowd, sneaking out onto the empty balcony. The streets below them were nearly empty. A rare sight on a Saturday night in Boston. She stood there, watching the lights change from emerald to amber, then scarlet. Over and over, no cars ever crossing the intersection. The calm should have relaxed her, but instead it did the opposite. Only further reminding her of how alone she was. Of how everyone else in the city had somewhere to be. Someone to be with. Of how Neal was out in the world somewhere probably conning some other stupid naive girl. Of how Walsh was probably in bed with the redhead he’d been screwing for the last three months of their relationship.

She’d never have that, and while it had been her choice to swear off men for anything more than a one night stand, on nights like that, she couldn’t help but long for the comfort of a man’s embrace. For something more that just ships passing in the night.

“Not that your delectable arse doesn’t make a stunning sight, love, but it’s hardly the view I’d come out here for.”

Emma jumped, nearly throwing the bottle of tequila over the rails as she attempted to clutch her chest.

“Jesus Christ! Lurk much?”

He let out a throaty laugh, lifting his head just enough to catch the glint from Mary Margaret’s bulb decorations. Even in the dim lighting, she could see the blueness of his eyes.

“It’s hardly lurking when I was here first.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was here, minding my own business, taking in the scenery. Then you appeared. Not lurking. Just easily overlooked apparently.”

“And you waited to announce yourself, because?”

“Well if the lady Nolan is anything like her excitable husband I assumed you needed a few minutes of respite to collect yourself.”

She nodded, unable to argue his point. Both of her friends were well meaning but overeager and overbearing when they thought they were right.

“Fair point.”

He laughed again, a little less humor tinting it that time as his hand gestured to the empty space next to him on the bench. Neither spoke for a few minutes, instead basking in the last remaining moments of silence before the midnight countdown began. Eventually her curiosity broke through though.

“Okay. I have to ask. How do you know David?”

Their friendship group had always been a fairly small tight knit crew, and she was certain that she’d have remembered the man next to her. Even in her foul mood she’d be an idiot not to acknowledge how handsome he was with that light smattering of scruff covering the lower half of his face. The perfect mixture of rugged and kempt. The way his bicep felt quite firm as he shifted and brushed his arm against hers.

“Ah. The inquisition portion of the evening.” He took a long tug from a flask he’d hidden on the ground next to his right foot.

He had walls. Something Emma understood intimately. The immediate need to deflect or defend with sarcastic remarks and witty banter. Anything to distract from people from getting too close.

“Not an inquisition. Just call it curiosity. And by the way,” she started as she took another swipe from her own bottle. “Who talks like that?”

Perhaps she’d had enough of the tequila.

“Like what exactly?”

She leveled him with her best glare.

“Fair point,” he mimicked her words from earlier. “The name is Killian, and to say that I know Nolan would be a bit of an overstatement. I just transferred over to his precinct earlier this week from across town and when he discovered that my plans for New Year’s involved take out and pay per view he insisted I come here. Apparently rubbing elbows with complete strangers with hardly any personality is a more appropriate use of my time. And as far as the ‘talking’ goes, you can blame that on the British educational system. For some reason they really tend to stress the whole education bit unlike the schools here in America.”

He stood as the party blowers began to scream, hardly bothering to excuse himself as he left Emma sitting alone, jaw hanging open at the verbal onslaught he’d just bestowed upon her.

She could hear the cheers inside signaling that another year had passed in glorious fashion.

Disaster.

Not that she should have expected anything less. The year before last she’d lost her mind and kissed Walsh. Another one of Mary Margaret’s infamous set up attempts. A year later she’d kissed him again, on another midnight . Unfortunately she’d found him kissing another woman just two days later and that was that, having set an impossibly high standard for that year to live up to.

Seven weeks into that new year Emma had come back from a night of friendly neighborhood research (stalking) to find that her beloved bug had been stolen. Only further emphasising her back luck, David had pointed out to her that she couldn’t file a report on it without implicating herself in a crime. Apparently cops tended to judge a person when they reported the car they stole as stolen, even if that person had gotten her shit together in the intervening years.

And then there had been the bank incident. Her beloved coffee shop had been closed for remodeling and she’d been forced to grab something at one of those trendy chain shops that charged a month’s rent for a single cup of cocoa. Usually that would have been hyperbole, except that particular cup had cost her everything in her checking account. The shop adamantly denied it, but one of the employees had clearly skimmed her card and gone on quite the shopping spree, draining away the money she’d been saving since college.

And if life hadn’t yet kicked her hard enough, she’d been evicted from her apartment, although evicted hadn’t been exactly the wording used on the letter explaining that her building was going co-op. But with her account fraud still under investigation and her money not yet returned, she couldn’t afford the down payment. The bank had all but laughed outright at her when she’d asked them for a loan.

The year hadn’t all been bad though. It had led to her living only one floor up from Mary Margaret and David. It was nice coming home from a midnight booking to find her fridge full of homemade meals in perfectly sized tupperware. Her newer car was a slightly less conspicuous than the bright yellow bug and she’d increased the number of skips she’d tracked down because of it. And ya, the new apartment was a little more expensive in rent that her old one had been, but it was a fresh start. Something she desperately needed. The rest of the year had actually gone pretty smoothly too, until she met Killian Jones.

He’d gotten under her skin somehow, something she thought about him considerably over the next few days. It wasn’t so much what he’d said, as much as the tone in which he’d sneered it out. She’d been called prickly in the past, but she’d never had someone act so callously towards her before, even in her foster care days. She thought about it as she went to bed in a foul mood. She thought about it as Mary Margaret tried pushing Jefferson on her again at lunch the next weekend. She even thought about it a dinner a few nights later, which is probably why she didn’t see the bread plate hurtling at her face.

She’d thought she had him, some lowlife who had hit his girlfriend one too many times. She should have expected it, been prepared for it. She had been, but then the dark haired guy at the bar beside her had said something in an accent and she let her mind wander for the briefest of seconds, just long enough for the scumball to toss a plate right in her face before trying to run out of the restaurant. He’d tripped on the stairs by the entrance though, smashing his face and breaking his nose. If Emma Swan had ever believed in karma, it was in that moment.

Luckily for both of their sakes, they’d only been a few blocks over from David’s station house. If she’d had to spend any more time with the man, his nose likely wouldn’t have been the only thing broken that night.

Granted, it was after nine on a Tuesday night, meaning David was long gone, but Emma was friendly enough with the night guys that none of them would have given her a second glance if she had roughed him up just a bit more than usual.

With the ring of a door bell, Emma found herself shoving the guy through a side door where Mullins was waiting for her just inside the bullpen after buzzing her in. He’d been the cop that had trained David during his rookie days. Mullins had taken a bullet during a robbery during David’s third year with the force, and even though he’d fully recovered physically he’d never returned to the field, too worried about leaving his wife and kids alone.

“Well, well, what do we have -” The concern was evident in his eyes as he took her in. “Jesus Christ, Emma.”

She felt herself holding back a snicker as Mullins pulled a little more forcefully than usual on the guy’s shoulder. After gruffly ordering her skip to sit down and changing out her cuffs for official department ones, Mullins returned his attention to Emma.

“You’re gonna have a pretty good shiner there, ya know that kid?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure you have, but if Nolan finds out I let you leave here without checking you over he’ll have my hide.”

She chuckled to herself. David’s protective streak was his defining character trait.

“You know you outrank him, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Jones!” His bellow took Emma off guard, startling her slightly. “Grab a first aid kit and get Emma here cleaned up a bit.”

Mullins pointed at a desk near the back of the bullpen and told her to go wait. Most of the desks had a few pictures littering the area. They were a mashup of people as the day officers and night officers shared spaces, but the one in the back had only one photo on it. Belle looked stunning in her white dress holding onto Lance’s arm in what was possibly the tightest tux she’d ever seen on a man. They were so happy together. But there was nothing else. Nothing in the way of personal effects from anyone else.

“Alright, love, I’ve got-” His words seemed to fall away when she turned around. The last person she’d expected or wanted to see was standing before her in a dark navy blue police uniform. In the artificial lighting she could see that there was a smattering of ginger in his beard. His inky black hair stuck up in places. But it was his eyes that she lingered on. They were possibly the bluest she’d ever seen.

“You.” Not her most eloquent of greetings, but she was still fuming over what he’d said to her on New Year’s.

“Aye, me.” His fingers fiddled with the latch on the first aid kit, but he made no move to open it.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” she mumbled to herself

He at least had the presence of mind to look chagrined.

“Please, love. Take a seat and I’ll get you cleaned up and on your way.”

“Emma.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s Emma. Emma Swan. I’m not your love.”

He nodded and looked at the ground as he came to lean against the desk. His desk.

“My apologies. For calling you love, but mostly for the other night. You have every right to be cross with me. I’d had far more libations than food and I treated you poorly. I’d like to think I’m usually more of a gentleman than that.”

She studied him for a while, watching to see if his eyes shifted or if he fidgeted. Tells that she’d learned over the years to see if someone was lying. Little pieces of body language that could give away everything. He didn’t do anything to convince her that he was anything but sorry.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t but she felt the call of Ben and Jerry’s and a Netflix marathon pulling at her. As well as a much needed icepack. “I probably wasn’t in the most festive mood either so we’ll call it even.”

He had her sit on his desktop so she’d be at eye level with him. Killian - Killian Jones apparently - grabbed her chin and tilted her face to get a better look. Frowning, he lightly brushed her forehead with his fingers causing her to hiss in pain. She knew the plate had caught her pretty squarely in the face, but it hadn’t hurt until just then.

He apologized for causing her pain and set to work on cleaning her up, informing her that on top of the beginnings of a black eye there was a pretty large gash as well. She winced as he dabbed the wound with an alcohol swab. She also protested when he suggested she go to the emergency room for stitches. She’d had worse and just wanted to go home and forget the entire night.

Well, most of the night. As he set about to applying butterfly strips, she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over his face, over the pale pink scar on his right cheek. The slight point of his ears. But mostly over how well his form filled out his uniform. Boston’s finest indeed . Shaking away the thought, she heard him apologize once more,thinking he’d hurt her again.

“Uh, no. I’m just tired.” Not a complete lie at least.

Her exit from the precinct was awkward at best. After Mullins returned with her paperwork so she could collect her money, she hadn’t been sure what to say. Or if she even needed to say anything. They’d only met at a party once for three minutes after all. After mentally debating it, she’d given him a very simple thank you, then humiliated herself by almost poking herself in the eye as she pointed to her face. Not the most graceful exit, but she’d at least managed to make it out of the building without falling over in her heels so she called it a win.

She’d barely made it through the front door of her building before Mary Margaret and David had come barreling out down the stairwell, coddling her like parents, insisting that she come back up to their apartment to eat something. Clearly Mullins had called them to check on her. By the time she made it back to her own apartment she was far too tired to do anything other than crawl into bed and pass out.

The rest of the week, however, was practically a staycation as she hibernated in her apartment, not wanting to see people’s pitying looks on the sidewalk as they misjudged the situation. The first day her head throbbed and her eye was nearly swollen shut. She slept that day away, not even wanting to get up to search for painkillers or to make an ice pack. The second day was slightly better. The swelling had gone down on her eye, replaced by a deep purple bruising. It was still too sore to cover with concealer so she stayed shut up in her apartment scarfing down the ice cream she’d been craving before.

Before she realized it, she’d watched an entire season of The Great British Bake Off, and completely lost track of the time. The sun had long since fallen below the skyline and her stomach was beginning to turn on her for having forgotten to feed it something more substantial than frozen milk all day. Just as she was getting up to check her fridge, she heard a knock at her door.

Curious, she checked the peephole, not expecting anyone. Her downstairs neighbors had a key, and while it was supposed to be for emergencies that had never stopped them from using it for everyday use too.

It was hard to tell through the dirty glass of the peephole, but it appeared to be a man carrying a large bag of food from what looked like the Chinese place around the corner. It was probably a mix-up with the delivery guy. August down the hall had an even more irregular sleep schedule than her and ordered food at all hours of the night.

There was another knock, reminding Emma that the man on the other side of the door was in fact an actual human being and that she should probably open the door and redirect him to August.

“Hey, I think you have the wrong apartment. Booth is three doors down on the right.”

She was already closing the door when she heard him.

“Emma Swan?”

“Ya.”

“Well, then this is for you.”

She tried to explain that she hadn’t ordered anything. That he either had the wrong apartment or that it was a prank. The food had already been paid for though and the tip taken care of. Cautiously she had accepted the bag, setting it on her coffee table as she eyed it, as if it were somehow booby trapped, like a peanut can that once opened launched snakes at its poor unsuspecting victim.

Once she’d felt thoroughly convinced that the bag was safe, she began pulling out enough containers of food to feed a small army. She wondered once more if it had been a mistake, if some poor family of four was starving somewhere in the building, but as she pulled out the last carton of spring rolls, she found a note. His handwriting was a bit more flowery than she’d expected, not that she’d actually thought on it until just then.

Swan,

Now we’re even.

-KJ

Simple and to the point, making Emma smile in spite of herself and her lingering hostility towards him. She had to give him credit. He’d nailed all of her favorites, making her wonder if he’d just guessed well or if he’d had a little insight into her food preferences. Although, she doubted that he’d bother asking David and they didn’t share any other acquaintances.

That night she ate to her heart’s content, almost too much. Putting away the remaining food, she returned to her bed and quickly fell asleep thanks to her overstuffed stomach. The next morning brought a bit of relief with it. Her black eye was finally in the icky green healing stage and the gash on her forehead looked much better than the first night.

Feeling as if she’d rested enough, she called her employer to claim her next case. It was a small time drug dealer. By all accounts, he seemed to be privileged kid rebelling against his parents. He’d dropped out of school his junior year of college and started selling weed out of his car. His latest arrest had been for trying to deal to a cop. His parents had foolishly bailed him out, yet again, and he’d missed his court date, yet again .

The only foreseeable issue was that the kid had nearly unlimited funds to hide with, though he hadn’t exactly been good at evading the law before. As Emma searched through his social media accounts, it quickly became apparent that what he had in money, he more than made up for in lack of brains. It only took her an hour of research to learn that he’d been staying with an old friend from prep school in the center of the city.

Not bothering to go through the effort of a honey trap, Emma dressed in comfortable leggings, a long sleeved sweater and red leather jacket. She did her best to conceal the remaining wounds on her face and set out, grabbing a few snacks for what she hoped would be a very short stakeout.

It hadn’t been. In fact it had taken fourteen hours of sitting in her four year old Mini Cooper.. She’d been ready to call it a night when he finally emerged from the brownstone wearing a black hoodie and jeans. He’d clearly watched one too many movies on standard criminal dress codes.

As usual, he hadn’t seen her coming. She got the jump on him just as she’d done countless times before, and in near record time she had him back down at David’s station ready for booking. She wasn’t really sure why she’d gone there, passing another police station along the way. One that she’d used plenty of times before.

Yet for some reason, she’d felt compelled, trying to reason that it was just because David’s station was closer to her own apartment. That it would be a shorter ride home after. It had absolutely nothing to do with the attractive man that had invaded her dreams the night before.

Of course, when he saw her bringing in her barely legal skip and had come over to say hello, she was as annoyed as she might have expected. In fact, he was in a much more jovial mood that night, and when one of the other cops made a comment about how they preferred her other ‘work’ outfits, he just smiled and mumbled something about how they weren’t wrong under his breath. Then she watched as his cheeks pinkened and his finger began to scratch at a spot just behind his ear.

She hadn’t known how to take it. She hadn’t known how to take him. Not after New Year’s and the Chinese food. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, moody and brooding one moment, blissfully charming the next. He perplexed her. Or at least that what she told herself as thoughts of him continued to invade her mind over the next three weeks. Unable to get a read on him.

The harshness of January gave way to February. Snow still lingered on the sidewalks, but no more had fallen. She’d delivered two more skips to the same department over that time, even though one of them she’d picked up clear on the other side of town. Killian’s mood had soured dramatically by the second drop off. So much so that he’d barely even spoken more than a disgruntled hello that final time. Barely acknowledged that she was there.

It shouldn’t have hurt her. It wasn’t like she really needed him to leer at her chest in her skintight minidress like the other cops usually did. Especially the married ones. She’d always felt a little cheap when it happened, but something about his dismissal of her felt worse. Like she was no one. A sensation she hadn’t experienced since she was eighteen, just after Neal. That’s when she’d found out that she’d been accepted to Boston University with a substantial financial aid package. Gone were the days of not being seen by her foster parents or social workers. She’d become someone, and yet at twenty seven, she may as well have been that young girl all over again as he groused about paperwork, waving her off in the process.

A few nights later Emma wore that same red dress to pick up her latest skip, promising herself a well deserved break after his delivery. Catching him was easy. A little batting of the eyes, a throaty laugh as she pressed her hand into his chest. He melted into the her, dropping his guard long enough for her to cuff him to the barstool. She didn’t bother taking him to David’s station that time, choosing to instead call someone out from the precinct around the corner. The skip really should have been smarter than to agree to meet her at a notorious cop bar.

Once again the dress had done its job, and though she felt a slight bit of gratification knowing that at least one guy in Boston still found her attractive, the garment was shed the moment she walked into her apartment. Unlike the skin tight material, the day lingered on, tight in her muscles, and she hoped that a hot shower would ease her body.

It wasn’t meant to be though, as a sharp set of knocks sounded out on her door. Knocks that she recognized. Calling out to wait a minute, Emma scrambled to get dressed, tugging on some leggings and a sweatshirt. She didn’t even bother to check herself over in the mirror before opening the door.

She’d met him about two months in from moving into her new apartment. There had been noises, loud ones. Breaking glass, thumping on the walls. It was enough that she could hear it from her closed apartment three doors down. She’d been worried that someone was in trouble. With her gun in tow, she’d crept down the hall, stopping to listen at the door. There had been muffled yells, a man’s voice cursing. The door had been unlocked, and while she’d known it to be a bad idea at the time, walking into a stranger’s apartment uninvented and armed, her concern outweighed her need for self preservation.

He was a writer. A self indulgent prick with a complex. A man trying to write the next great novel and failing at it. The yells had been him screaming at his computer, at his words for being unremarkable. Oddly enough, Emma hadn’t been as put off by him as she should have been, and somehow they became friends of sorts.

“Thought you might be up for a goodbye party.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation, pushing past her to unpack the food he’d brought with him.

“Goodbye? I didn’t know I was going anywhere.”

August laughed, standing only long enough to grab some beers from her fridge.

He was leaving. To some place in Thailand, or near Thailand. Something about needing to disconnect from technology and distractions. About needing to live a story worth telling. She gave him three months before he partied himself into a ditch, or whatever type of landforms they had in Phuket. They ate and drank and promised to stay in touch, both knowing it was a lie. He left that night for the last time and Emma felt just the slightest bit empty.

She’d lost her confidant. The one person she could tell things to that wouldn’t judge her thanks to his own litany of crap. The ‘break’ she’d promised herself was short lived. The hollow feeling eating away at her. She needed something to distract herself. It wasn’t hard to track her down. A fake account on Grindr, a quick meet up for a drink first.

The only problem had been that the restaurant was only a few blocks away from her apartment, meaning only a few blocks down from the last precinct she wanted to visit again. She thought about driving to another one, but the girl had been mouthy after Emma had cuffed her and she just wanted her gone. She could only pray that he was out patrolling for once.

She had never been particularly lucky. Mullins was out sick and the only free officer to take her skip was him . He looked like shit, a small satisfaction in her book. Dark circles under his eyes, mused hair, wrinkled uniform.

He was moody. Not exactly harsh with the skip, but not showing any real kindness either. Not that she’d expected him to. She’d only seen him a handful of times and he’d been cranky more often than cheerful. If she hadn’t needed him to sign off on the paperwork, she wouldn’t have even bothered to stay. But when he mumbled something about being too busy and her bringing in a skip being an inconvenience she’d had enough.

She tossed the paperwork at him, telling him to just sign the damn papers so she could be on her way. Telling him that she hadn’t exactly been expecting to spend her entire night at the station. That he was the inconvenience. She barely let him finish scrawling out his name on the last piece of paper before she ripped it out from under his pen, storming off towards the side door.

“Shit. Swan, wait.”

She turned around just long enough to give him her fiercest glare before turning and heading for the door again. His hand loosely grabbed her wrist as he chased after her.

“Please.”

She stopped, not quite facing him, but not shutting him out completely.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, not again, but I shouldn’t have taken my piss poor mood out of you. I’m sorry.”

There was a pleading in his tired eyes that she didn’t understand. Yet she felt helpless to hear him out anyway.

“No you don’t, and no, you shouldn’t have.”

His head dropped in resignation.

“Why have you been in such a horrible mood anyway?”

He told her the story. It wasn’t the whole story. She knew he was leaving something out, but it wasn’t her place to ask. It wasn’t her place to want to know. But he gave her enough. He’d been staying in a hotel since he changed precincts nearly two months ago, stuck on the night shift. Apartment hunting had been a nightmare. His schedule only left him a small window of opportunity to see listings in person, and the places were either death traps or rented out before he’d got a chance to even view them. Then some ‘lot of bloody children’ had moved into the the room next to him. They spent most mornings running around making noise and he’d been unable to get a decent night’s sleep.

She felt for him, something deep within her seeing something in him. A lost boy. He was all alone just trying to survive. He’d been thrown overboard and was too proud to ask for help or to let anyone know he was drowning. She hated herself for what she was about to do.

“I have a friend.”

“Okay?”

“I mean, I have a friend who’s moving out of his apartment. He’s subleasing it himself until his lease is up in a few months and then you could transfer over the lease to your name after, if you wanted to stay there that is.”

His eyes shifted, more alert but still guarded. But something lighter filtered through as he watched her. Hope.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not the dick here.” She flourished her hand between the two of them. “The only catch is that it’s in David’s building. I’m not sure if you’d want to see him at both work and your off time.”

His head tilted. “Thank you, but perhaps I shouldn’t then. If Dave chose not to tell me about the apartment, it probably means he doesn’t want me there.”

“He doesn’t know about it. The guy that lives there now is on a different floor and keeps odd hours. I’m not sure if he and David have actually ever even spoken to each other.”

She gave him August’s contact info, telling him that he was likely awake if he wanted to call about it on his break, leaving him with a warning.

“Don’t make me regret this, Jones.”

He moved in the next week, bringing only a few boxes. August had decided to leave most of his furniture, choosing instead to relinquish the creature comforts he’d become accustomed to. Believing that an artist was more creative when struggling. The furniture didn’t seem to match Killian’s personality, but he said it was fine.

He was still unpacking when two large pizzas arrived at her door. Already paid for just like the Chinese food. A thank you gift for getting him out of his hell hotel. He’d waved to her from his doorway, box in hand as she’d accepted the pizza, before ducking back inside. She’d thanked the delivery guy, adding on an extra tip. It was a lot of pizza. Too much really.

At least, that’s what she told herself as she grabbed a six pack of beer from her fridge door along with the pizza boxes before heading over to his place. The door had been left open from his constant trips back and forth between his car and the trash chute.

“Knock, knock. Welcoming party.”

He called back out, telling her to come in, laughing when she told him that someone had sent her an obscene amount of food. They talked a little that night. Superficial things. He was originally from London but had moved to the States for college. He had a brother, still serving in the Royal Navy. They usually only saw each other once a year around Christmas time. Emma was only doing bail bonds long enough to save up enough money for law school. It was strangely nice, despite her missing August.

It wasn’t the man that she missed as much as the bond she’d formed. She’d told him everything. Or at least almost everything. Now a near stranger sat in his place, and she felt alone all over again.

The strange thing though, was that he wasn’t a stranger. Not a complete one anyway. She knew him in a way. Knew that he’d been hurt. That he was just as alone as she was. Just as defensive. As broken as her. He was a kindred spirit.

They parted that night on better terms than ever before, leaving Emma to wonder just who Killian Jones was. What the missing part of his story was. She considered asking Mary Margaret the next day at lunch, but she wasn’t able to think of a natural segueway. One that wouldn’t make her look like a young schoolgirl with a crush.

The checks were on the table when she was finally and inadvertently given her chance. Ruby was the one to ask. She’d delivered some coffee and donuts to Graham and David who’d both been up early that morning working on a case. Killian had still been there, causing Emma to wonder why he’d been working so late. She’d even worried a little, but then Ruby asked about him, and all of Emma’s focus went to that.

To why Ruby was asking about him. To the way she toyed with the locket around her neck. The wolfish grin as she mentioned how good his ass looked in those pants. To the way Ruby asked if he was single.

Emma had to hold back a growl as her friend basically spoke of how she’d love to devour the man, and it frightened her. Frightened her that she was jealous over a man she barely knew, that she refused to let herself think of in that way. Jealous that Ruby could be so casual with men she saw on a daily basis. That she was so open with her sexuality. But mostly it frightened her that Ruby Lucas had never had a man turn her down.

The thought of Ruby writhing on the same sheets Emma had helped him tug over his mattress the night before made her sick for some reason. One she absolutely refused to think about . Instead she pushed it down, listening to Mary Margaret explain that she didn’t really know all that much about him. Just that he seemed nice enough the few times she’d met him. She didn’t even seem to realize that he’d moved into the building.

“Hey Mags, I have a great idea. Why don’t you invite him over to dinner Friday to properly introduce us. You know how you love setting people up.”

“He’s working.”

Two pairs of eyes snapped towards her. The words were out of her mouth before she’d even realized it. She wasn’t sure of he was really working or not, but it seemed likely enough. She’d seen him there on a Friday night before.

“I mean, I think he is. The last time I brought in a weekend skip he was there.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Ruby pouted. “Shit, is that the time? Crap, I have to run, but Mags, next time you see him, do you think you could talk me up?”

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. You’re the best!”

Mary Margaret barely spared Ruby a second glance as she ran out of the cafe, instead focusing her eyes on Emma. Speculation written all over her face.

“What was that all about?”

“Oh you know Ruby,” Emma tried for nonchalance. “She’s always been man hungry.”

“That’s not what I was talking about and you know it.” Her friend had clearly picked up some lie detecting tricks from David. “You were upset.”

“No I wasn’t. I was just trying to be helpful.” “If that’s true, then please explain to me why the heels of your palms have fingernail imprints in them?” Emma squirmed under her gaze, trying not to give an inch lest her friend take a mile.

“I just feel bad for Graham, you know.” Not a total lie. She was getting good at that. “He’s been in love with her for so long and I just thought it might be really awkward for him having to work with a guy that Ruby’s been with.”

“Good try. And yes, it would be if I thought Killian had any interest in her at all.”

“And what does that mean?”

Emma felt her heart surge with the tiniest bit of hope as Mary Margaret went on to explain that she’d already tried to introduce the two of them on New Year’s but Killian hadn’t been as amiable. So maybe amiable wasn’t the word Mary Margaret used, but it sounded like something Killian would say and for some reason that’s how Emma heard it. Her friend further explained that Killian had actually seemed really put out by the notion of a set up even after he’d seen Ruby’s chest nearly falling out of her dress as she danced around the apartment.

It wasn’t until later that day that Emma took offense. Her friend had tried to set Ruby up with Killian, while she’d tried setting up Emma with the mad hatter. She didn’t want Killian, really, she didn’t.

Yes, keep lying to yourself. That’s healthy.

But she’d still been offended that Mary Margaret had thought she’d be more compatible with a guy that talked in riddles and dressed up to go to the Boston tea house. It was a place only small children went to feel fancy in their dress up princess clothes. Not a place for a grown ass man to live out some weird fantasy. A part of her wondered if there wasn’t something slightly more sinister going on there.

She begged off from their planned dinner the next night. Something she did with them every Friday night, work permitting, but her ire with Mary Margaret had only grown and she didn’t want to see the woman, afraid she may say something regrettable. Unfortunately, it meant that her friend left nothing in her fridge to eat. She contemplated getting something delivered, but she didn’t want to be home if the Charmings from downstairs came up to check on her or to call her bluff about being busy.

The little pub around the corner was busier than she’d expected. Nearly every table was full and the bar had a crowd two deep. Emma turned around, set to leave when she saw him, sitting at a table in the corner all by himself.

“Is this seat taken?”

It was a cheesy line, and she hadn’t meant to sound so throaty as she said it, but she hoped that she come off more as joking than flirty. It didn’t matter though. He was too gone to really even notice her. She could have been wearing a shark onesie and he likely wouldn’t have been fazed. He shouldn’t even be served any more, yet when the waitress walked over with her tray, she had another glass of amber liquid ready for him.

“I’ll take that. Can he get some water?”

The waitress looked disappointed, but smiled and nodded, returning soon after with a large glass. Emma took a moment longer to order some food, asking for it in a to-go bag. As she waited on it to be ready, she tried to force Killian to drink as much of the water as possible.

The walk back to the apartment was a bit of a struggle. Killian was wobbly on his feet and she nearly dropped him trying to open the door to their building, but somehow she made it to the elevator without hurting him. It took a minute of digging around in his jacket pocket to find his own apartment keys.

The place was surprisingly immaculate. She’d never seen it in such a condition before. August had always been a bit sloppy. Emma set Killian down on the couch and pulled the food out of the to-go bag she’d been given, insisting that he eat it all to soak up the booze in his stomach. By the end of the meal, he was looking far more sober than when she’d found him at the pub.

His eyes still had a glaze over them though, a haunted look, and although she tried not to worry, she couldn’t help asking him what had caused him to get shit-faced. He was evasive, or tried to be, but Emma refused to let him bottle it up. She shouldn’t pry. Not when his inhibitions were so low. She knew that. She would be furious if the tables were turned, but when he said something about a ‘her’ Emma’s concern morphed into something else. A new feeling that left her stomach in angry knots.

It was the the same old story of heartbreak. Her name was Milah. They’d dated for two years and suddenly she’d just decided to end things. To walk away from everything they’d built, including the townhouse they’d purchased. Or almost purchased. Something about it being in escrow.

But that’s when the tale turned. Her husband had caught wind of her plans to purchase a new home with her lover and told her she needed to choose between his money or her man candy. Ya, the husband had been news to him too. A blatant reminder that no matter how long you’ve been with someone, you never really know them.

The money had won out.

So he’d packed up. Boxed up the few items that didn’t remind him of her, and asked for a transfer. She felt sick. It was such a vivid reminder of Neal and Walsh. Of how they’d both fooled her into thinking that they loved her, but when it came down to it, neither had. Both had chosen something else over her. Her heart stung for him.

She’d been in the society section of the newspaper that morning, promoting a new little boutique uptown. She’d looked happy, really happy, and it had sent Kilian over the edge of misery knowing that she didn’t even miss him. That their breakup was nothing to her.

“So, Emma Swan,” he slurred slightly. “You now know my deepest darkest secret. What’s yours?”

She didn’t tell him. A mixture between wouldn't and couldn’t. That secret was locked far too deep inside. She’d never told anyone. Not Mary Margaret or David. Not Ruby. Not even August who’d known more about her than anyone.

Instead, she lied, telling him about Neal. About how she’d given her virginity to a man a decade older than her. A man that had immersed her in a life of petty theft and crime. How he’d tried to pin something on her, but she’d found out before he could do anything and turned him over to the police. He’d fled before they could arrest him, and she’d been let off with a strong warning. It was the only time being a foster kid had worked in her favor. The judge had taken pity and given her community service in exchange for a dismissal of the charges the DA had tried to hit her with.

It wasn’t her deepest secret, but it was still a dark one that she didn’t enjoy discussing. Mary Margaret had just looked at her with pity when she’d told her. That had been the start of her obsession when fixing Emma up with the perfect guy. Ruby’s first question had been to ask if Neal was good in bed. Unfortunately, his age and experience had done little for him. Something Emma didn’t realize until later after she’d had a few more partners.

But Killian, he just thanked her, his head still lolling back resting against the edge of the couch.

Something shifted between them that night. It started slowly, but they didn’t just talk when they ran into each other for work anymore. They both went out of their way to hang out, binging shows on their days off. Getting meals together. Walking together to Mary Margaret’s Friends’ Friday dinners. And if Emma had made an extra effort to ensure that he sat next to her instead of Ruby, well that was nobody’s business.

When Emma sprained her ankle chasing a skip in the rain, it was Killian who wrapped and iced her ankle. His fingers that brushed against her skin creating sparks along the way. It was Killian who told her she didn’t have to go to the emergency room if she didn’t want to, even though all of her other friends were insisting she get it x-rayed. He somehow just knew that what she needed most was to stay in bed. He was also the one that brought her bear claws from Granny’s on his way home from work in the mornings. He stayed up long enough to make her coffee just the way she liked it and brought it to her before going to his own apartment to crash.

He had become her everything in that year since their meeting. Somehow a mashup of the relationships she shared with August and Mary Margaret. He was her doting friend that had also become her closest confidant. He was the one she went to when she saw Walsh in the jewelry store buying a ring. The one that told her she wasn’t as stupid as she felt. That the mistake of opening up her heart to someone wasn’t hers, but his for betraying her trust the way he had.

He went to her when he was struggling with work. With his new captain who was just a huge dick and how he was always getting crumbs in his stupid black beard. With a case where the evidence just didn’t add up. Even when he was pissed at Dave for interfering in his personal life. She was the first person to hear about is promotion to detective, and his subsequent change to the day shift.

They were everything to each other.

And that was the problem. She hadn’t realized it. Not at first. But over that year she’d come to rely on him like a crutch in a way. She craved his approval. Wanted to see him smile. To be the one that made him smile. She loved the way that his arm lingered on her shoulders protectively when they went out to the pub for Ruby’s birthday. The way his hand stroked up and down her arm, his thumb drawing circles across her clavicle. The way his fingers always tangled in the ends of her hair.

She wanted him. She wanted him in the way that love stories were written about. She wanted him to hold her as they fell asleep at night after a passionate night of lovemaking. She wanted him to wipe away her tears and then kiss her senseless until all of the bad thoughts were banished. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her. Emma wanted him to be her last New Year’s Kiss. She wanted everything with him.

She just didn’t know it.

Not until Mary Margaret pointed it out while they were taking down the old Christmas decorations. The holiday had passed by in steller fashion. Killian hadn’t been there, instead meeting his brother in New York. The Boston airport had been all but shut down and many of the flights had been rerouted due to weather. Killian had told her that he couldn’t stand the thought of Liam spending the holiday alone in a strange city, so he left early, trying to beat the storm as it raged across the north east coastline.

She’d been worried about him driving in such horrible weather, even offering to go with him. But he’d insisted that she stay, not wanting to ruin her holiday as well. She felt empty and alone, despite being surrounded with people. He’d called her when he’d gotten there the night before, as promised to let her know he was ok. Liam was already passed out in the bed next to him so he couldn’t talk for long, but he’d wished her a Merry Christmas Eve before he hung up.

The storm had only worsened overnight and the Jones brothers were trapped in the city, unable to get home until the snow had stopped falling and the streets had been cleared. So they spent the morning on Facetime celebrating the holiday the best way possible. Mary Margaret opened the presents he’d left for them and laughed at the NYPD Rookie newborn onesie he’d bought them. Mary Margaret still had a few months to go, but David had already decided that his son was going to wear it one his ride home from the hospital. He tried to get Emma to open the present he’d left for her as well, but she refused, telling him that she’d wait until he was back so they could exchange gifts together.

It took four days before Killian finally made it back to Boston. At one point she’d been certain that he was going to miss Mary Margaret’s now infamous New Year’s Eve party, and while it would have sucked for him to miss it, a part of her was secretly glad. Ruby was still insistent that Mary Margaret set the two of them up. That they should forget to take down some of the mistletoe. There was an exaggerated wink that followed and the idea of it had just left a heavy weight on her shoulders, a gnawing in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain.

She pushed that thought out of her brain when he returned though. The feeling of his chest pressed against hers as they hugged in greeting was a balm to her soul. One she didn’t know that she needed, and that was enough for her to forget the dread she’d felt.

She couldn’t believe that he’d remembered based on a random story she’d told him months before. He’d given her a magic eight-ball. As a kid she’d been naive and fallen for the story her mother had told her when she’d handed her the box on her 6th birthday. That she’d thought it was an actual lie detector test and she’d carried it everywhere with her, thinking it gave her a superpower, until a bully in one of her group homes had grabbed it from her, tossing it onto the sidewalk from a second story window. Shattering the ball and the last bit of hope she’d had in the world. And while none of her friends had understood the significance of the gift Killian had bestowed upon her, she cherished it.

She’d bought him a captain’s hat, telling him that if a man as idiotic as Edward Teach could make captain, than so could he. He’d smiled and kissed her cheek telling her “Thank you for the gift, love.”

She wasn’t really sure when he’d started calling her love again, just that it didn’t bother her anymore. In fact, it usually left her with a flutter. Not that she ever dwelled on that.

But then Mary Margaret had pointed it out. The way she lit up when Killian was around. That he did the same. The casual affectionate touches that they shared. The fact that they had more inside jokes together than she had with the rest of the group combined. The way they spent all of their free time together.

They were dating and neither of them knew it. Or at least Emma hadn’t known it. She couldn’t say for sure. She’d even gone so far as to deny it, but then she’d been reminded of the elevator incident.

They had come back from watching a Boston Celtics game. A skip had offered her his family tickets for her to let him go. She’d taken the tickets and cuffed him anyway. Perhaps it wasn’t the most upstanding thing to do, but they’d go to waste otherwise. So they’d gone, had beer and popcorn. It had been fun. It had been long. The metro line had been jam packed and they all regretted not driving to the stadium. The arm she would have paid for parking almost would have been worth it.

By the time they made it back to their building, they’d all been exhausted, and the elevator ride seemed slower than usual. David and Mary Margaret had both been leaning against the opposite wall of the elevator, but Emma had leaned back into Killian, allowing him to hold her up. Maybe she’d been too tired to notice the way his hand had settled on her hips, his thumb brushing dangerously low under the waistline of her jeans. Then again, maybe she just hadn’t cared.

It had seemed so natural for him to touch her so intimately. Anyone else would have received an elbow to the ribs or a kick in the groin, but with Killian, it was just normal. Mary Margaret had disembarked on her floor, giving Emma an odd look on the way out as David told them good night. Emma had been too tired to care what the look had meant though. When the elevator had opened on their floor, they hadn't discussed it. They’d just instinctively gone to Emma’s apartment and plopped down on her couch to watch Netflix. They’d woken the next morning spooning each other and neither of them had thought it unusual.

So ya, they were dating, and honestly, Emma wasn’t sure what to make of it. Especially when she didn’t know if Killian felt the same way. If he had butterflies when she rubbed his shoulders after a long day. If he felt a rush of heat when he saw her in her in one of her honeytrap dresses.

She spent all of New Year’s Eve thinking about it. Debating if she should say anything or not, but he’d winked at her in the hallway as he was getting in from work, and that moment, had solidified her resolve. She was going to find him at midnight and kiss the ever-loving hell out of him. To start the year off right. Maybe she’d even take him back to her apartment after for something more than movie watching.

There was a new dress. One she’d been saving for a special occasion. Something more meaningful than a skip. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, her makeup removed and reapplied twice. She even managed to find matching heels. The weather had cleared up enough that they’d even be able to go out on the balcony again, where it had all begun. Everything was perfect. She’d also severely underestimated how long it would take her to get ready though, and by the time she got down to her friends’ apartment, there were less than fifteen minutes until midnight. With the apartment full of people it was hard to move around, and even harder to find the man she was looking for. With five minutes left, she finally spotted Graham, slipping out of the restroom. She stopped him, grabbing his wrist to ask him if he’d seen Killian.

There were tears forming in his eyes though. Something had happened. Something with Ruby, and as much as she wanted her grand dramatic gesture, she needed to comfort her friend more. She had no idea that soon she was the one that would need comforting.

He’d been looking for Ruby, thought he’d seen her head into the bathroom. She’d been in there a while so he knocked, trying to make sure she was alright. No one had answered, but he’d heard moaning noises. Thinking that she was in trouble, he’d slipped into the bathroom and caught an eyeful of dark hair fucking Ruby with his mouth. Emma had had enough. She loved Ruby dearly, and would never judge her for her choices, but Graham was hurting and it was time that Ruby took responsibility for her actions. She stood to make her way to the bathroom but he stopped her.

“Emma, you don’t want to do that.”

Like hell she didn’t.

“I mean it. You really don’t want to go in there.”

He was pleading, a fresh wave of tears staining his cheeks and Emma felt every muscle in her body seize up.

“And why don’t I want to go in there?” There was a quiver to her voice. She felt so small and weak and hated herself.

“Please.”

She knew. Before she knew, she knew . As she stepped to the door, hand in the air ready to knock, she heard a scream. One final yell of ecstasy fell from Ruby’s lips, and she knew.

“Jones! ”

[wistfulcynic]

CSJJ Day 11: Finding The Altar Epilogue: Destination London

A little addendum to Finding The Altar, which I wrote late last year. I had a request to write Emma and Killian’s trip to London, and what could be better for @csjanuaryjoy than a New Year's honeymoon to one of my favourite cities in the world? This is a straight-up London tourist brochure, and I'm not even sorry. It's also sweet and fluffy and super short, like candy floss on a shortbread biscuit. Grab a cuppa and enjoy! 

BTW if you haven’t read FTA, you can find it here, or if you don’t want to bother just know that this is author!Killian and deputy!Emma, just married and expecting a baby, taking a trip to London together at the New Year. 

@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @teamhook @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree

Destination London: 

London was everything Emma had hoped it would be. Crowded, noisy, grey, dirty, but full of unexpected corners and surprising crannies, quirky and weird and just so ridiculously British. Suddenly she understood Killian a lot better. 

They did all the touristy things: Blocking foot traffic on Westminster Bridge to get a photo of themselves in front of Big Ben, Emma rolling her eyes as Killian explained that the clock tower was just a clock tower and that it was actually the bell that was called Big Ben; taking a tour of Westminster Abbey and dawdling through Poet’s Corner, marvelling at all the famous names commemorated there; dodging the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, Emma barely resisting the desire to pout because she was too old and too pregnant to climb up on the lions’ backs; shopping in Covent Garden; gaping at the Crown Jewels the Tower; taking a million photographs from the top of the London Eye. They walked hand-in-hand along Southbank, grazing from the food trucks there before taking a river taxi to Greenwich where Killian excitedly took Emma thorough the National Maritime Museum and the Old Royal Naval College, only wincing slightly when she lit up in recognition. 

“Oh, yeah, this was in that Thor movie!” she cried, grabbing his arm.

“Indeed,” he replied, with a long-suffering sigh. “Shall we go see the Greenwich Meridian?”

Their trip coincided with the release of Killian’s third novel, which had turned out just as well as Emma had predicted and suddenly launched him from a glowingly-reviewed but lightly-read novelist into a bestselling one. His agent scrambled to take advantage of this surge in popularity by arranging book signings and other appearances in London, waving away his protests that he was “on my bleeding honeymoon, mate,” and aided and abetted by an Emma who was so proud of her husband that she thought she might burst with it, and wanted to show him off. Eventually he agreed, on the condition that he be allowed to choose the bookstores where he did the signings. 

“London has some amazing bookstores,” he told Emma as they lay curled around each other one evening, her head on his chest, his hand caressing her rounded belly. “Bookstores and tea rooms, that’s what I love about this city. There’s no such thing as a decent cup of tea in the States.”

“We dumped it all in Boston harbour that one time,” Emma deadpanned.  

“Bookstores and tea rooms,” continued Killian as though she hadn’t spoken, “And pubs. We should go on a pub crawl.” 

“You know the rugrat won’t let me drink.” 

“You can still enjoy the atmosphere, which is most of the fun anyway. I’ll plan us a route. Through Wapping and along the river, I think, that’s where I used to live and there are some great old places there. We can start at the Mayflower.” 

“The Mayflower? Like the ship?”

“Exactly like the ship.” 

When they got off the Tube at Rotherhithe, Emma was astounded. With its quiet streets lined with brown brick buildings opening onto the riverfront, it showed another facet of London entirely. Of course she knew from her experience living in New York that large cities were basically a collection of neighbourhoods, each with its own personality and style, yet for some reason the relative peace of this little corner of east London came as a surprise.  

So did the Mayflower pub. 

“This is great!” Emma exclaimed, taking in the view of the river from the small wooden balcony at the back of the upstairs room. “Are all pubs like this?”

“Not in the least,” smiled Killian. “Many of them are dank shitholes, if we’re honest. But the good ones can be amazing.” 

After the Mayflower, they took the Overground train across the Thames to Wapping, walking hand-in-hand through more brown brick streets to Turner’s Old Star, with its spacious and charming outdoor beer garden, then on to the Town of Ramsgate, another riverside establishment with a stunning outdoor deck and riverside view. From there they walked along the riverfront path to the Prospect of Whitby, Emma’s favourite pub yet. She found its dim, dark wood and flagstone interior charmingly quaint, and its iteration of the now familiar outdoor deck with sweeping view of the river enhanced by the addition of a gibbet and noose. 

“Used for hanging pirates,” said Killian, gesturing with his pint. 

“Really?”

“Aye, primarily, though there were others. In the case of the pirates, legend says the bodies were left there to hang until three tides had washed over their heads.” 

“Damn.” 

“The hazards of a pirate’s life, darling.” 

They ended their day by taking a taxi to Limehouse and The Grapes pub, where they ate fish and chips then as they were leaving shook the hand of Sir Ian McKellen, who co-owned the place. 

“I can’t believe we met Gandalf,” gushed Emma as they cuddled in the taxi on their way back to their AirBnB in Belgravia. 

“What honeymoon would be complete without it?” joked Killian. 

“Today was really fun,” said Emma. “I loved all the pubs, I can see why you miss them living in Storybrooke.” 

“Storybrooke has other attractions,” said Killian, smiling at her, his eyes warm with love. “London’s great but it’s not my home, not anymore. My home is wherever you are.” 

New Year’s Eve found Emma and Killian dressed to the nines and mingling with London’s literati on the opulent balcony of the Royal Penthouse of the Corinthia Hotel, on the north bank of the Thames. It was pretty much the last place Emma would have predicted she’d be if she’d been asked a few weeks ago about her New Year’s plans, but she wasn’t about to argue. The penthouse was taken every year by the London branch of Killian’s publisher for the New Year’s Eve party they threw for their top authors, and the fact that they thought highly enough of Killian’s new book to invite him to the party that year made her proud enough to burst. Or cry. But that could just be the pregnancy hormones. 

Killian’s agent, a nervous, bustling little man called Smee, shared her pride, though his seemed to be focused slightly more on his own foresight in backing Killian through the less-than-stellar sales of his first two books and the vindication of his third one’s bestselling status. 

“I always knew you’d hit on the right formula eventually,” he blustered as Killian smiled indulgently and Emma ground her teeth, wishing the little man would stop patting himself on the back and let her enjoy the New Year countdown and fireworks with her husband. “It’s not easy to find that delicate balance between artistry and popular appeal, but I always knew that with a little encouragement you could— is that Ben Aaronovich? I’ll be right back.” He thrust his empty champagne glass into Emma’s hand and hurried off in pursuit of the author of the popular Rivers of London book series. 

“Ugh,” said Emma, turning to deposit the glass on the tray of a passing waiter and resisting the urge to wipe her hands on her dress. “He’s a bit of a rat, isn’t he?”

“Aye, that he is. But he truly did stick by me for a number of years, so I’m prepared to overlook it. That said, I think we should disappear before he comes back.” Killian grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away into the crowd. 

The Royal Penthouse’s balcony offered a sweeping view of the Thames, similar to the ones they’d seen at the pubs but considerably swankier, and neither Emma nor Killian could imagine a better place to stand for the countdown and fireworks display. As the London Eye lit up and the assembled crowds below began to chant the descending numbers, Killian wrapped his arms around his wife, resting his chin on her shoulder and entwining their fingers together over the swell of their child growing inside her. When the last number was called and the noise of cheers and fireworks erupted around them, he turned his head and kissed her, tasting the sharp bite of the club soda and lime she’d been drinking mixed with the familiar precious flavour that was uniquely her. He thought about all they had to look forward to: the birth of their baby, his burgeoning career, settling in to their married life together, and felt such a surge of happiness and contentment that it brought tears to his eyes. 

“Happy New Year, my love,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her answering smile before he kissed her again. “I have a feeling it’s going to be our best one yet.”  

(Some friends and I did this pub crawl a few years ago, and I *highly* recommend it!)

[caught-in-the-filter]

Six Sentence Sunday

(*gasp* I actually have a wip to post from!)

Here’s a little sneak peek of what I’m working on for @neverlandnewyear and @csjanuaryjoy coming in January:

“Are you sure?” He prodded with a smirk, “If you’d like me to keep you warm, love, you need only ask. I’d be more than willing to—”

“I said I’m fine,” Emma snapped, “and I’m not your love.”

“Suit yourself.” Hook rolled back onto his side. “Like everything else on this island, Neverland nights are not kind. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 13: The Spectacular Ms. Swan (1/1)

1959. New York City.

Women aren’t supposed to have their own voices and opinions, and they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny. Emma Swan, however, has a lot of opinions and is damn funny. She also doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Except maybe Killian Jones, a comic who has been her supporter since the day she bailed him out of jail after one of his comedy routines. 

Rating: Teen (language mostly)

a/n: I wrote this one-shot last month after watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and told @shireness-says that I was determined to get it finished before my baby showed up, and she said that baby girl would probably show up early out of spite. She didn’t and @shireness-says doesn’t get bragging powers about being prophetic or something. ❤️

Thanks to the admin at @csjanuaryjoy for keeping this GREAT event running!

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

It started on accident.

Really, most things in her life do.

There was the getting pregnant at seventeen and then having to get married because it was 1952 and all sins could be forgiven if she was married to the man she slept with.

“He’s a good man,” her mother had said. “A wealthy man. You’ll never have to work a day in your life. Think about the child. Think about your reputation.”

Then there was being a mother and learning that she actually liked it even if she did have things she wanted to do with her life beside spend her days cooking and cleaning and reading every book in existence to Henry until she had to begin making up her own stories to fuel her son’s seemingly never-ending creativity and imagination.

There’s nothing and no one in the world who Emma loves more than Henry, and that will never change.

But he certainly wasn’t in her plan.

Neither was actually falling in love with Neal or enjoying their life together, at least for the first few years. Because, well, he wanted her to be a housewife who always wore heels and measured her waist and her thighs every day to ensure she didn’t gain weight, and Emma much preferred wearing flat shoes and eating a hot dog at a Yankees game instead of a salad at home or some overpriced restaurant. So, of course, like any man who had a wife who didn’t fit into his carefully drawn out lines, Neal wandered away with woman after woman and always came back…to his secretary.

Emma saw them in her bed in the middle of the day, and as much as she had turned a blind eye in the past, she couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t say anything that day. What she did, instead, was drop Henry off at her parents’ apartment, go to the Rabbit Hole downtown, get drunk off her ass, and then get on stage and tell a room full of strangers the very intimate details of her life.

They laughed.

And laughed and laughed, and a woman sitting in the back of the room came up to Emma with a business card in hand and said to call her tomorrow when she was the slightest bit more sober because she thought Emma had a career in comedy.

So Emma called.

And now, three years later her son is seven, she’s divorced (thank goodness, she thinks, even if her mother is still disappointed in her), and Emma is traveling around the United States as the opening comedic act for the singer Sky Manhattan, which might be the most ridiculous stage name Emma has ever heard.

But she doesn’t care. Not at all. She doesn’t care about stage names or what kind of airplane or train she’s traveling on. She doesn’t care if she’s wearing the newest brand of shoes (she is) or the most on trend dresses (she’s got those too) with a fabulous collection of hats. All she cares about is that she has this thing that’s hers and hers alone. No one can take it from her or threaten to take her to court over it (well, actually they can, but not if she watches her language while on stage) and it’s hers. It’s not because of her parents or her shitty ex-husband who dumped his secretary for a woman who works at the Revlon counter or anyone else.

It’s because she’s damn funny, and she’s accidentally made a career of it.

She’s not making much money and still can’t afford her own place, but it’s a start. Who cares what anyone else thinks?

Oh, she cares about Henry. That’s the one thing she cares about most of all, and if he asked her to give it all up, she would. He’s the only one she’d do that for, and he’s also the only one who wouldn’t ask. Her mother thinks this is worse than getting pregnant out of wedlock, her father happened to walk into a show where she made a joke about her parents’ sex life, and the both of them have repeatedly asked her why she’s doing this and to stop doing this.

Now, they support her, but they also don’t understand. They both come from wealthy families, her mother the heiress to an oil fortune and her father a lawyer, and they’ve never understood why she’d want to go up on stage and tell crude jokes for a living.

(They’re not all crude, but it does happen sometimes. Okay, most of the time. It depends on the venue. But she’s gotten smart about that because jail is not something that appeals to her.)

But this is what she does, and when she’s finished touring, she’s going to fly back to New York, settle into her parent’s five-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, and spend all of the time that she can with her son. Neal never wants to watch him anyway despite his custody threats, so Henry’s always with her parents when she’s gone.

(“It’s not the man’s job to watch his child,” Neal says. “I’ll take him for a beer when he’s old enough.”)

The only bad thing about her job is leaving Henry, but they talk on the phone every night. She’s doing this so she can be happy, like she wants him to be happy when he gets older and is chasing his own dreams, and so maybe one day she can have a little something for herself that she didn’t have handed to her.

“Emma,” Ruby yells out, “be ready in five minutes. And remember today is a clean show, and what’s our number one rule for clean shows?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“And our second rule?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“You’re a genius, darling,” Ruby sighs, blowing Emma a kiss before walking out of the room with her heels clacking behind her. “And I’m the best manager on the planet.”

That quip was for Sky’s manager to hear, and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Whale will kill her if she laughs at that. Or cut her set time in half. Emma would prefer neither, but she guesses dying won’t really be that bad.

-/-

She only says fuck once during her set, it’s a complete accident, and only two people walked out of the restaurant.

Emma would call that a success.

-/-

“With olives please,” Emma tells the bartender, holding up two fingers.

“You know, you can simply order a bowl of olives, and they’ll bring it to you.”

A smile creeps up on Emma’s face, and she swivels in her chair at the sound of a familiar and far too cheeky British accent. “Killian Jones, as I live and breathe.”

“Emma Swan, as I breathe to live.”

“Oof, not one of your best jokes.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” He leans in to press his lips against her cheek, one side and then the other. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“At a bar in a hotel in Miami? The better question is what are you doing here?”

Killian scoffs and settles down on the barstool next to her, shrugging his suit jacket off and handing it to her. When she raises her brow, he nods down at her lack of sleeves on her dress and all of her pebbled goosebumps. “You’re chilled, and I don’t think your boy will take it well if you freeze to death on my watch.”

“It’s Florida in May. I’m not going to freeze to death. But aren’t you a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman.” He turns away from her quickly and holds up a finger to get the bartender’s attention. “Can you get me a glass of whatever your best rum is and a bowl of olives? And put her drinks on my tab.”

“You are not paying, Jones.”

“I am paying. It’s not often that I see my favorite comedian.”

“You’re full of shit if you say I’m your favorite comedian.”

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m my own favorite comedian, but I felt that was a little too much to say. I’m trying to be less of an asshole.”

Emma leans her head back and laughs before tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. This bar is cold, probably to combat the sweltering heat outside, but she’d never admit that to him.

“I don’t think you can be less of an asshole. Being an asshole is who you are.” The bartender puts their drinks and a bowl of olives in front of them, and Emma immediately pulls the olives off the toothpick in her martini. “I’m the opening act for Sky Manhattan. That’s why I’m here. We’re on tour.”

“What kind of name is Sky Manhattan?”

“It’s his stage name.”

“Fucking dumb stage name.”

“You’re so eloquent with words.”

Killian winks. “That’s why they pay me to talk on television.”

“They pay you to talk on television because you’re funny and you look like a man in every catalog on the shelf at Bergdorf.”

“You flatter me.”

“I try. I want your ego to become so big that your head explodes and you can no longer pop up in random places.” She takes another sip of her drink and leans over to gently push his shoulder. “Seriously. What are you doing in Florida? You live in Manhattan in a fancy apartment.”

“Says the trust fund baby who lives with her parents in their fancy apartment.”

“Hey.”

Killian holds his hands up in mock apology all the while his grin reaches from ear to ear so that his eyes crinkle and the blue of his eyes shines under the dim light of the bar. “I’m working on a show here. It’s only temporary. My contract is up at the end of June, and I’ve had this lovely place to call home for a month already.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Aye.”

“In the land of pastels and peppy waitstaff? Where the bathrooms are pink?”

“It’s a nice change of pace, and since I’m not paying for it, I don’t give a damn.”

“That’s more like you,” Emma laughs, twisting a little further on her stool and leaning into his space. “I’m going to be here for two weeks. Why don’t you come to a show? I think you’ll really like my routine and the guy singing after me is pretty good too.”

“Is that all you have to convince me?”

Her heart picks up its pace as Killian’s hand brushes over her thigh, a light and fleeting touch. “I can get you a free drink and all of the shrimp cocktails you want.”

“I was going to say no, but the shrimp cocktails really do it for me.” He leans in, closer now, and Emma very nearly closes her eyes in anticipation. Of what? She knows, but she won’t even let her mind go there. “I have to run to work. Why don’t you meet me here Saturday night? I’ll take you to dinner and show.”

“I’m working Saturday night.”

“We’ll go after.”

And with that, Killian Jones is throwing cash onto the bar top for a tip and then walking away, leaving his jacket with her.

Damn, she missed him.

-/-

“How was your last day of school, kid?”

“We had cupcakes, and I had two.”

“Two?”

“I wanted three, but Mrs. Horowitz wouldn’t let me have another one.”

“I bet she didn’t want you to spoil your dinner.”

“Cupcakes could have been dinner.”

Emma laughs and stands from her bed, pulling the cord on her phone with her. “Cupcakes are not dinner. Has Grandpa been feeding you cupcakes for dinner?”

“Nope. But he does give me chocolate.”

“Ah, of course he does. I’m going to be home to see you next week before we go to the Catskills for a few days and then I go to Vegas. Are you excited?” There’s no answer on the other end of the line, just a bit of static. “Henry? Kid? Kid?”

“His friend Avery is here, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely says over the phone. “He went to play.”

“It’s Swan, Ashley,” Emma huffs. She doesn’t want to snap at Ashely because she’s a sweet girl and helps with Henry far more than she should as her parents’ housekeeper. “Neal and I are divorced, and I changed my last name to my middle name.”

“I have to go, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely mumbles. “The boys are climbing on your father’s bookshelves.”

At that, there’s no one on the other end of the line, and Emma doesn’t get the chance to speak to her parents or tell Henry she loves him.

This is her life.

-/-

“Ruby Lucas, I am not going on a date with someone you met today.”

“Why not? He’s from New York, is here on a trip, and he’s cute. I think it could be a good match, and it’s been so long since you dated, which is different than sex, mind you.” “I’ve been divorced for two years and on the road for most of that. I don’t think many men want to date a divorced mother who is a stand-up comedian. Half of them think I’m a witch.”

“That’s because men are idiots.” “And yet you want me to date one?”

“One date,” Ruby sighs, slipping on her heels and smoothing out her skirt. “He’s got money, and he knows people who can sponsor you. Think of it as a business dinner and not a date.” “Well, I can do business dinners, but I can’t tonight. I’ve got plans after the show.”

“The dinner is before the show. What the hell do you have going on after the show? I don’t have anything booked for you.”

Emma turns from Ruby and fixes her blouse, tucking it in before raising her finger and brushing away the red lipstick that’s strayed to her skin. “Killian Jones is in town. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Well, if you’d told me the man you were sleeping with was in town, I would have changed the date of your dinner with Walsh despite me thinking you need to go on more actual dates and not just sexual rendezvous.”

“I am not sleeping with Killian.” “Please. You can lie to me about a lot of things, but I know when you’re fucking someone.”

“I have never slept with him.” She turns around so Ruby can see her eyeroll. “He’s a friend. He helps me with my routines when we’re in the same city, and he sends Henry an absolutely useless gift at least three times a year. So we’re going to dinner to catch up, and maybe I’ll get some new material for you.”

“I wouldn’t care about new material if you’d fuck Jones.”

“I’m going to fire you as my manager.”

“Never, darling. Now, tits up. You’re meeting Walsh Osbourne in the bar at six. Sweet talk him until you get a meeting for some commercial auditions.”

“I’m doing this for commercial auditions?” “We’re doing this to get our foot in the door for television. You can’t hop straight to one of the variety shows your lover Jones is on.”

“I will stab you with my heel.”

-/-

“Yeah, my son is really into baseball. I got him some tickets to the batting cage and a new bat for Christmas. He – ”

“You’re not funny,” Walsh mumbles after interrupting her in the middle of her answer to his question about what her son is interested in. “I thought you were supposed to be funny. What’s the point of dating you if you’re not funny? I knew women couldn’t be comedians and that you were just a nice piece of ass and a good pair of tits.”

It takes two seconds for Emma to pick up her glass of wine and slosh it across the table at Walsh. She’s been sitting at this table for fifteen minutes, and she doesn’t plan on sitting here any longer.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re also apparently a bitch,” Walsh spits out as she stands. “I have connections, and you can say goodbye to all of them.”

“I don’t need the connections of a sexist pig who doesn’t think women are capable of being funny. I can guarantee you, Mr. Osbourne, that we are, and if you take offense to women not laughing at your jokes or not telling their own jokes all the time, maybe you should look in the mirror and figure out that you’re the one who couldn’t tell a joke to save his life.” “Fuck you. I hope your performance is a failure tonight.” “It’ll certainly be better than yours.”

-/-

She kills it in her set. She’s fucking spectacular and funny, and everyone who thinks otherwise can screw themselves.

Everyone who thinks she has to spend her days only being funny and coming up with jokes can screw themselves as well.

-/-

She sees Killian slip out right before she closes and introduces Sky.

-/-

“Was I funny?” Emma asks, tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. She was going to give it back to him tonight, but it’s chilly again. Plus, he’s wearing a different fitted black suit tonight, and he doesn’t need it back right now.

“Pardon?” “How’d you like my set? I know you were watching.” “Was I?” he ponders, tapping his finger against his lips. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re being an ass, and you said you were trying to stop that.”

His brows move across his forehead, that same cheeky smile still on his lips. “I may have been there.”

“And what’d you think?”

“Buy me dinner first, and then I’ll tell you.”

They go to a restaurant that doesn’t seem to believe in white-colored light bulbs or volume limits, and Emma loves it. A band is constantly playing, dancers moving around the floor, and the steak she has is quite possibly the best steak she’s ever had.

Killian Jones has always known how to plan an evening and pick out a restaurant.

“Shall we dance?” he questions as Emma leans back into her chair, absolutely full even if she feels lighter than she has in quite some time.

“What?”

“Dance with me, Swan.”

“I don’t dance.”

Killian stands and holds his hand out for her, blue eyes sparkling even under all of the colored lights. “All you need is a partner who knows what he’s doing.” “And you do?”

“Of course, love. I’m an expert in…movements.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she takes his hand anyway and melts into the warmth of him as his fingers curl around her palm. “That wasn’t your best work. You’re slacking lately.”

If he responds, she has no idea. The music is too loud already, and it gets louder when they move closer to the band. The songs have been fast and upbeat all night, and yet the moment they start to dance, it changes into something soft, slow. It’s probably for the best. Emma really doesn’t know how to dance (or sing) despite everything asking her why she isn’t a dancer when she tells them she’s a comedian, and she’s pretty much got two left feet out here. So she places one hand more firmly in Killian’s, another around his neck, and they sway back and forth.

It’s not proper how close they are, body pressed tightly against body, but she’s never cared for proper.

She’s never cared for rules and expectations, and while that stung when Neal told her that was one of the reasons he strayed from their marriage, she knows that nothing he says is anything she should listen to.

It’s okay if he strays from the conventional path sleeping with her without them being married and going off and fucking his secretary, but the moment she doesn’t want to cook a ham every night, she’s the one who’s too wild.

He never thought she was funny either. That should have been the first sign.

“I’ve been thinking, love.” “I never like when you do that.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

Killian hums and turns them in a circle, his hand sliding lower on her back. “What were you thinking, Jones?”

“You’ve made comments about my jokes being off, and I don’t know…I suppose I don’t feel the need to be funny around you, and it’s nice. There’s not all that – ”

“Pressure? Expectation? The need to always be thinking two steps ahead?”

“Exactly. As much as I like bantering with you and coming up with new material, I like that I can talk about whatever the hell I want without worrying that I’m being too boring.”

Emma looks up at him and sees his soft smile and blue eyes she finds more charming by the minute. “I like that I don’t have to be funny with you, too.”

“Good.”

-/-

“So, quite the nice night.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s five in the morning.”

“Ah, well,” Killian sighs, waving his hand out to the ocean and the few boats moving over it. The sun isn’t rising, not quite yet, and she can still see the stars twinkling in the sky. “We haven’t gone to bed yet, so I still consider it night.” “Well, if you consider it to be night, how can I deny that?”

“You can’t. Where’s your room?”

“Fifth floor. Where’s yours?”

“Seventh.”

They walk in companionable silence until they find the outdoor staircase that leads to their rooms. Emma’s heels are in her hand, have been for the past few hours, but her feet still ache. She should have changed into her flats after the show, but she didn’t stop to think before heading to meet Killian at the bar. Suddenly, they’re standing on the fifth floor, two doors down from her room, and then they’re there standing on either side of her hotel door.

Killian blinks, and Emma blinks back, not sure whether to speak or to search for her keys. She might be too tired to think coherent thoughts. She also might not want this night to end. It’s the first time in a long time where she hasn’t spent hours trying to impress someone, and if she goes to bed, that’ll be over.

(She doesn’t want it to be over.)

(She wants just this one thing, this one night.)

“You’re staring.” “So are you.”

“Well, I do have a particularly pretty face, love.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, leaning against the wall and closer to Killian. “Are you going to tell me what you thought of my act now?”

Leaning closer, Killian brushes his hand over her forearm and up her shoulder until he’s tucking her hair behind her ear. A shiver runs down her spine, working its way into her bones, and her skin pebbles. “You were fucking spectacular, Ms. Swan.”

Emma’s cheek blush, and since she can’t look into the ridiculous blue of Killian’s eyes, she digs for her keys in her clutch and pulls it out, sticking it into the lock. The door swings open, the bed immediately in sight, and Emma feels Killian’s intake of breath. She also feels him stepping away.

It’d be so easy to ask him to come inside and ask him to unzip her dress and untie his tie until they’re both undressed and panting against each other, but it’s also just as easy to step inside without him, right?

Right.

(Maybe not just this one thing on this one night.)

“Goodnight, love,” Killian tells her. “I’ll ring you when I’m back in New York.”

“Henry and I will both be waiting.”

-/-

Neal calls her when she’s in Las Vegas two weeks later to tell her that she’s a horrible mother.

He’s seen his son once (for an hour) in the past month, and he lives ten minutes from him.

Emma has seen Henry three times, one of which was for four days in the Catskills, and she’s traveling the country on tour.

She is not a horrible mother, and she will not let Neal’s voice get in her head. Not anymore.

One more month of this, and then she’s home for two months before they go to Europe for the rest of the tour. She can do two weeks in Las Vegas and two more in Palm Springs.

She can.

-/-

Killian sends her a postcard from New York in the beginning of July.

I’m back in New York. Your boy has already convinced me to take him to a Yankees game. I’m sure we’ll be on our fourth visit by the time you get this.

I promise I’ll try not to corrupt him while you’re gone.

Killian’s an asshole.

But a good asshole.

(And maybe he’s not really an asshole at all.)

-/-

“Ah, that sweet smell of urine and concrete,” Ruby sighs as their taxi pulls in front of Emma’s apartment building. “I’ve missed you.”

“There’s been urine and concrete in all of the places we’ve been.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” Emma leans over and kisses Ruby’s cheeks. “It’s been fun, my friend, but I don’t want to see your face for at least a week, okay?”

“I don’t want to see your face for two weeks.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

Emma laughs as she exists the car and motions for the doormen to come and get her bags. She definitely has far too many of them for as much as she doesn’t care about clothes, hers seem to keep expanding. She takes one suitcase and a hatbox and quickly walks into the building and to the elevator, and the operator hits the button for her floor. She’s bouncing with excitement, her feet nearly coming out of her shoes, and she’s so close to Henry she might buzz right out of her skin.

“Mom,” he yells when she opens the apartment door. Emma drops her bag and her box and bends down until Henry is running into her arms. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, kid,” she whispers, cupping the back of his head. “I’m home.”

-/-

“My mother wants me to meet a man.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma brushes past Killian into his apartment, and she lets out the low whistle she always lets out every time she’s here. Whereas her apartment is filled with antiques and furniture that can’t be sat on (thanks Mom and Dad), Killian’s apartment is sleek and modern. It’s all clean lines and black and white decorations with little pops of blue. It’s a man’s apartment, and she’s always loved it.

Plus, the view of the Hudson is spectacular.

“I never wanted to be a woman whose entire life revolved around cooking, cleaning, and waiting for their husband to get home to not acknowledge any of that,” Emma rants, kicking off her shoes and immediately walking to his liquor cabinet. She can’t reach the shelf with all of his good stuff, but there’s a cheap bottle of rum just within her reach. “My mom seems to think that I need a husband to rein me in from my ‘rebellious’ phase.”

“You had a husband. You hated being married.”

“I didn’t hate being married. I hated being married to him.” “Ah.” “What?”

“Well, there’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference! I imagine being married doesn’t suck if you like the person you’re married to and if he doesn’t sleep with every woman he meets.” She pours both she and Killian a tumbler of rum and hands him his glass. He eyes her but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tilts the glass to his lips and takes a large gulp. “I just…I don’t know why my mom thinks it’s imperative for me to get married again.”

She walks over the couch and curls her legs underneath her while Killian sits in on the other side, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Killian clicks his tongue again, and she’s never noticed how much ginger is in his beard before now. “Well, you’re basically an old maid.”

Emma kicks her foot out at him. “You’re the worst.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “I am undeniably the greatest. And look, your mum is old-fashioned. She doesn’t get why you wouldn’t want to marry just anyone or why you want to spend your days traveling around the world making dick jokes. The one about his dick being so big it was a Richard was inspired, by the way, even if I did know that it was inspired by me.”

“I will stain your white rug with my drink.”

“I’ve got a very nice woman named Greta who knows just how to get that out.”

“Who knew being crude on late night television paid so well as to have a Greta?”

“You did, Swan,” he laughs, taking another sip of his drink before placing it on a coaster. “But back to your mother.” Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian pays her no attention. “She thinks the way to happiness is being married to a nice man and having him provide for you. You have to let her know that you don’t want another Neal or someone you’re only with because it’s proper. You want someone who you love and who lights that fire in your soul that you don’t want to be put out.”

“Someone who I don’t feel the need to be funny around.”

“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, a red blush dusting his cheeks, “someone who you don’t feel the need to be funny with, someone you don’t have to put on an act around.”

There’s always been something about Killian Jones that has unsettled her and yet made her feel comfortable. The night they met she had to bail him out of jail because one of his performances was deemed too crude by the police presence in the bar, and they’ve been circling around each other ever since. He’s wormed his way into her life, and she never really noticed. It’s been in short conversations and trading jokes at a bar, but then it was getting together for dinner and him taking Henry to Yankees games. It was dancing in clubs and almost, almost, almost asking him to come into her hotel room.

It was having him know her better than anyone else knows her.

Slowly, Emma rises from her spot on the couch and walks over to Killian, pressing down and placing her knees on either side of his thighs before she raises her hand and thumbs at the scar on his cheek while her other hand brushes his hair back. Killian blinks up at her, his mouth no longer smirking. Instead, he’s softly smiling at her, and Emma feels a long-forgotten flurry in her stomach.

“Emma – ” She leans forward until her forehead presses against his and until her nose is nudging against his. Killian’s hands are warm against her waist, and she feels it all the way down to her bones, seeping deep within her. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

“Being with someone I want to be with, someone who I don’t have to put on an act with.”

His lips are soft and gentle, a fluttering of a movement against her own, and it’s the exact opposite of what she thought kissing Killian would be like. She thought, if anything, they’d be drunk and stumbling across the room, clothes falling to the ground and lips not marking their intended target. She thought her mind would be too fuzzy to think.

That’s not at all what’s happening.

All she can think about is how much she’s wanted this, even if she didn’t realize it but in fleeting moments after nights of alcohol, and how natural it feels to have his scruff burn her chin and to have his lips caress hers.

This is good.

This is a fire she would never want to put out.

“You’re not going to regret that and talk about it in your act, are you?” Killian chuckles while kissing the corner of her cheek and then her jaw, his lips like magic.

“Regret it? No. Put it in my act? Absolutely. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it funny, though,” she sighs, pressing herself further into him, “because there’s nothing funny about this.”

“No, love, I don’t think there is.”

-/-

She wakes up the next morning to Killian kissing her bare skin and whispering words to her that have chills running down her spine.

They go to a Yankees game with Henry, and Killian buys far too much ice cream, not that Henry would complain. Not the Emma would either. She’s too damn happy for any of that.

And he doesn’t judge her for eating a hot dog.

-/-

All Killian wants for Emma is to be happy and live life how she’s always dreamed of living her life, not by whatever standards are expected for her.

Oh, and to keep on being the spectacular Ms. Swan.

(It’s Mrs. Jones now, but the stage name of Ms. Swan has a nice ring to it.)

(She keeps on being damn funny.)

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @csjanuaryjoy​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious (because we talked about it yesterday...let Lenny live 😉)

[lassluna]

CSJJ Day 27: Because of the Cat Part 2

We’re sleeping together but you got kidnapped? Guess I gotta save you.

AN:  My second contribution to @csjanuaryjoy this year, it's been an absolute blast taking part in this event once again. Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for taking a look at this in my time of need.

Ao3 FFn

“Are you alright Emma?” Elsa says, gently pushing the door open.

Her quarters are neat and grand, bright blue bedding; a perfect image of the horizon from her bedroom. It even feels cool despite the horrible heatwave.

But she isn’t alright. Not even a bit. How can she be when her heart is actually breaking?

“Did they hurt you?” Elsa asks. She can tell her friend is worried. Emma has barely spoken since she arrived. She just said the bare minimum, and refused to let go of Henry. She can’t bear to lose the cat right now, not after already losing something so important to her.

Someone.

“No.” she says eventually, but that’s a lie. Her wrists had been red and swollen from the ropes, and her head had had a deep cut on it. The people who took her had hurt her, taken her to Oz, stuck her in a dungeon and when they thought she was ‘desperate’ enough, brought her to Walsh.

Walsh who wanted to make a deal with her, who wanted to marry her, wanted to try to bully her into it. Make her seem like a slut for abandoning her people so that no one would ever respect her rule or marry him; those were her choices.

Emma was glad she got those hits in to the sniveling little man. Emma was glad someone else was there, someone who knew her enough to know that was never like her.

“Did the pirates hurt you? Did Captain Hook hurt you?” Elsa repeated, touching her still healing wrists, making her flinch slightly.

No, he saved me.

“No,” she repeats, trying to regain her composure, trying to heal her heart break. She wasn’t supposed to be broken hearted about the man that had supposedly kidnapped her. Emma gives Henry a small pat on the head. He mews happily rubbing against her, settled happily in her lap. “I just want to go home,” she says slowly. “I need to go home as soon as possible.”

//

‘She’s been through a trauma’ they say. ‘She’s gone mad’ others whisper.

It hurts to know they speak about her, think her mad to be turning down Walsh’s marriage proposal time and time again. But it makes sense. That’s what Emma needs: something that makes sense.

Her mother gives her all the time she needs, and promises that it doesn’t matter what happened. As long as she’s safe and happy Oz can be as annoyed as they want.

“You never explained about the cat,” her mother says one evening during tea, Henry rubbing against her legs. He’s grown quite comfortable in the palace, keeping the kitchen free of mice, and her bedroom free of loneliness.

He introduced me to Captain Hook one evening when I thought he was too skinny. I kept visiting him and his captain any chance I could. I feel in love with Captain Hook; Killian. When I had to say good bye, he gave me Henry so I could believe I would see him again.

“He helped me escape,” she says simply, reading her book. “Is Dad still trying to find him?”

“You mean the pirates who kidnapped you sweetie?” Snow asks. She nods. Her father has been in an outrage since she returned. He’s been mad about her ‘secret love’ and about the kidnapping.

“Of course. Your father is devastated that this happened right under his nose, possibly ruined your love, which I wish you told me about might I add.” Emma nods. “But I did have my suspicion.”

That catches Emma’s attention. “Your suspicion?” Emma repeats.

“You were always disappearing, coming back looking happier than I’ve ever seen you. I tried inviting anyone visiting anywhere close to the ball and your father told me you danced with Walsh and after the ball you seemed so happy…and then when he left, you got very sad…” she trails off.

It wasn’t Walsh, it was Killian she wants to scream. But she doesn’t. That would just make everything worse.

“I could never hide anything from you Mom.” she says, but her voice sounds hollow to her ears.

//

Emma is having a really bad day. Like seriously, she was a mess. She’d messed up at the war meeting, not that they actually were in a war; her father just likes to be prepared.

She’d called one of the advisor’s plans dumb, because it was dumb. It was a stupid use of resources and it showed how much they didn’t care about their people. Her father had been so proud of her. For once, Emma thought she could do this. For once, Emma didn’t think she would screw up the entire kingdom when she became queen. But then the advisor had pushed back at her, asking for a better idea which she fumbled at. Apparently it was rude to shoot down someone’s plan without having a better idea.

To make matters worse, she overheard them talking after the meeting, calling her a foolish child. They thought she was reckless and loose. They thought she would never ever amount to anything more than a frigid royal. They laughed at the idea of her ever marrying anyone.

Emma doesn’t care about their opinions, really she doesn’t. Her father always calls them old fuddy-duddies, always so behind on the times, but it still hurt. Hearing the words still hurt.

So maybe she doesn’t have the best head space going down to the docks, she feels like she ruins everything she touches. She always feels inferior and she can never figure out why.

She was never as graceful as her mother, never as noble as her father. So what if she’s had flings with some of the castle guards. She is human and shouldn’t be judged like that by her own court.

Emma isn’t frigid, she isn’t loose. She’s a princess. Emma’s more than a princess. She knows that really. Her parents always tell her so. She was supposed to be The Savior if the Queen had cast her curse. She was supposed to save everyone.

So why can’t she do any of this right?

Then she hears a small sound. It grabs her attention away from the horizon, and her problems. It takes Emma a moment to realize what it is.

It’s a cat. It’s a small, skinny grey cat. It looked hungry and sad. It wasn’t one of the ships she recognized, so she didn’t directly board and tend to it. She knew ship captains didn’t treat their animals right. Emma wanted to fix that. Usually she wasn’t a big animal lover, but seeing that pitiful thing made her want to help it. More than wanting to, she needed to. It was one thing she could fix; maybe she just wanted to fix one damn thing.

Then she saw the captain, disguised as a deckhand for some odd reason, but she knew instantly with those piercing blue eyes and curious smile that he was a man in charge.

Emma did board the ship to help the cat. She did, truly, but she did get a little distracted along the way.

//

“You have a letter,” Ruby announces, walking right into her room without knocking. Usually she appreciates her Godmother’s actions, not treating her like she’s damaged.

“If it’s from Walsh, just chuck it into the fire with the others,” she says sharply. It’s been months since she’s seen Killian and it hurts. She hears of all the places he’s going, running from the Misthaven and the Oz navies.

He’s in danger because he’s trying to protect her. Emma’s tried to fix it, tried to convince her father that she doesn’t want vengeance or justice; she wants to move past it. It doesn’t work.

“It’s from Prince Charles,” Ruby says, raising her brows into a wolfish grin.

Emma practically drops the book. “What?” she exclaims. Ruby’s grin widens.

“I knew it! This was the guy you danced with at least three times! Why in the world did you want to marry Walsh then?” she exclaims.

“Give me the letter Ruby,” she demands. She hands over the letter, leaving the room with a smirk that screams that it wasn’t over.

Dear Princess,

Having met you at the ball, I couldn’t stop thinking about you darling.

I hope I made an impression. I hope you have fond memories of that night.

I heard about your ordeal, I wish you a swift recovery.

Currently, I am traveling the realm, versing myself on the world before I settle down.

I hope to you see you soon.

Prince Charles.

Emma nearly broke into tears seeing his fancy script. She’d seen his writing on corners of books or on random scraps of papers. She never realized how soothing it could be until now.

Emma turns to Henry, who was fast asleep on her pillow. She presses a kiss into his sleek fur, causing him to roll onto his back and purr.

“It’s all going to be ok Henry.” For once she actually believes it.

It felt amazing to know he was ok. Better yet, it gave her a chance to write back to him.

//

I think of you fondly Prince. Perhaps you can come back to Misthaven someday. Currently, we have a pirate problem my father is trying hard to eradicate. I hear he suspects the scourge to be in Camelot. Is that close to where you are?

//

Camelot is a fascinating place. Full of rich history and even richer people, definitely a place a dashing pirate would hide. I, however, am residing with the fishes, or at least chatting up some mermaids. However, beautiful as they may be, none are as beautiful as you.

//

You’re such a charmer; I’m sure at least one mermaid caught your eye.

//

Only when they disguised themselves as you darling. I did manage to pick up a knickknack for you, though; a seashell. It’s supposed to let you communicate with your True Love every full moon.

//

Didn’t think you were one to believe in such things. Did you pick up one for yourself, hoping you’ll get lucky? Perhaps hoping little ol’ me will be on the other end? Maybe a handsome prince will be on the other end. You’ll just be introducing me to my soulmate.

//

I don’t think any prince could handle you, love. There’s a little pirate in you that’s for sure.

//

The letters come like clockwork and Ruby becomes more insistent with what was going on with her.

“Ever since the letters started, you’ve become more and more like your old self,” she presses, holding the next letter away from her reach. “But the funny thing is that Prince Charles had his invitation stolen for the ball.” Emma groans.

“It doesn’t matter, I know what I’m doing Ruby!” she exclaims impatiently, snatching the note away from her.

���Do you?” she responds. “You never even mentioned Walsh, and then I find out you ran away causing an international incident? How do I know you won’t do it again?”

Emma levels Ruby a glare. “Because I’m not a child Ruby; I learn from my mistakes,” she snaps.

“You’re lying about something,” Ruby scolds. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” she declares, marching away seconds before Emma can slam the door on her face.

I’m on my way to Agrabah, currently, so I’ll be unable to get any messages from you for a bit darling. Messenger birds tend to get distracted by the smells of spices and herbs around these parts, but I’ll be thinking of you.

She smiles at it, and formulates her response.

//

“Emma!” her father announces at breakfast. He seems livelier than ever, and she smiles at his excitement. She hopes it means he’s found something better to occupy his time than catching Killian. Really, she’s just waiting for him to lose interest to just let it go.

She’s told him over and over again that she wants it dropped, that she wants to move on with her life.

With Killian.

She has no idea how to go about doing that, but getting her dad to drop the grudge would be a fantastic start.

“They caught him!” he exclaims. “The pirate, Captain Hook. Oz’s navy caught him leaving Agrabah!”

Emma swears she’s stopped breathing.

“You don’t have to say anything Emma,” her father says, his hands on her shoulders. “But we’ve got him. I promised you I’d get justice for you for him ruining your wedding.”

Emma is not someone who breaks easily. She’s tough as nails, her mother’s daughter. But just hearing her father say this, this lie? She just can’t.

Emma absolutely breaks into a sob. Her father pulls her into his embrace and she feels safe for a minute; in her father’s arms she feels safe and protected. “They’re hanging him for his crimes Emma. You’re safe. I promise. You’re safe.

She breaks away from her father with eyes wide. “E-Executing?” she realizes. She absolutely can’t breathe.

“He kidnapped you on top of all his other crimes of piracy,” her father explains, wiping away her tears, just like he always does. But he can’t.

“No!” she shouts. “Father, please you can’t let them do this.” It catches him completely off guard.

“Sweetie…I know executing is not how we do things in Misthaven, but in Oz it’s a just punishment, especially after-” she doesn’t let him finish, she can’t. She can’t hear it.

“Daddy please, tell them to stop this, to wait. Don’t let this happen. If you love me, you won’t let this happen!” she practically yells. By then her mother moves, trying to comfort her.

“Sweetie-” But Emma can’t. She doesn’t want comforting, she wants to fix this. She wants everything to stop spiraling out of control.

“I can’t do this!” she says, brushing off both their attempts to help and rushes out of the room.

//

She doesn’t let her parents in, nor Hopper with his claims that she was having an emotional connection with her kidnapper. Emma didn’t want to hear it. She wasn’t a basket case, she wasn’t a victim, but Emma couldn’t tell them that. She didn’t know what to tell them.

The only thing she wants to do is be here with Henry. He’s calmly sitting on her bed, playing with her as she taps her fingers on the bed.

“Emma let me in,” Ruby demands outside her door. “I’m not above breaking this door down, you know,” she adds.

Emma doesn’t care. Let her Emma thinks.

“I have a letter Emma,” she says softly. “Let me in.”

That gets her attention. She moves from her bed and from her position by Henry. He mews in displeasure from having her stop playing. She goes to the door opening it a bit.

“A letter?” she repeats dumbfounded.

“Oh honey,” Ruby says, but she holds out the parchment.  It causes Emma to gasp. “I heard what happened.” she says as she hands it over. Emma can’t believe what she’s holding. She walks back into the room. Her name’s on it, but the ink looks older than they usually seem.

Emma,

I instructed Smee to send this to you in the event that I got captured. I’m sorry Swan, so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise to you. But it’s worth it knowing you’re safe and happy. You should know our time together has meant the world to me.

Before you, I was obsessed with what I lost, with avenging those I loved. I didn’t care if that meant my death. You saved me darling. You brought me back.

Don’t worry about me Swan. Don’t come for me Swan. I have no regrets, not a bloody one. Find someone worthy love, find someone who thinks you’re beautiful, and admires your fire. Never settle for anything less.

I love you Swan.

And not because of the cat.

Quickly Emma folds up the note, desperate to get it away from her before her tears ruin the ink, and blurs his words.

Emma needs to fix this and she has no idea how. Ruby’s behind her and pulls her into a hug and she lets her. She holds onto her friend.

“It’s him isn’t it?” Ruby says as she strokes her hair. “The pirate, he’s the guy you’ve been seeing for all these months.”

She nods. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“He never took me Ruby, never. He would never hurt me. Walsh. He took me. I snubbed him at my party. He was rude and so he had his people grab me.”

She hears Ruby intake a sharp breath.

“He was trying to trap me, trying to ruin my reputation. But Killian came to get me. We came up with this plan to avoid a war. You know Dad, he would have demanded Walsh be punished. It was the only way Ruby. It was the only way.”

She feels Ruby nod against her.

“But I don’t want him to die. I-I can’t be responsible for k-killing him.” Ruby pulls away from her, hands on her shoulders.

“I get it Emma. Trust me, if anyone understands it’s me. But it’s not over yet. Your father already wrote to the King. He’s asking them not to execute him. It might buy us some time.”

“Us?”

“So Emma, I think it’s time you met my girlfriend.”

//

It’s not that Emma never knew about Ruby’s girlfriend it was just that Mulan was busy. She was a free spirit, a true soldier.  She came and went wherever she was needed, from small towns being overrun by outlaws, to infiltrating corrupt kingdoms and exposing their evil.

She is a warrior, which is why they had to go all the way down to the docks to meet with her. She was in one of the pubs that even Killian avoided. It was too full of drunks egging for a fight.

“Mulan’s been in town for these last few days,” Ruby introduces, placing a kiss on her cheek. “And I think she’s the one thing that can help fix this.”

Emma smiles at her. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says and Mulan smiles back, but Emma could tell she was uncomfortable. She was dressed to a T in armor, a blade at her hip.

“Ruby tells me you need to save a prisoner?” she asks, getting right down to business. That was perfectly fine with Emma.

“Yes. His name is Killian Jones,” she says. “He’s been captured by the Oz Navy.”

Mulan hesitates. “Do you mean the pirate?” she asks. “I heard they captured a ruthless pirate.” Now it’s Emma’s turn to hesitate.

“He’s changed,” she admits. “He’s a pirate, but he also saved my life; risked his own to help me protect my people, and avoid a needless war,” she expresses. “I can’t let him die.”

Mulan nods. “I understand. Now what exactly do you want me to do?” She asks simply.

What did Emma want her to do Emma thinks. She wants to fix this, she wants to save Killian; she wants things to go back to normal. No. Emma wants more than just normal.

“I want you to get me into Oz, and help me take down anyone in my way to save my pirate.”

//

Mulan, true to her word, gets her to Oz in the back of a supply ship. It was far less comfortable than the Jolly Roger.

She doesn’t tell Mulan that.

Ruby stays behind and pretends to be her, locking her door and refusing entrance as she’s done. It’s just a little bit of time. That’s all she needs.

The castle is massive; she knows this, plated in emerald with many heartless guards ensuring no one enters. Emma can tell that it’s far more secure this time around.

But Mulan is a professional. When she can’t sneak or fight her way inside, she buys her way with a stack of gold. She tells a guard a simple story about wanting to catch her cheating husband at work with a maid. It takes a bit of convincing but it works and they’re inside.

From there, it’s easy to get down to the dungeon. After all, she knows the way.

//

She finds him eventually, in the depth of the dungeon with barely any light to see. She uses the sound of his voice to find him. Emma can hear him muttering in between rasps. Complaining really about anything he could think of.

She nearly gasps in relief when she nears his cell.

When she finds him, the first thing Emma realizes is he’s immobilized. His arm is shackled above his head, forcing him into a kneeling V position. His blunted arm is shackled in a way that he can’t maneuver out of and his head is hanging limply, yet he’s still making low sounds.

“Hook?” she calls softly. It makes him stir, but he isn’t able to lift his head to look at her. She falls to her knees in front of him, talking in a mere whisper as she places a hand on his cheek lifting him up to look at her. “Killian?”

The whole right side of his face is badly bruised, eye swelled shut, the other looking glazed over and distant. “Swan?” he says, his good eye narrowed in question. He looks like he doesn’t believe she was actually there.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she teases, giving him a peck on the cheek. “First me, now you.” Killian rolls his eye.

“The lengths I’ll go to for a second date.”

“That was not a first date.” she insists. Mulan quickly unshackles his arm, causing his entire side to drop and Killian to groan.

“Let me guess, Henry missed me?” he teases as Emma goes to support him.

“Yeah, I’m totally here for the cat,” she says sarcastically.

“Knew it.”

“Will you two stop it? We need to get out of here,” Mulan snaps, undoing the final chain releasing Killian. But he’s obviously too sore to move.

“You really shouldn’t have come here,” he says seriously as she struggles to carry his body weight. He’s trying to stand, but she can feel his muscles strain and see his eyes skew shut.

“I have to agree with you there.” says a voice. Mulan moves instantly, getting in between them and the presence, drawing her blade.

Walsh steps into the light, guards at either side of him. “Emma darling, here I was trying to avenge you; trying to get justice on this menace for ruining our wedding,” he sneers.

Emma glares back.

“Don’t you want that darling?” he insists, getting closer. Mulan steps in front, glaring at him.

“Not another step,” she demands. He does stop, not even looking at the warrior in front of him.

“You don’t do you?” he says confidently. “I thought he looked rather familiar that day in my room, when he took you from me.” Emma feels Killian tense in her grasp. “All it took me was a while to realize, a while down here for him to admit where I knew him from,” he says with a laugh.

“Sadist,” Killian spits out. Walsh ignores him.

“He’s that prince who ruined our dance don’t you remember darling?” Emma doesn’t say a thing. She tries to hide how everything was unraveling and she was helpless to stop it. “Prince Charles I recall, except I know the real prince and he assured me he was nowhere near the palace that day. He masqueraded as a prince to deceive you darling.” Emma doesn’t even blink.

“And you think if he hadn’t I’d ever want to dance with you?” she asks. “Seriously? You are a piece of work Walsh. An egotistical fool that thinks being royal means you’re entitled to anything. News flash, but that’s not how things work in the real world.”

His grin widens. “You already knew that he wasn’t a prince.” He laughs. “This keeps getting better and better. You are going to marry me, or you’ll be ruined, Princess. Ruined. Screwing a pirate? No one will ever touch you.”

Killian jolts in her grip. “You leave her alone,” he snarls going for him despite his weakened state. “I swear I’ll bloody kill you if you even think about slandering her name.”

Walsh is laughing, cackling with glee. “Did you hear that guards? The prisoner is threatening me. Kill him and the warrior. Keep the princess alive.”

Emma doesn’t wait for the guards to move, grabbing Killian as Mulan deals with the approaching guards. “Run!” the warrior orders.

They do exactly that. She takes Killian, him staggering next to her, towards the back of the dungeon, the same way they entered. It leads to an exit that is supposed to be unguarded for a little while longer.

“Swan-” Killian starts, but she shakes her head.

“She’ll be fine,” Emma insists.

“We can’t let him tarnish you love,” he says. “Leave me here, get to safety, they’ll never know you were even here.”

Emma blinks at his insistence. She doesn’t understand. “If I die here Swan, it’ll be his word against yours. No one will believe him. Your reputation-”

“I don’t care!” she snaps. “I don’t care about any of that. Not if you’re dead. I don’t care about any other man wanting me as long as I have you.” Emma hesitates. “You do want me right?”

He kisses her, a gentle thing, his hand coming up to her cheek. His forehead presses against hers.

“Til the ends of the earth Emma, my love.” he vows with a grin. “Now, let’s get out of this bloody place.”

“Emma?!” Emma turns suddenly, forcing Killian behind her. Her eyes widen.

“Bloody hell,” Killian curses and he’s entirely right, because her parents were staring back at her, wide eyed and in shock.

“I can explain?”

//

She does explain, but not fully until after the death of Captain Hook; he dies in that Oz dungeon from his injuries sustained in captivity.

On their way back home, they do come across a sailor escaped from Neverland. Long thought dead Lieutenant Killian Jones returns from the dead, and to Misthaven of course.

He brings with him news of The King of Oz’s long sought cure to actually be a deadly poison. They all agree it was just a tragic mistake of course.

She does explain of course, that while treating the brave Lieutenant’s injuries she falls hard and fast for him.

It’s only a coincidence of course that he spills a good deal of wine on Prince Walsh at Ruby and Mulan’s wedding.

It’s not a coincidence at all that Walsh doesn’t even show up for their wedding; nor that they name their first child Henry because of the cat.

[carpedzem]

The Darkness || @csjanuaryjoy

my take on how the darkness works. it didn’t tun out how I imagined but it’s still pretty close :) big thanks for @captain-emmajones who supported me a lot and to all discord ladies who helped!

[csjanuaryjoy]

Omg thats such a bad date, but a great ending. Fantastic job @stahlop

CS January Joy Day 23: Permission Granted

Summary: And Emma had been on her share of bad dates: the guy who couldn’t remember her name and kept calling her Enya, the guy that had to pull over before they even made it to the restaurant to puke on the side of the road, the guy that talked about his ex the entire evening and then called said ex numerous times and asked Emma how he could get her back. But Walsh, he was something else entirely.

Notes: This was inspired by one of those lists you can find on social media. This one dealt with people who thought they were better than someone else , and then were put in their place. When I read this story, I immediately thought of Walsh trying to pull this crap with Emma to impress her.

Thank you @profdanglaisstuff​ for being my beta and helping me get the story back on track.

Rated: G

Ao3

Emma knew within two minutes that this was going to be a bad date. Emma can’t believe that Ruby, of all people, set her up with the worst guy in the world. Mary Margaret she would have expected it from, but apparently Ruby was in the happy love bubble now that she was dating Liam, and since Mary Margaret and David had their little newborn bundle of joy, Ruby apparently took up the ‘setting up Emma on blind dates’ mantle.

And Emma had been on her share of bad dates: the guy who couldn’t remember her name and kept calling her Enya, the guy that had to pull over before they even made it to the restaurant to puke on the side of the road, the guy that talked about his ex the entire evening and then called said ex numerous times and asked Emma how he could get her back. But Walsh, he was something else entirely.

Emma had learned her lesson about blind dates picking her up. She always met them where the date was going to happen, that way she had her own mode of transportation to get out if the date went sour. The restaurant Walsh wanted to meet at was a pretty swanky place, and happened to be a five minute walk from her apartment. Emma wore a cute pair of black wedge booties with her dress instead of heels since she would be walking. Walsh frowned about the shoes right off the bat. He didn’t think they looked classy enough with her dress; a white dress that came to right above her knees and was sheer black on the top and sleeves. Then he told her how dangerous it was for a woman like her to be walking around town and he would have just picked her up if he’d known she was planning on walking. When Emma tried to interject that she worked in bail bonds and knew how to take care of herself, he went on a tirade about the criminal justice system, because owning an antique furniture store apparently made him not only a prick, but an expert in law as well.

And then Walsh insisted on showing Emma his boat. Now Emma had to admit she was intrigued. She loved the water and had always wanted to go sailing. She only knew one person with a boat and that was Ruby’s boyfriend’s brother, Killian. Emma had only met Killian a handful of times, not enough to ask to be invited onto his boat. She had seen it docked down at the marina, knew it was called the Jolly Roger, and knew that he thought it was hilarious because he too had a hook for a hand just like the literary owner (though Killian’s was the mechanical kind that could grasp items and not one that was sharp and needed only for pirating). Oh, and Walsh was a big ol’ fat liar, because they were definitely standing in front of Killian’s J olly Roger right now and not any boat belonging to Walsh.

Keep reading

[shireness-says]

Coming Soon: Seeking Shelter, Seeking Solace

1895. Emma Swan answers an ad in the paper from a man looking for a wife in order to flee Boston - only to arrive in rural Storybrooke, Minnesota and discover that her intended husband is dead. Left with no other options, Emma takes a position at the local tavern alongside the sullen, dark-haired barkeep with demons of his own. But what will she do when the forces she’s worked so hard to escape reappear in the new life she’s building, forcing her to turn to this unlikely savior for aid?

Presenting my contribution to @csjanuaryjoy​! Which, true to form, has spiraled from an anticipated 15k for the whole fic to 10k for one chapter, and the other two unfinished. I promise some delicious marriage of convenience, pining, and even some action. This will begin posting in a few days, so let me know if you want to be tagged! In the meantime, enjoy this preview:

Emma can’t help but fidget in her seat as her train tears across the Midwestern landscape. Though this was her choice, she still can’t help but be nervous; after all, this is a very different world from Boston, the only home she’s ever known. She’s used to bustling streets and the lap of the waves against the docks at the harbor, not these miles after miles of plains and crop fields. It’s almost enough to make her second guess this whole thing.

It’s not a mistake though, she knows. She’d needed to get out of Boston, as quickly as possible, and this had been the best of a variety of bad options. Emma has never been particularly romantic, even as a little girl, but in the few imaginings she’d allowed herself of her future, answering a newspaper ad for a wife had never factored in. Then again, her fantasies had never anticipated the particular situation she’s trying to escape: a man who wouldn’t hear no, who was willing to pursue her relentlessly, from city to city, always a threat on her tail. The security of marriage, and of distance, had only made sense. And then again, she’s never been sentimental ; true love isn’t something she anticipated in a union, or even particularly believed in, for that matter. 

The man she’s travelling to meet seems kind, she consoles herself with knowing. Emma hadn’t been particularly picky in selecting a man from the handful of querants in the paper, but Graham Humbert seems to be a good one. He’s the sheriff of a small town in Minnesota, who found himself lonely and wanting companionship.

I can darn my own socks and cook my own dinner, though neither with any exemplary skill, he had written. I’m not looking for someone to look after me in that way, regardless of what my friends’ wives think; I’d hire a lady to do the cleaning if that was the issue. I’m searching for someone to speak with at the end of a long day, someone to listen and to laugh with. I don’t believe myself to be a sweeping romantic, but I will be happy to give and receive a kind of gentle affection. Maybe we can come to love each other in time; I would be happy with that too, though I am not counting on it. 

She’d liked that about him, that amiable practicality so evident even in his letters. It’s what had made her agree to travel to Minnesota with the intent to marry him, really - the feeling that they viewed a union in the same way. There will be a trial period, of course, a month during which to decide whether the two of them will suit each other before anything is formalized - but Emma is determined to make it work. What other choice does she have?

The train will be pulling into Storybrooke soon - a tiny dot on the map, where Emma doubts anyone else will be alighting. All of her belongings have been tightly packed into two measly carpetbags in order to, hopefully, start a new life. Maybe it’s foolish, but Emma had splurged on a new, sleek jacket before she’d left the city, a cheery blue to pair with her navy skirt and white blouse in an attempt to impress. Mostly, she wants to look neat more than anything else: a capable woman, one who won’t be afraid to adapt to a new life with a minimum of fuss, one who won’t make Sheriff Humbert’s life more difficult. Pretty is of secondary concern.

She sees the town coming long before the train pulls into the tiny station, roofs and chimneys rising above the flat landscape and copious corn fields. Somewhere in this state, she knows, are hundreds and thousands of lakes; however, they’re nowhere to be seen here. Storybrooke itself is a bare cluster of buildings seeming to group around a single main street, with homesteads and farm plots doubtlessly stretching out to the surrounding area. It’s a whole different world from what she’s used to, but that’s the entire point, really; no one will think to look for her here, in the rural midwest as the wife of a sheriff. 

When the train finally pulls into what passes for a station, a single cramped building with barely enough room for a ticket office and a luggage closet, a man is waiting on the platform, sheltered from the late-spring sun by an awning off the station roof. The star-shaped badge on his coat and the way he shifts nervously from foot to foot make Emma think this must be the anticipated Sheriff Humbert. His hair is rather more golden than the sandy blonde-brown color Mr. Humbert had tried to describe in his letters, but Emma supposes that’s to be expected. She likely didn’t give a perfect description of her appearance either. 

Quickly, she gathers her bags and alights to the station platform with the assistance of a young porter. The man waiting quickly doffs his hat, playing with the brim in another nervous gesture. “Miss Swan?”

Carefully, Emma arranges her face into something she hopes passes as an amiable smile. “Yes, that’s me. And you’ll be Sheriff Humbert, I presume?”

“I - well, no,” the man who isn’t Graham Humbert stutters out. “I’m David Nolan, actually. One of the deputies here.”

Unexpected - but there are countless excellent reasons that Deputy Nolan might be sent instead. Trouble can happen even in a small town, dozens of minor disputes that can somehow only be settled by the sheriff himself. “In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nolan. I must admit, I was expecting Mr. Humbert. Pardon my mistake.”

“About that —” Deputy Nolan cuts himself off, looking curiously uncomfortable. It sets Emma a bit on edge, but there’s no way to dance around it - not when she doesn’t have all the information.

“Yes?”

Deputy Nolan swallows heavily, visibly, his fingers tightening around the brim of his hat again before he drags his eyes to meet hers. “I’m sorry to tell you, Miss Swan, but Graham - Sheriff Humbert - died two days ago.”

Of all the things she thought he might say, all the ways she imagined this might go, that certainly wasn’t one of them.