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jrob64 · 13 days ago

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A Fortunate Failure

A CS Modern AU One-shot for CS Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo

Here is my second offering for the Bingo boards created by @hollyethecurious. This one is based on the prompt 'getting lost in a corn maze'. Now I can cross off two spaces on my card.

Special thanks to @hookedmom for her beta expertise.

Summary: At Mary Margaret and David’s annual ‘All Things Autumn’ party, Emma and Killian hope to win the competition championship again. The final event to determine the winning team is escaping the cornfield maze the fastest, but when the two friends get hopelessly lost, they discover that losing might actually lead to the best prize of all.

Rating: T

Words: 3553

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

*********

Killian Jones finishes buttoning his shirt and checks his reflection in the mirror. Plaid flannel really isn’t his thing, but he’s trying to get into the spirit of the evening. Besides, when Emma Swan extends an invitation and tells him to wear plaid flannel, he will do it.

He will do just about anything for Emma Swan…except admit his feelings to her.

“Coward,” he whispers to his reflection. “If you don’t tell her pretty soon, she’s going to find someone else to date.” He doesn’t know if he could stand watching her with another guy like he had to when she dated that idiot Neal. Then he had to do it again when she went out with Walsh a few times, before she found out he was an egotistical liar.

Grabbing his black leather jacket from the hook on the back of his bedroom door, he double checks that his keys are in the pocket, then walks out the door and jogs to his car. He told Emma he would meet her at David and Mary Margaret’s farm at three o’clock and he doesn’t want to be late. That would be, in his brother Liam’s words, bad form.

As he drives, he hums along to the songs from his playlist. He chose every song on it because they remind him of Emma. Bloody hell, he has it so bad for her!

When he reaches the farm, he parks beside Emma’s yellow Volkswagen bug and sees that she’s still sitting behind the wheel, looking at her phone. She doesn’t seem to notice that he’s there as he gets out of his car and closes the door. He moves around the back of his car and taps on her window, causing her to startle and look up at him with wide eyes.

Killian could drown in the deep pools of Emma’s gorgeous green eyes.

*********

Emma could drown in the deep pools of Killian’s gorgeous blue eyes.

She’s frankly just so sick and tired of hiding her feelings for him. Her brother urged his friend Killian to move to Storybrooke three years ago when he was getting over a bad breakup. At that time, David told her the Brit needed friends, so that’s what she became. Now, she’s stuck in ‘friend’ mode, but oh, how she wishes she could move into the ‘girlfriend’ category.

At one point, she thought she could get over her feelings for him by dating other guys, but that turned out to be a terrible idea. Neal was a complete imbecile who thought women were inferior beings, and Walsh was an arrogant jerk. She sometimes wonders if she chose to date those two because in the back of her mind she knew that nothing would ever develop with either of them.

Killian Jones is the only man she wants to date, but he has no interest in being in a romantic relationship with her. So she settles for being his friend, because that way, at least she gets to spend plenty of time with him.

Tonight is Mary Margaret and David’s ‘All Things Autumn’ party. It’s highly anticipated by everyone in town and is one of Emma’s favorite nights of the year. For the first few years of the annual event, she sat back and watched as couples competed with each other in numerous events - cornhole, a scavenger hunt, as well as piggyback, wheelbarrow and burlap sack racing. Mary Margaret always tried to get her involved, but Emma was perfectly happy watching, laughing, and keeping score.

Once Killian moved into town, they decided to team up. Emma is even happier to finally be participating. It doesn’t hurt that most of the competitions require physical contact. She also enjoys sitting beside him during the hayride and around the bonfire at the end of the evening.

The best part, in her opinion, is trying to get through the cornfield maze the fastest. The first year she and Killian participated together, they were the winning team. He was so excited, he wrapped her up in a hug and spun her around until they were both dizzy. It was the best feeling in the world.

Now, as he stands outside her car, looking at her with those blue, blue eyes, she’s more than ready to have that feeling again.

*********

“Are you ready, Swan?” Killian asks, stepping back so she can open her car door.

She climbs out and stands in front of him, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “I was just studying a diagram of the cornfield maze. I think I’ll be able to mauever us through it in record time.”

“Is that so?” he questions with a teasing grin. “Could you be seeking revenge for last year when Ruby and Victor beat us by fifteen minutes?”

“I still think Mary Margaret led Ruby through the maze before the party that night. There’s no way they could have gotten out that fast,” Emma grouses.

The two of them start walking toward the huge red barn, which is the hub of the autumn-themed festivities. “Why would your sister-in-law show favoritism to Ruby?”

“Because Ruby is her best friend and can talk Mary Margaret into anything. Plus, she knows I wouldn’t cheat.”

“And studying the diagram beforehand isn’t cheating?” Killian asks cheekily.

She gives him a side-eye glare. “That’s called preparation.”

“Is it, indeed?”

“You should be happy your partner prepared so well.”

I’m just happy to be your partner, Killian thinks. Out loud, he says, “You’re the most competitive person I’ve ever met, Swan.”

“If you’re gonna keep making remarks like that, I might have to find a different partner.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

She rolls her eyes at him, making him grin again. They walk into the barn, where their senses are immediately inundated with the sight of fall decorations, smells from the abundance of food laid out on long tables, and sounds from spooky music coming through speakers and the large crowd already gathered.

Mary Margaret spots them immediately and grabs David’s hand before she heads their way. “Emma! Killian!” she greets exuberantly. “I was afraid you were going to miss the scavenger hunt!”

“I thought it didn’t start until three-thirty,” Emma says. “It’s only three o’clock right now.”

“You have to have something to eat first. Oh, you should try David’s chili! He added a secret ingredient this year.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s nutmeg,” Emma teases. “It might work in his pancakes, but I really don’t think it will work in chili.”

David chuckles. “It’s not nutmeg, and it’s not really that secret. I just used some of the jalapenos Mary Margaret grew in the garden last summer. We canned several jars of them.”

“He dices them up to put in the chili,” Mary Margaret gushes, gazing at David like he discovered a way to live on Mars. “Isn’t that clever?”

“Very clever, Mate,” Killian says quickly, giving a small tug on Emma’s sleeve. He’s pretty sure she is just about to make a sarcastic remark about Mary Margaret’s over-the-top adoration of her husband. Emma looks at him with a smirk and he’s convinced he was correct.

“Well, get yourselves something to eat,” David says. “We have some last minute things to take care of before the games begin.”

“One of them better not be showing Ruby through the corn maze,” Emma grumbles, as the couple walks away.

Killian laughs. “Perhaps we should aspire to keep Ruby within our sight at all times. Will that set your mind at ease, Swan?”

“No, because then we have to look at her hanging all over her new boyfriend, Jefferson. Victor was no catch, but at least he was only about a five on the weirdness scale. This guy is at least a thirteen.”

Killian’s grin couldn’t be much bigger as they head to the tables to load their plates. He’s looking forward to having a fun-filled evening with all of his friends. And with the woman he loves.

Someday soon, he’s going to have to tell her how he feels.

*********

Someday soon, she’s going to have to tell him how she feels.

Seriously, she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to keep pretending much longer, especially when he keeps giving her that heart-stopping smile. Plus, he keeps touching her; just little touches that send shivers up her spine. His palm on the small of her back, a brush of his hand down her arm, fingers combing snarls from her hair, sitting close enough for their thighs to touch.

It’s going to drive her crazy, but she never wants him to stop.

“Swan?”

“Hmm?” she hums.

“Is there something wrong with the food? You’ve hardly eaten a bite.”

She looks down at her plate, her fork hovering over it. He’s right - she hasn’t eaten anything. She has gotten too caught up in her thoughts.

“No, I was just…thinking about the scavenger hunt, I guess.” She scoops up some macaroni and cheese and sticks it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she adds, “I stuck everything I thought could possibly be on the list in my bug today. I swear, if Mary Margaret has tampons on the list again, I’m going to strangle her. That was so embarrassing last year! Especially when Ruby asked if a used one counted.”

Killian nearly chokes on the drink of water he had taken. “I’m sure Mary Margaret won’t make that mistake again,” he says after clearing his throat. “She turned beet red when Ruby asked that question.”

Once everyone is finished eating, the list of items to find is passed out and the hunt begins. There is nothing embarrassing on it this time and Emma is elated that she, in fact, does have a few of the items in her car. She deflates when Belle and Will turn in their completed list just as she and Killian locate the final thing they need, but gets over it quickly when she sees how happy the other couple is to receive the prize of two movie passes.

“Second place isn’t shabby, Swan,” Killian says. “It still earns us two points toward the overall championship.”

They rack up more points by coming in third in cornhole, first in the piggyback race, and second in the wheelbarrow race. They fail to place in the burlap sack race when they get their feet tangled together inside the sack and fall, then are disqualified for trying to roll across the finish line. Emma doesn’t care. She is laughing so hard while laying on top of Killian, who also has tears of laughter running from the corners of his eyes.

Before the final competitive event of the night, everyone loads up on David’s flatbed wagon, lined with bales of straw, then he tows them around the farm. Mary Margaret joins him in the cab of the tractor and turns so she can see her friends enjoying themselves, telling jokes and stories, laughing and cuddling together.

Emma scoots as close as she can to Killian and is thrilled when he drops his arm across her shoulders. She tentatively rests her forearm on his thigh and relaxes when he doesn’t pull away. They remain that way for the rest of the ride.

Emma is content taking in the autumn colors of the leaves lit by the waning rays of sunlight. When one particular maple tree catches her attention - so bright with red and orange leaves, it looks like it’s on fire - she turns to see if Killian is looking at it, too.

He isn’t. His eyes are on her, a soft smile on his lips. She has the distinct feeling he’s been looking at her for a while, instead of enjoying the scenery. “Aren’t the trees beautiful?” she asks.

“Aye, lovely,” he agrees, though he never takes his eyes off of her.

“I love the way the sun makes the colors so vivid. Orange, red…”

“Gold,” he adds, as she feels him sifting strands of her hair through his fingers.

“Killian,” she says with mock exasperation. “You’re not even looking at the trees.”

He blinks rapidly, then pulls his eyes away to look around. Clearing his throat, he says, “Mary Margaret and David are very fortunate to own such a beautiful farm.”

“Yeah, they are. David always wanted to live on a farm when we were growing up.”

They make small talk until the hayride is over. When they disembark, Killian offers her his hand to help her step down, but once her feet are on the ground, he doesn’t let go. She feels his thumb slowly stroking over the back of her hand, sending tingles across her skin.

He’s never held her hand like that before and she feels a sudden rush of hope that maybe he does think of her as more than a friend.

*********

Emma doesn’t pull her hand away from him and he feels a sudden rush of hope that maybe she does think of him as more than a friend.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her during the hayride. The way her golden hair glowed in the light of the sunset was mesmerizing. When she called him out for not noticing the colors of the trees, it was all he could do to focus his attention on them. Their beauty couldn’t compare with hers.

His hope is also fueled by the way she sat so close to him and seemed to enjoy having his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It felt very nice, very natural. It felt like something he would like to do on a regular basis.

As he stands in front of her, he has the overwhelming urge to admit how he feels, but knows it isn’t the right time or place. When that will be, he has no idea. He just knows he is sick and tired of hiding his feelings for her.

His turbulent thoughts are interrupted by David loudly announcing, “There’s only one competition left to determine the winning team. Grab your partner and come get your flashlights for the cornfield maze!”

“Let’s go,” Emma says, tugging on his hand. “It’s time for us to nail down the championship!”

Killian willingly follows behind her, chuckling at her enthusiasm and determination. He’s happy because in this competition, she is a force to be reckoned with and he’s her partner.

Emma grabs a flashlight out of the basket Mary Margaret is carrying and tests it to make sure it works. Then she takes Killian’s hand again and marches them over to the entrance of the cornfield maze. While most of the couples are milling around and chatting, she edges them to the front of the pack so they’ll be one of the first ones to enter the maze.

When David blows the air horn signaling the start, Emma takes off running with Killian on her heels. Everyone is bunched up until they get to the first division in the path. Most of the group, including Emma and Killian, go to the left, while a few couples split off to the right.

At every intersection, the crowd gets slimmer as they make their choice of direction. Before long, the only ones still going down the same path as Emma and Killian are Ruby and Jefferson. Killian shakes his head fondly as he watches the two women elbowing each other, trying to gain an advantage.

Emma looks back at him and he gives her a thumbs up, his heart swelling at the smile she gives him in return.

*********

Emma sees Killian give her a thumbs up and her heart swells, causing her to give him a smile in return, even though they’re in the middle of a fierce competition.

The further they go into the maze, the darker it becomes since the tall corn stalks block out most of the moonlight. The circle of light their flashlight throws off isn’t enough to illuminate more than about a four foot diameter in front of them, which is a little disconcerting.

When they reach another fork in the path, she exchanges a challenging look with Ruby, then grabs Killian’s hand and heads in the opposite direction as the other couple.

“Are you quite sure this is the way to go?” Killian asks.

“When I looked at the diagram, I counted the number of right and left turns. I’m pretty sure this one was supposed to be to the left.”

“I trust your judgment, Swan.”

They walk on for several minutes, making a few more turns. Their pace gradually slows and finally comes to a stop.

“Is something wrong?” Killian asks.

Emma stands stock still, turning her head back and forth. “Do you hear anyone else?”

He cocks his head and listens intently. Then he shakes his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“That means either we’re way ahead of everyone else or…”

“Or we’re lost?”

She turns to face him. “Yeah. I think we should have turned the same way as Ruby and Jeff back there.”

“We can head back…” he begins.

“No, let’s just keep going. There’s probably more than one way out of here.”

They continue on in silence, except for the crunch of the flattened corn stalks under their feet. At every intersection, they discuss which direction to go. After another ten minutes, Emma comes to a stop. “I think we’re hopelessly lost. I’m sorry, Killian.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry, Emma.”

“I was so sure I could lead us out of this maze before anyone else, but I failed.”

He steps in front of her, his face nearly obscured by shadows. “The night isn’t over yet.”

“Do you really think we can still win?”

He moves a little closer and she tilts the flashlight up so she can see his face more clearly. He is looking at her fixedly, an ambiguous look on his face.

“There’s more than one way to win tonight,” he says quietly.

“Do you have a way to fly out of here or something?”

He chuckles. “No, nothing like that.”

“How can we win, then?”

He takes another step forward and reaches up to cup her face in his hands. She draws in a quick breath, a hopeful thought entering her mind.

Is he going to kiss her?

*********

He’s going to kiss her.

He looks deeply into her eyes, hoping to see acceptance. Even in the dim light, he finds it. She wants this, too.

Leaning in, he tentatively touches his lips to hers once, twice. When he pulls back slightly, she follows him, her lips chasing his. He takes advantage of the opportunity and draws her into her arms to kiss her again. This time, the tentativeness is gone, replaced by eagerness and passion.

Gods, how he’s longed for this day, imagined it so often. And now he knows - reality is so much better. Her lips are pliant, soft and sweet.

He hears her whisper something and murmurs, “What did you say, Love?”

She rests her forehead against his, her breath ghosting over his lips. “It’s about time.”

He pulls away a little, blinking in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

“If it’s half as long as I’ve wanted to kiss you, it’s a very long time.”

She gives him that heart-melting smile he loves so much. The one she seems to only give to him. “Do you remember the first year we won the cornfield maze and you picked me up and spun me around?”

“Aye.”

“When you set me down and looked at me, for a second I thought you were going to kiss me. Ever since then, I wished you would.”

His brows shoot up. “That long ago?”

“How long has it been for you?” she asks.

“From the moment I met you.”

Now her brows climb up her forehead. “Seriously? I thought you were getting over a breakup and was only looking to make new friends.”

“I did want to make new friends and wasn’t looking for anyone to date but you…there was just something there…a spark between us. At least, on my part.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m a bloody fool and a coward. Even when I saw you going out with those two wankers, I couldn’t work up the nerve to tell you how I felt. I guess I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same and it would make things awkward between us.”

“I was an idiot to go out with them. I thought if I found someone else, I could get over my feelings for you. It didn’t work.”

“I’m very happy it didn’t.”

“So…what do we do now?” she asks.

“Well,” Killian smirks, swaying her back and forth in his arms, “now I suppose we should find our way out of this bloody maze.”

She wraps her arms more tightly around his neck to pull him closer. “We don’t need to be in any hurry.”

His eyes grow comically wide. “Who are you and what have you done with Emma Swan?”

She playfully slaps the back of his head. “Shut up and kiss me, Jones.”

He happily does as told.

Ruby and Jefferson end up winning the team competition, but Emma and Killian win each other. That is, by far, the sweetest prize of all.

*********

Thank you for reading! Be sure to check out all of the great stories and art in the CSSpookyAutumnalBingo2024 collection on Ao3.

Tagging:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4

@hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper

@lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling

@andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @zaharadessert @lyssapup27

@undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat

@teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90

@apiratewhopines @hollyethecurious @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate

@caught-in-the-filter @stahlop @veryverynotgoodwrites @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @earanemith @superchocovian @idristardis @captainswan-kellie

@beckettj @killihan-jones

#a fortunate failure #jrob64 #spooky/autumnal bingo #cs modern au #friends to lovers #mutual pining #csff #captain swan fanfiction #cs one-shot

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 4 months ago

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The Role of Daddy Charming--A birthday gift for @jrob64

The Role of Daddy Charming

Rating: PG

Relationship: Daddy Charming and Captain Swan

Summary: 4x2 “deleted scene”. David Nolan had played many roles in his life, but by far the one he's found most important was that of “dad”. The fact that he hadn’t been able to be there for Emma throughout the first 28 years of her life was one of his greatest regrets, so when he noticed the infamous Captain Hook’s interest in his daughter–and even more concerning, her returning that interest–he was determined to intervene. That is, of course, until she was trapped behind an ice wall, and David saw just how deeply and sincerely Killian Jones truly loved her.

Also posted here: ao3

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay

@ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @brooke-to-broch

@missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich

@jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma

@daxx04 @nickillian @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst

@kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes

@hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82

@therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's finally done! I'm sorry your birthday gift is 11 days late @jrob64, but I hope you've at least enjoyed the little snippets I posted on discord as I wrote this! Happy belated birthday!

And without further ado....

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Throughout his life, David Nolan had played many roles. He’d been a son, a brother, a shepherd, a prince, a vet tech, a sheriff’s deputy, but by far, the roles he took most seriously were his roles as husband and father.

If there’s one thing he’d known all his life, it was that he wanted to be a better father than he’d had. He wanted to be present in his children’s lives. He’d vowed never to abandon them.

And so it was the greatest regret of his life that he’d done just that mere minutes after his daughter was born.

Granted, he was forced into the action; it was necessary to protect Emma and give her her best chance. Still, the shame and heartbreak of that decision had haunted him for the past twenty-nine years.

Surprisingly, during the first curse he’d felt it still, even if he hadn’t known what it was. More often than he cared to recall, he’d had vague dreams of the black knights, of the wardrobe, of being ripped from someone vitally important to him. The gloom and near despair of those dreams hung over him like a thundercloud. He’d woken feeling–knowing–that he wasn’t enough, that he’d failed at the most important task of his life.

Once he’d regained his memories and once he realized Emma was back in his life, he’d vowed to make up for lost time, to be the father she’d always needed, to protect her at all costs.

And so it was, when he sat at his kitchen table silently sipping his coffee and staring sightlessly out the window on the morning after the incident at the ice wall, he felt relief…but also helplessness. He’d almost lost her. Again.

Snow came up behind him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek before taking a seat next to him.

“That’s quite the bleak look on your face,” she whispered. Elsa was, after all, presumably still asleep behind the curtain they’d draped in front of the sofa to give her a bit of privacy. “Yesterday really shook you up, didn’t it?”

He blew out a long breath. “She came this close to freezing to death on my watch, Snow.”

She took his hand and squeezed it. “But she didn’t. From all I’ve heard, you were magnificent. Took charge and found a way to save her.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “I was terrified, but Killian…Killian was, if anything, even worse. Never seen a man so completely panicked.”

“He loves her,” she said simply, a radiant smile on her face. “I wouldn’t have believed it when we first met him in the Enchanted Forest, but he’s a good man, and he truly loves her.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that impression,” David agreed. “Did you know I gave him that ‘What are your intentions with my daughter?’ speech yesterday before…well…everything?”

“Really? What did he say?”

“First he gave me hell for being old-fashioned, and then he told me he wouldn’t risk his life for someone he considered loot. And if there was still any doubt in my mind before the ice wall incident, his reaction removed it. Whatever else I could say about him, I know he loves her.”

Snow sipped her coffee. “Maybe you should tell him that. Give him your blessing, if you will.”

David grimaced. He may be–grudgingly–willing to admit it to his wife in the privacy of their own kitchen, but admitting it to Hook’s face…well, he wasn’t sure. “Yeah, maybe when I see him again,” he hedged.

“Perfect,” Snow said. “You’ll probably have the opportunity any minute, whenever Emma and Hook get up.”

“What?!”

“He stayed the night with her,” Snow said with a grin. “You didn’t know?”

As if to confirm Snow’s statements, Emma and Killian emerged together from the loft. David felt his innate protective dad instincts flared to life. If Hook had taken advantage of Emma in her vulnerable post-nearly-freezing-to-death state…

“Remember what we just talked about. He loves her,” Snow murmured only loud enough for him to hear.

David let out a long breath. She was right. Reacting badly now would likely only make things worse. “Fine,” he murmured back.

“Morning!” Snow called sunnily to the couple entering the kitchen, as well as Elsa who had just emerged from behind her curtain. “Anyone want breakfast?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to get to the station,” Emma said, “I’m sure the phones were blowing up last night with calls about the ice wall.”

“I also must decline,” Killian said, scratching behind his ear. “I should…get back to Granny’s.”

“See you later for lunch?” Emma asked, looking up at Hook with an open–and what David thought was rather nauseatingly besotted–look. At his answer in the affirmative, she headed out.

Snow nudged David, and he rolled his eyes. No time like the present, he supposed. “Let me give you a lift back to town, Hook,” he said, “I’m headed that direction anyway.”

Hook gave him a wary look, and for a moment, David hoped he was about to decline the offer.

No such luck.

“I’d appreciate it, mate.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first minute of their drive was passed in silence. Killian side-eyed David uncomfortably, wondering when the questions–or probably more precisely, the accusations–would start.

His first inclination was to rile the man up further with sly grins and insinuations about what went on in the Charming’s loft the night before–after all his dashing rapscallion persona was a clock he’d worn as a shield for more years than he could count–but he quickly dismissed it.

This was Swan’s father. If he truly wished to have a relationship with her–and he did; he wished for a relationship lasting roughly in the neighborhood of forever–it wouldn’t do to antagonize her father. There was also the fact that he genuinely liked the man, and so…

“You know nothing…untoward…happened last night,” Killian said.

David glanced at him before turning back to the road with a grimace. “Didn’t ask. Don’t want to know.”

“Nevertheless,” Killian continued, “Your daughter and I certainly have more respect for you and Snow than to…engage in certain activities…underneath your very nose, not to mention the fact that her lad slept not ten feet from us.”

“Like I said, I didn’t ask,” David repeated, although Killian noted the way the other man’s face relaxed slightly at the reassurance.

“She was still cold,” Killian continued, somehow feeling the need to continue his justification. “She asked for me to hold her, and I couldn’t refuse. After coming so bloody close to losing her…”

David pulled into a parking spot in front of Granny’s but didn’t yet kill the engine. The look he gave Killian this time was sympathetic, understanding. “Almost losing the woman you love does things to a man.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “It was the same feeling of dread, of helplessness, as when the Crocodile crushed Milah’s heart in front of me. If it had happened again….”

David placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It didn’t,” he said firmly. “I’ve been trying to remind myself of that all day. It didn’t. You didn’t lose your love and I didn’t lose my daughter.”

There was a long silence, in which Killian wondered if he ought to simply exit the vehicle. He’d just reached for the door handle to do so when David spoke again, this time looking determinedly out the front window, rather than at him.

“There is….something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Aye?”

“That conversation we started to have yesterday, right before everything went to hell…” he continued, “look, I think I was wrong to ever question your intentions.”

“There’s no need to–” Killian began.

“I think there is,” David replied, finally turning toward to him. “It’s been obvious for a while that you love Emma, and it’s not a love that’s going away anytime soon.”

“It’s not a love that’s going away ever,” Killian said firmly.

“Yeah, I’m inclined to believe that” David said. “Anyway, if there ever had been any question about your feelings and intentions, yesterday got rid of them. I saw how willing you were to do anything to save her. I supposed what I’m trying to say is…I apologize for ever doubting you.”

Killian’s eyes widened. Of all the things he’d expected the prince to say to him “I apologize” was rather far down on the list. ��Apology accepted, although it is wholly unnecessary. As someone who does truly love her, I’m pleased she has a father who cares enough to be a touch over-protective.”

David gave a quick, decisive nod. “I won’t be old fashioned enough to give you my blessing,” he said, “but…I won’t oppose your relationship.”

“That means a great deal to me,” Killian said, “and I know it would mean a lot to Swan as well.”

“Yeah, well,” David said, “just so we’re clear, if you ever hurt her, I’ll run you through with my sword.”

Killian nodded. “Mate, if I ever hurt her, I’d let you do it with my own.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that night, Emma was vegging on the couch when her dad finally made it home. After tossing his jacket onto the coat rack, he joined her, gave her a quick hug and kissed the top of her head. She was slowly but surely getting used to this casual affection from her parents, and it always gave her such a warm, fuzzy, loved feeling.

“Crazy day, huh?” he asked wryly.

Emma chuckled. “I guess that depends on what you’re comparing it to. For Storybrooke it was ho hum.”

It had certainly been a busy day. As she’d expected, they’d had more calls than she could count about the ice wall and the snow monster–or whatever it had been–that had crashed through the town yesterday. While she and her dad had both been working, they’d been so busy with calls and patrols, they’d barely had a chance to exchange a word all day.

“I guess you’re right about that,” David laughed. “Any day that doesn’t involve a new villain, monster or crisis is a win around here.”

They lapsed into silence for several moments before Emma spoke again, “Killian told me about your conversation this morning.”

David gave her a wary look. “Before you say anything, I do know you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”

She grinned. “That’s what Killian said at lunch when I started ranting about you treating me like a teenager. Nothing happened last night, by the way.”

“I know. Killian told me.”

“Dad,” she said, and her heart turned over at the joy on his face at her use of the word. “I just….I just want to thank you for, you know, caring and doing whatever you had to to save me.”

“No thanks necessary,” he said. “You’re my daughter. I’m always, always going to do everything in my power to help you, no matter the situation.”

She felt the tears come to her eyes. “I think I’m finally starting to realize that. Sorry it’s taken so long. It’s just…I’m not used to having a dad, someone in my corner no matter what.”

Pain came into his eyes at that, and Emma realized how her words had come across. “I’m not blaming you,” she said quickly. “I know you did what you had to to give me my best chance.”

“Still,” David said, “I wish more than anything that I’d been able to be the father you needed and deserved from the beginning.”

“I wish that too,” she murmured, almost under her breath, “but the past is the past. You’re here now, and that means everything.”

“And I always will be,” David vowed with a decisive nod.

They lapsed into another silence, broken only by a few soft whimpers from baby Neal as Mary Margaret worked to put him down for the night–or at least as much of the night as he was willing to sleep at any one stretch.

“You know, I wasn’t the only one working frantically to save you last night,” David said slowly.

Emma felt her heart stutter and then soar as she thought of the man to whom her father was referring. “I know. Killian told me he’d been worried about me too.”

David blew out a long breath. “Worried is an understatement. He was absolutely frantic. Emma, that man loves you.”

Emma felt the butterflies, that swooping half-excited, half-terrified feeling one gets when she falls head over heels. She would have to be blind not to see that Killian had fallen in love with her, and she had the sneaking suspicion that somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love with him as well. Was she ready to admit it? She wasn’t sure. That level of vulnerability was scary as hell.

“Yeah, maybe so,” she hedged, trying to make her voice as even as possible, “and I…I…appreciate it.”

David gave her a long look. “Emma, I know it’s hard for you to trust. I know it’s hard for you to let yourself believe, and I will have your back one hundred percent whatever you do, but for what it’s worth, I’d give him a chance if I were you.”

“So does that mean you think he’s good enough for me?” Emma teased, uncomfortably aware of the momentous nature of the topic at hand and feeling the need to lighten the mood..

David chuckled. “You’re my daughter. No one’s good enough for you, but I suppose if you have to be with someone, he’ll do.”

#captain swan fanfiction #daddy charming fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #4x2 deleted scene #my fanfiction #fandom friends' birthday gifts

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laianely · 4 months ago

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No Rest For The Immortals, Chapter 4

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @qualitycoffeethings

#cssns24 #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #ouat #once upon a time #laianely’s fanfics #no rest for the immortals

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cs-c-ocktoberfest2023 · 1 year ago

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…Are you ready?

Captain Swan CS Cocktoberfest is HERE!!!!!!!!

Two Options for Day 1:

Caught in the Act OR One Night Stand

***Remember to tag #cscf23 ***

#cscf23 #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #cs smut #cs ff

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searchingwardrobes · 10 months ago

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I'm back!!! After months and months of creative exhaustion and writer's block, this story came to me one night when I couldn't sleep. It's just a little one shot of pillow talk in Camelot that's a little fluffy, a tiny bit angsty, and a whole lot of tenderness. I hope you all enjoy it!

Rated T

Killian wished for the first time for those garish artificial lights of Storybrooke. As Emma said, he was becoming a 21st century man, and he had come to enjoy the ability to see his beloved in all her glory, even after the sun went down. Here in Camelot, however, he had to rely on his sense of touch alone to map the marks on Emma he had come to know so well.

“You and I, we understand each other,” Emma had said once, and the longer they were together, the more they saw it to be true. Though many a woman had warmed his bed, he still felt self-conscious the first time Emma saw the scars that riddled his body, yet she had smiled in that knowing way she had, and had cheekily said, “let me show you mine.”

His thumb now grazed the puckered one on her shoulder, a form of punishment by a foster father using the tip of his cigar. He nudged her hair aside with his nose, then lightly brushed his lips across the faint white line behind her right ear, caused by a broken beer bottle.

“I thought I ducked in time,” Emma had chuckled when she told him the story, “until I felt the trickle of blood dripping down my neck.”

He knew what it was to make light of a person’s past, as if childhood slavery was just one of those things that happens sometimes. There was nothing normal about it, however, just as there was nothing normal about Emma living in an alleyway at the age of ten ducking from beer brawls.

Emma shifted in his arms with a contented sigh. He wished she could sleep, but since the darkness wouldn’t allow herself that reprieve, at least she could find solace in his embrace. “You silence the voices in my head,” she had told him, pressing her nose to his collarbone. If that was the case, he would not leave her side, though the sleeping arrangements hadn’t made her father very happy at first.

Killian’s fingers danced along the jagged scars along her upper back, the newest ones, from when a skip she was chasing pushed her into a plate glass window. That story elicited a shrug and bragging rights that she only missed a few days of work. Bravado – he understood that defense mechanism as well.

They really did understand one another.

Emma reached around for his arm and pulled his hand down to lace his fingers with hers. She pressed their joined hands to her chest, and he noticed the slightest change in her bearing. An almost imperceptible stiffening, and did her pulse just kick up a notch? She shifted again, this time as if she were uncomfortable.

“Are you alright, love?”

Emma released his hand, and using her magic, she lit the candles in the room. Then she rolled over to face him, her hands fluttering, as if she didn’t know whether to touch him or not. She finally balled them up in the sheet that covered her, pulling it up to her chin.

“Do you know the song ‘Brandy’?”

Killian chuckled. “You know my only knowledge of this realm’s music is you and Henry. Right now your lad is educating me on something called punk? Apparently, it was a favorite of his father’s.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, Neal loved that stuff. I prefer the classics.”

“Like those beetle people?”

“The Beatles, Killian, and yes. Also Motown, Elvis, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I don’t know why, I just always liked the old stuff.”

“And this song? ‘Brandy’? Is by one of these singing groups?”

“Uh, no, but it's kind of the same genre, I guess. I don’t know even know who sings it, actually. I thought maybe you’d heard it at Granny’s or something. It’s about this girl and a sailor, so . . . “

“Ah.” He nodded, encouraging her to go on. He was glad she’d lit the candles, though he still couldn’t see her well. Well enough, however, to see the furrow of her brow and the way her lips turned down. This was obviously about more than a song. “Most sailors I know prefer rum, though. Brandy is a little high brow for our modest tastes.”

Emma rolled her eyes, which was precisely what he’d been going for. “Brandy is a woman. She lives by the sea and serves drinks to sailors. In a tavern, I guess.”

“Aptly named.”

Emma adjusted her pillow beneath her head and rolled over. She continued the story gazing up at the ceiling instead of looking at him.

“The song tells the story about her and the man she falls in love with. He’s a sailor, and he loves her, but always leaves her.”

Killian is beginning to see where this is going. He shifts closer to her, propping his head up on his blunted arm so he can look down at her as she speaks. With his hand, he strokes her arm gently.

“The chorus,” Emma continues, “is what the man always says to her: Brandy, you’re a fine girl. What a good wife you would be, but my life, my love, my lady is the sea.”

There are many things Killian could say. The first thought that comes to his mind is that the man in the song is either an idiot or a complete cad who most likely has a girl in every port. He’s known the type. People probably assume he’s the type, but he was always careful that his one-night stands had the same expectations he did. He actively avoided women who would be a “good wife.” Not every sailor had good form, however. He could explain all of that to Emma; tell her that the song is unfortunately a common tale, but it’s never been his.

He knows, however, that none of those things are what Emma needs right now. So he waits, without moving, his hand still caressing her arm. Emma releases a puff of angry breath before speaking again.

“I’ve always hated that song.”

“Emma, love,” Killian says gently, shifting onto his back and reaching for her, “come here.”

She comes to him a bit shyly, and he smiles at her gently as he cups her face with his hand. In her gaze, he can see hesitation. Fear. He doesn’t know if it’s the darkness whispering doubts, or if it’s her same old insecurities, but this is one battle he knows how to help her fight.

“My life,” he says, kissing her cheek, “my love,” he kisses her nose, “my lady,” he kisses her forehead, then pulls back so he can gaze into her eyes, “is you, Emma.”

Her eyes well up with tears, and a hesitant smile teases the corners of her mouth. “The Jolly Roger was your home for so long. You had nothing holding you back. Nothing tying you down.”

Killian shakes his head. “Emma, you said once that you and I understand one another. You, like me, were an orphan. What is the one thing all orphans want more than anything else?”

“A home,” Emma breathes without hesitation.

Killian nods, then kisses her fiercely, pulling her to himself, his hand tangling in her hair, pouring into his kiss all his hopes and dreams for their future. When they part, breathless, Emma presses her forehead to his, her smile finally full and joyous.

“So I didn’t freak you out when I mentioned that white picket fence?”

Killian tucks her against him, wrapping his arms fully around her. As he kisses the top of her head, he thinks of the real estate ads he and Henry have been looking at, one house in particular that looks fit for a princess, with a view of the sea.

“Not at all, love. I want that too.”

Emma snuggles further into his embrace, her hand splayed on his chest, right over his heart.

“Good,” she says, with that edge of smugness he’s always found so endearing.

He tries to stay awake, for her sake, but the warm, flickering light of the candles, combined with the softness of her in his arms, lulls him more than the ocean waves. Just as sleep pulls him under, he murmurs against her hair.

“You’re my home now, Emma. My life, my love, my lady.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateherokillian @jonesfandomfanatic @linda8084

I don't even know who is around anymore, so let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tag list!!

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #fluff #sweetness #intimacy #pillow talk #canon compliant

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kazoosandfannypacks · 6 months ago

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This Town (captain swan drabble)

requested by @kanerallels

The faint pink rose in Emma's hand stood in stark contrast to her black leather, its scent reminding her of that horseback ride across Camelot, the pirate who held her hand in a field full of roses and purged all the demons from her mind.

This time, she wouldn't fail to do the same for him. She had a second chance to make things right, to get to him before the darkness did, to save the man she loved from himself. She whispered to the rose, to herself, to everyone and no one:

"I'll never stop fighting for us, Killian."

(a/n and tags under the cut)

a/n: there were a lot of directions i could take this song, but i felt like emma's pov during the dark one arc was perfect! thanks for the song rec!

taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

send me a ship and a song and i’ll write a drabble!

#the ol' kazzle drabble #captain swan #once upon a time #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #fanfiction #ff #captain swan fanfiction #kazzy writes #kazzy writes fanfic #once upon a time season 5 #otp: try something new darling

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stubblesandwich · 1 year ago

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Return To Me - Chapter 4

A/N: It was requested I post this here, as well, so here ya go! (Sorry if I double tagged anyone.) I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you endlessly to anyone still following this story. You have all my love.

Summary: Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Find on A03 here

++++++

Chapter Four - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Three Weeks Post-Op

Emma had been called a cynic plenty of times in her life. As it turned out, being pushed through the foster system for a decade and a half hadn’t exactly turned her into a beaming optimist. Like most cynics, she claimed she was actually a realist. She planned for the worst, because things tended to not work out that great for her, and hoped for the best. Sometimes she was pleasantly surprised.

But in the litany of potential outcomes Emma had been preparing herself for, a new heart had never actually made the list. It was akin to winning the lottery, in her mind. Life had not been particularly kind to her. Yet, she had always taken her blows in stride, and she never took handouts. And the prospect of finally making it to the top of the transplant list at the age of twenty-six, after almost a decade of waiting, felt like a handout from life.

Emma Swan had never been one to sit around waiting for handouts.

There were other things she had prepared herself for. Increasing the handful of pills she took each day to keep her body from failing on her any faster. Moving from her full time job and supporting herself completely on her own to working part time, then very part time, to not at all. Getting on a government disability program. Each new punch to the gut from life she took in stride, as best she could.

And through it all, righting her each and every time she stumbled, were David and Mary Margaret. They were some of the best, most genuine and caring people ever to be placed on planet earth. She didn't deserve them—there was a small, cruel voice in the back of her head that affirmed this for her every day. But they just kept showing up for her, and they wouldn’t leave, and they wouldn’t let her quit.

As it turned out, after the first week, getting a whole new vital organ sewn into her chest wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. By the third week, the pain was starting to subside, transitioning into a residual soreness, and her biggest struggle currently was not clawing at her incision every time it itched. When the skin itself didn’t feel like an odd mixture of both tight and numb, it felt ablaze with itchiness. It was all she could do not to scratch at it. (Every time she did, Mary Margaret would bark at her to stop it, or David would throw a random item in her direction. Most recently, it had been a box of tissues that had narrowly missed her head, and he threatened to get an extendable fly swatter to swat her with, as needed.)

For the first time in her life, Emma was well and truly doted upon. She had family members who inarguably refused to leave her side. That is, of course, until Mary Margaret was forcibly removed by way of her impending school year start.

She’d had almost a month left of her summer break when Emma had had her operation, and she had been able to push almost all of her classroom prep off until the very last minute. David helped her ready her room when he could, but Emma knew her friend was fraying at the seams from trying to do so much in such a short span of time. Mary Margaret had a handful of vacation days, but she hoarded them like a dragon for true emergencies, and worried constantly that if her students started off the school year with a substitute teacher, they would just end up watching movies all day instead of actually learning something.

This was their last weekend before the new school year started and Mary Margaret went back to working full days. Emma was lounging on the couch, dozing, lidded eyes half focused on the episode of Friends quietly playing on the living room TV. She and Mary Margaret had just finished putting together twenty-five “Welcome back!” folders for her incoming students, as well as a second set for their parents.

“Why couldn't they have been ready for you to have the surgery during the start of summer?” Mary Margaret lamented, as she plopped her last folder down on the pile. “I would have had three months off to be here with you!”

David glanced over at them from the pile of pans he was washing at the kitchen sink and gave his wife an odd look. “You do realize you're wishing the woman whose heart Emma has now had died earlier in the year instead of later, right?”

Mary Margaret looked aghast. “No! Of course I don’t wish that. I didn't... I just meant...”

David raised his eyebrows at her, but by now he was smiling gently at his wife. Mary Margaret huffed. A slightly awkward silence settled between the three of them. The fact that another person was dead and Emma was still alive because of it was something they all knew but typically left unsaid. David had said it out loud, and now the strangeness of that fact settled over them all heavily.

“I wonder what she was like,” Emma murmured from her spot on the couch, puncturing the silence. “They couldn't tell me much. Well, couldn't or wouldn't, not sure which. All they said was that she was older than me, but not by too much, and in great health. Obviously we had to have the same blood type. But they couldn't tell me how she died, just that it didn't affect her heart.”

“Probably head trauma,” David said sagely. Emma winced at the thought, but he was likely right. He had seen enough as an officer to know. Especially working night shifts, when the majority of car accidents took place in the area.

“That sounds awful,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“I'd never say I was glad someone else died,” David said after a while. “But I'm glad Emma's still with us.” The fact that these things were one in the same went unsaid. Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Emma’s arm in gentle agreement with her husband. Emma glanced over at her and offered her sister-in-law a small smile, trying to convey to her without having to say it aloud that it was okay.

But in truth, Emma was uncomfortable. It just made her feel so strange, knowing that for every happy moment she now got to have here with her family, someone out there was living new moments, making new memories, without their own loved one to share them with. Someone out there was grieving a tremendous loss—had lost a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. The woman whose heart Emma now had could have been any one of those things, or all of them at once. She was presumably loved, adored, missed dearly. And Emma just didn’t know what to do with that information, how to carry these feelings with grace and proper gratitude. Often they \manifested in the form of guilt. David and Mary Margaret were quick to talk her out of that whenever it came up. That woman’s death meant something, they assured her. Part of her lives on, and part of her saved a life. That has to mean something to her family, right?

They were right, Emma knew. David saw so much meaningless death in his line of work that she inherently believed him when he told her that it was a gift, her being able to use someone else’s heart. (She didn’t have the courage to ask him how he would feel about any of Mary Margaret’s vital organs going to someone else, if she died.) It was a guilt she carried nonetheless, and she carried it poorly. It was an awkward shape, this guilt, and heavy, and she didn’t know how to carry it well. It all too often made her fumble.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said Mary Margaret looked over at her sharply, instantly suspicious that Emma was still feeling off from the previous conversation, but Emma was quick to wave away her worry. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really. I just feel grimy, and I don’t want to taint the epicness of Last Dinner with my stink.” This was their last evening—Last Dinner—before Mary Margaret returned to work full time, and they were marking the occasion with David’s mother’s famous lasagna recipe, a favorite from David and Emma’s semi-shared childhood (and coincidentally the only meal David really knew how to make, but that was beside the point).

“I second the vote for a shower,” David said, raising his hand in mock vote.

“You would,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes that David didn’t even need to see to know was there. Mary Margaret started to rise with her, as if about to help her to her feet. “Relax, woman,” Emma said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder gently to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Jury’s still out,” came David’s response.

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, half expecting her to admonish her husband, but Mary Margaret just stared up at her with poorly veiled anxiety. “I’m not!” Emma said. “Guys, it’s been almost a month.”

“Three weeks,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Since you got a new heart. Not since you got your tonsils removed.”

“Okay,” Emma said, stretching out her back a bit as she stood there, chasing a kink out between her shoulder blades. “Sure, it was a big surgery.” David scoffed from his place by the sink, and Emma shot him a warning look. “But the doctors even said I have to try to do more on my own. I think it’s safe to say that includes showering.” There was no argument from David on that one. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked unconvinced.

“What if you slip and fall?”

“I’ll be sure to have my Life Alert button handy,” Emma retorted wryly. “Seriously, guys, it’s okay. I can handle showering.” Before they could argue any further, Emma slipped away, locking herself in the bathroom.

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Mary Margaret called through the door in a singsong voice only a few moments later. Emma swore she heard the doorknob jiggle, like her friend was testing to see if it was locked or not. It was, thankfully. Emma was already halfway undressed, and the last thing she needed was for her brother to get an accidental peep show because his wife thought Emma had already gotten stuck behind the toilet and died or something. “Emma?”

Oh, my God, Emma mouthed to herself. “Thanks,” she called out. “I will!” That seemed to appease Mary Margaret. But the faint squeak of the bar stool at the kitchen island assured Emma she hadn't gone far. It was endearing, how much they worried about her. At least, that's what she told herself in the moments like this, when it was almost impossible to find even just two seconds of privacy. Sometimes, she really did feel like she was a little kid again. Only now, she was re-living a much different version of her childhood. A sweeter, kinder version wherein people actually wanted to take care of her and didn't think of her as a monumental burden.

The tub's faucet squeaked shrilly as she turned on the water. When she’d first gotten home a week ago, just that motion, gripping the handle and giving the antique metal a yank, had left her arm feeling like a limp noodle. She was doing much better now, but she still felt pathetically weak and exceptionally out of shape. At one point, long ago, she had been fairly strong. A thin child, but always scrappy. Now she was a pale waif, muscles atrophied over the years as she'd gotten sicker. She vowed to herself that was going to change. Despite how frail she was, at the same time, she legitimately felt like she could take on the world now, with this new heart. She could finally breathe, take a breath fully in and out, without feeling lightheaded. That alone was a miracle.

Gingerly, she lifted her tank top up over her head. Her scar, where a surgeon had cut into muscle and bone and forcibly ripped open her sternum, stood out, an angry red slash against alabaster skin. For the first few weeks, it had been concealed by gauze. By this point, it was still tender, but her doctor encouraged her to air it out often. She even had some skin mobility exercises she was supposed to be doing daily, to help the layers of tissue beneath the scar not permanently adhere to one another. The scar itself stretched from the top of her chest, dropping down in between her breasts, all the way past her sternum bone. It was a thick, gnarled thing, aesthetically ugly; but she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for it the longer she looked at it. As ugly as it was, this scar meant she was going to live to see her next birthday.

Washing herself was still a slow, cautious process, but much easier than it had been when she’d first gotten out of the hospital. She took the time now to do her full, luxury, self care princess shower routine, something she hadn’t had the strength to do in months. The venting system in the loft's tiny bathroom was terrible, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, steam cloaked the room like a fog. The sheer dampness of the air made her cough when she inhaled. Emma didn't care; she felt amazing. It was easy to underestimate how much better a good shower could make a person feel. She felt human again, instead of the fresh-from-the-hospital, invalid goblin she’d been feeling like for the past few weeks. Humming to herself, she dried off, turbaned her wet hair, and started to dress.

David had the water running at the sink, and the apartment’s ancient radiator had kicked on next to the bathroom; when Emma finally opened the bathroom door, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t hear the faint creak of the old wood on its hinge as it started to open.

“But you love your classroom.” David was saying in a low voice. It was clear he was trying to be fairly quiet, but this felt like intruding in on a conversation that had been going on for several minutes. Possibly the whole time she’d been in the shower.

Emma didn't hear Mary Margaret sigh, but she could tell by the tone of her voice that her words had come on the end of one. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I really do miss my kids. But Emma needs me here. I can't just leave her! She just got a new heart, David. A heart. It's not like she had her wisdom teeth removed and just needs a day or two to get back on her feet.”

The aforementioned heart skipped a beat in Emma's chest. A familiar, sinking feeling of guilt settled low and heavy in Emma's stomach.

“But she will get back on her feet,” David said gently. “You know she will. She just needs time.”

“Exactly! And she needs me here to help her until she does.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“David—”

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupted lovingly. “She's going to be okay. Better than okay. This is the day we've all been waiting for, don't forget. She's getting a second chance at life here.” Unexpected tears welled in Emma's eyes at that. “And Emma knows that,” David continued. “You and I both know she's going to be chomping at the bit to get back out there. It's going to be hard enough keeping her here the six weeks it'll take for her to heal. She's not going to need our help half as much as you think she will.”

Mary Margaret started to respond, but Emma couldn't take it anymore. She took the bathroom's old doorknob in her hand and gave it a good rattle, like she had just started to open it, and the door creaked loudly as she pushed it fully open. David and Mary Margaret grew hush until Mary Margaret piped up with, "Oh, hi Emma!" a little too brightly. David noticeably busied himself with cutting the garlic bread he’d pulled out of the oven moments before. The guilt at having eavesdropped coiled in Emma's chest like a snake ready to spring, and she swallowed around the lump that had grown in her throat. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal.

“Everything go okay?” Mary Margaret asked. “No dizziness?”

“I didn’t hear the Life Alert alarm go off,” David said dryly, shooting his sister a wink.

“I feel amazing,” Emma said earnestly. “Seriously.” She sidled up to her brother and successfully bumped him out of the way, taking over the cutting of the garlic bread despite his weak protestations.

“Oh, good,” Mary Margaret breathed, and the relief was evident in her voice. She shared a glance with David, which Emma pointedly ignored, and moved to grab the stack of dishes waiting on the island so she could start setting the table.

“I was thinking,” Emma went on, “Maybe I could come help you set up your classroom later today. If you think you need the help. Or I could just come keep you company, get a change of scenery.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” David said, as he watched his wife’s expression.

“That would be great, honestly,” Mary Margaret said, but was quick to add, “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t have me lugging around twenty-pound carts of Crayons or something,” Emma laughed, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Do fourth graders still use crayons?” David asked, as he popped open the oven one final time and withdrew the lasagna. The cheese on top was browning and bubbling and a minute away from burnt, just the way his mother had always cooked it, and the whole thing looked wonderful.

“Not really,” Mary Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a big, handsome deputy to do all my heavy lifting for me.” She batted her eyes at her husband a few times, who grinned back at her.

“All right, lovebirds,” Emma said, as she clicked the salad tongs at them a few times in playful warning. “Let’s eat. I’ve got my appetite back and I’m actually starving.”

“Jeez,” David said, “You’d think she’d gotten a new stomach with the heart. She’s gonna eat us out of house and home now.”

Table set, food out, they took their respective seats. David uncorked a bottle of red wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, which Emma was definitely not allowed to have, but she told Mary Margaret to enjoy it for her.

As Mary Margaret spooned squares of lasagna onto everyone’s plate, Emma took a moment to try to find the right words to say to convey how she was feeling to these people who would seemingly do anything in the world for her. But what she wanted most is for them to get back to living their lives, too. They had put off so much for her sake, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say. But it was time to move on now, to heal, for all of them.

“I know it can suck, having such a huge surgery,” Emma started, pausing to clear her throat. “But this is different.” She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who was watching her closely. “I mean, a month ago, I was dying. I never told you guys this, but it just felt like the end. I was working on drafting a will.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“That’s so morbid,” David said.

“I know it’s stupid.” Emma toyed with the end of her napkin as she stared down at her plate. “I don’t really have anything to will to anyone. I was just going to leave anything I had to you guys.” She cleared her traitorous throat again and took a moment to blink back some tears. She needn’t have bothered; when she glanced up at her family, they were both openly tearing up as they looked at her. “Okay, stop,” she said, pointing her fork at them, “Or I’m going to lose it. Absolutely no crying in baseball.”

“Got it,” Mary Margaret said, her voice watery and absolutely unconvincing.

“Just… Thank you,” Emma said, when she finally got her voice back under control. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be without you both. From the bottom of both my hearts,” she said, with a wry little smile she couldn’t keep at bay, “Thank you.”

David chuckled, wiping at his eyes, and Mary Margaret continued to stare at her, smiling and barely holding back the floodgates. “We love you, sis,” David said, and a moment later he raised his wineglass. “To Emma’s new lease on life.” Mary Margaret’s wine glass followed, and Emma clinked her water glass with theirs.

“And Mary Margaret’s new school year,” Emma added.

“Hear, hear,” Mary Margaret agreed. “I’ll take prayers, good vibes, anything you’ve got.”

“You’re going to do great,” David assured her, as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to kiss her cheek. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Dinner was splendid, and the company even better. It was the first full meal Emma was able to enjoy without feeling nauseated, which was a win in her book. She literally couldn’t think of the last time that had happened. Mary Margaret did indeed have Emma’s wine, and was perhaps a little tipsy when they later ventured out to put some finishing touches on her classroom, which just made it all the more enjoyable for Emma and David.

And as Emma settled into bed that night, for the first time in a long time, she felt well and truly good. She felt full, warm, strong, and loved. And she knew, felt sure in her bones, that this was the start of one of the best years of her life.

+++++

The funeral went as well as a funeral could--especially considering there was no actual body to bury. Milah had set it up long beforehand that all salvageable organs were to be donated to the nearest hospital at the time of her death, then the rest of her body donated to science. This made planning her funeral and memorial service a unique affair, as there was no body for a wake, no urn of ashes received. That he would receive later, whenever the hospital saw fit. So Killian honored his wife's memory the best way he could.

Everyone who had ever known her in the past few years since she and Killian had moved Stateside was crammed into a small funeral home to celebrate her life and speak well of her. Her parents were long dead, but he had managed to get his hands on some childhood photos from her aunt who still lived across the pond; a small smattering of her extended relatives had sent cards to pay their respects. But the room was filled primarily with her coworkers and friends she’d made in the few years they’d lived in Boston.

Milah had been a truly gifted photographer, both in her work and personal life, evidence of which sat neatly framed and displayed on nearly every available inch of table space in the room. All the best photos Milah had ever taken through her work had been printed and framed and displayed, tucked neatly between bouquets of flowers. One table was so long, it took up the entire back wall.

Killian had almost, almost, completely lost the last tenuous grip he had on his sanity when the wrong flowers had come in that morning. He had distinctly ordered stargazer lilies, his wife’s favorite flower, for the table arrangements. Instead, what had been delivered to him were a rainbow assortment of Gerber daisies, of all things, which he viewed on this particular day as nothing short of an abomination. As it turned out, there had been a mistake with the delivery trucks, and his order had been sent to a birthday party instead. It probably should have embarrassed him, how angry a simple mix up of flowers had made him. But as he had very little pride left, he was literally seeing red, until Robin showed up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently steered him out the side door and outside for some fresh air. Will took over, his general belligerence a helpful and actually useful tool that day, and tried to get the flowers sorted out with minimal shouting.

As Killian stood now, gazing down at the myriad of perfect photos his wife had taken over the course of her career, he belatedly realized he had been the star of many of them, unbeknownst to him. His wife had apparently been a ninja behind her viewfinder when he wasn’t paying attention. It should have made him feel awkward, being the focal point of so many of her photographs; the last thing he wanted now was attention. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile at most of them. One of him leaning over the railing of a dock, for instance, staring pensively out at sea, squinting slightly in the light of the sun. Another of him from behind, a shadowed figure standing on the beach with his toes buried in the sand and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the red slashed sky of an oncoming storm. He was the blurred, black clad figure in the background or at the helm in several photographs of the ships he and his brother had helped restore.

It was visible, tangible proof of how much she had loved him, how often her camera found itself pointed in his direction, focused on him. And God, if that didn’t make him miss her all the more. His heart was an open wound, and he was never going to be able to staunch the flow from it. Day by day, he felt like he was bleeding out, until soon there would be nothing left of him.

One photo, his favorite, and one that was already framed in his home, stood out prominently. His and his brother, Liam, in front of their first real score for the ship restoration foundation, a beautiful, towering piece of history in the form of a stunning antique merchant vessel. Liam’s arm was thrown over Killian’s shoulders, his face alight with absolute joy (and possibly the buzz from the beers they’d had over lunch). They were both squinting, laughing like fools at having finally pulled it off. Towering behind them, not to be overshadowed, was the ship, herself: the Jewel of the Realm. Milah had been sent by a local paper to get photos of the ship, and her new owners, as a focal point for a story on local maritime history.

Killian felt fortunate he remembered that day so well. It had felt like the best day of his entire life, at the time. Seeing his brother so elated, after everything they had endured together, had been enough to send Killian to the moon. It felt like things were finally, finally going their way. He had taken to Milah instantly, and spent the hour regaling her with the history of the ship. A merchant ship, originally, but thought to have been used for piracy at one point. He leaned heavily into the implications of the latter fact, as he felt—rightly so—that it added intrigue, and Milah had been enamored with the Jewel. He'd joked that day about renaming it the Jolly Roger, much to his brother's chagrin. She’d had other work to get to that day, so she hadn’t stayed long, but she’d given him her business card, which he still carried in his wallet. Liam had been killed shortly after, on one of his last missions with the Royal Navy before his scheduled retirement. Everything had changed, then. But Killian had always felt especially lucky that it had been Milah that day who had come to take their photo. For one short hour, she had been able to meet his brother, before Killian had lost him forever. The stars had aligned, and for one short span of time, the man who had meant the most to him and the woman who would come to mean everything to him had met, briefly. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but to Killian, it had to be enough.

And then there were the glorious photos of the rest of the ships he had brought on through the years. He had always marveled at Milah’s skill behind a camera, her ability to find just the right angle, at just the precise time of day, to truly capture the essence of the ships he restored. Through her eyes, even the in-progress pictures never made them look like pieces of floating shit, which some of them very much were at the start of the process. She managed to make them look like hidden treasure, just waiting to be uncovered. Pieces of history waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. That’s what he’d felt like, with her. She’d been the one to see past his flaws after the death of his brother, to see something worth loving in him, something worth restoring.

And now what was he, without her?

The frequent looks of sympathy that came his way over the course of the memorial service were one of the worst parts of the day. Each and every concerned glance that flit in Killian's direction was threaded not only with heavy condolences, but something much worse: pity. And he knew he was a pitiable sight, indeed. He was dressed well enough, in a deep black suit Milah had bought for him after his business had another big break. But, his arm with the broken collarbone was still in a sling and had no hand at the end of it. Dark circles cradled his eyes, which seemed to be permanently bloodshot these days. He had given up almost entirely on sleep.

Sleeping felt impossible, an insurmountable task despite its simplicity; the bed was too big, too cold, and too empty when he was the only one in it. He tried—really tried. Each night, he made a valiant attempt to sleep in his own bed. He'd toss, turn, and generally do a lot of staring up at his ceiling. Eventually, he resorted to Netflix. But his “recently watched” list was full of her favorite shows, episodes half finished, series just begun. It was a terrible distraction.

The first week after he arrived home from the hospital, his recliner chair in the living room had been the only place he could comfortably fall asleep with his arm in a sling. It was a lumpy, unsightly thing he had inherited from his brother (it was this reason and this reason alone his wife had allowed him to keep it.) Milah had called it his old man chair. These days, he’d often fall asleep in the chair, wake up with a start an hour later, and make his way to the couch, where he’d try to fall back asleep, but would mostly lie awake, staring into the dark, letting his mind off its leash and letting it wander to dangerous places.

Often these thoughts centered on what he would do if he could track down the driver who had hit them head on, then fled the scene. What he would do when he found him or her varied. Sometimes, he pictured lighting him on fire. The next moment, he'd revel in the thought of running him through with a knife, watching him slowly bleed out on the floor. Or he’d take his hand from him, too. Such thoughts kept him company and carried him through until morning.

Now, with the lack of sleep and the general dissociation he felt, he often didn’t feel cemented in reality. When he looked around the room, taking in the funeral parlor, it felt like this was happening to someone else, and he was merely observing. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by a sea of people who didn't know what to say to him. The moment never came that he was spared the awkward indignity of a conversation with someone who had little else to say other than I'm sorry.

She was a lovely person.

(Each time, he bristled at the use of the past tense.)

She'll be missed.

Pity had overtaken the room, lingering like a dense fog. Everywhere he turned, his friends, her friends, co-workers, even a handful of people he had never seen before in his life, were all wearing the same expression on their faces. It transcended simple pity. It was next-level pity, flashing from their eyes and those slight down-turned corners of their mouths like a brightly-lit billboard in the night that read "YOUR LIFE DEPRESSES ME."

He couldn't blame them. He pitied himself, too, when he wasn't numb, pulled down so deep into his own despair he could no longer think straight.

At least the food was decent—or so he had been overhearing. One quick glance over at Will Scarlet in the back of the room, face stuffed with h'orderves, told him the funeral parlor's appetizers couldn't have been terrible. If there had ever been a time he appreciated his friends more, he couldn't think of it. Of all the people who had shown up to the service, Locks and Scarlet were the only two who didn't make him want to scream. Or run. Or throw a punch. All of it, all at once.

Will and Robin sat apart from the rest, in a pair of wingback armchairs in the corner of the room. Killian hadn't had a chance to speak to either of them, apart from initial hellos and quick hugs when they'd first arrived, and of course the ordeal with the flowers, but somehow, he knew without even asking they intended to stay for the entire affair, likely planning to take him out for a drink when this was all over.

What else do you do for your best friend after his wife's funeral?

All in all, it wasn’t a very hopeful affair, and too often bordered on bleak. Killian had no words in honor of Milah he wanted to share with a roomful of people who didn’t know her very well, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down. So, people ate, drank, and made a reserved and somber form of merry. They swapped stories back and forth, each offering up little pieces of the woman they had known.

Milah's parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings, so the room was occupied primarily by people she had thought of as friends. That was a nice thought, and in the coming weeks, Killian would be touched by the food, flowers, and cards that continued to arrive on his doorstep in memory of his wife.

But here, in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to find hope in anything.

+++++++

One Year Later

Was a house truly haunted if you didn’t mind the ghost?

It felt like a haunting for months after Milah’s funeral, this limbo state he found himself in, where he couldn’t bring his heart or his brain to fully comprehend that she was gone. They traded shifts in misunderstanding, his heart and brain. There were days where, logically, he understood his wife was dead. And yet, his heart still leaped at the sound of a car door shutting outside, or an imagined creak in the floorboards that sounded like her coming around the corner in the hall. Other days, his heartache was so profound, he could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. All too often, he’d forget, and for a few blissful minutes, reach for his phone to call her and ask her a question. Those were beautiful moments, the forgetting. But the remembering that followed took his breath away.

Then there were the things around the home he couldn’t bring himself to toss. Notes she’d left on the fridge, a grocery list on the table. Leftovers from her favorite meal at their favorite restaurant he couldn’t bring himself to throw away until they were fouling up the whole kitchen. Her phone was recovered from the accident and eventually made its way to him, via the detectives working the hit and run case. He went through her email drafts, texts, anything he could get his hands on that held pieces of Milah. He'd saved every voicemail she'd ever left him, had them memorized, and he'd play them when he missed her most, poking the bruise in his heart over and over until it numbed and didn't hurt so much. It all felt relatively harmless, like doing this to himself couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.

Until he found himself practically sobbing the floor of the shower one morning over a soggy clump of her hair he’d pulled from the drain.

He just couldn’t seem to pull himself together.

How do you bring yourself to purposefully excavate traces of someone from your life, after they’re gone, until it was like they weren’t even there at all, the life you shared existing only in snapshots and memories? How exactly does one get to that place, force yourself to loosen your grip on all you have left of the person you love, the person you’d give anything to see one last time? Killian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t picture himself ever ridding himself completely of Milah’s memory.

But he could stop leaving land mines for himself.

He’d always run a tight ship at home, in terms of cleanliness. He had never had much, by way of possessions, and wasn’t sentimental about keeping things. Now he found himself debating whether or not he should keep a note in the bathroom his wife had scrawled out for herself to remind herself to order new contacts. These were the silly, useless things he stared at for minutes on end, debating what to do with. This little scrap of her pretty handwriting he recognized and loved. The thought of it winding up in a landfill somewhere made him ill.

Eventually, he gathered these random scraps and pieces of her he’d found (except the clump of hair from the drain—that one did make it into the waste bin, thankfully) and gently shepherded them into a large Ziploc bag, which he kept in a box on her side of the closet.

Robin and Will called often, texted even more often, and even dropped by now and again. They offered their help constantly, gladly would have helped with menial tasks like this (like throwing away scraps of paper Milah might have touched, God, he was a mess), but he turned them away each time. He just wanted to shut the world out, encase himself in a tomb of his own grief.

He hadn’t even been able to see her, to say goodbye to her, because he hadn’t been bloody conscious for it. He had no memory of Robin telling him of her death; in the week following the accident, he left a slew of traumatized nurses in his wake as people had to tell him again and again for what felt like the first time that his wife was gone.

Milah, bless her ever-loving soul, had signed herself up to be an organ donor. Of course she had. On some level, he knew this. It was marked on her driver’s license, and it was surely something they had talked about at one point. But now he resented it, resented the whole idea of it. He resented anything that didn’t allow him to see his wife one last time. One doctor had had the absolute audacity to tell Killian that he didn’t want to see his wife, anyway; the damage from the accident had been too great, the brunt of which had gone to her head, and that it was a miracle her heart was still beating enough to allow for any organ transplants. Killian, for his part, had an entirely different definition of the word “miracle”.

So he waited to receive her ashes, held a funeral without her body. But he certainly didn’t wait patiently.

He wonders sometimes what she would think of what he's become. No doubt there would be times she'd laugh at how ridiculous he was being, debating on keeping an old, wet clump of her hair like some kind of serial killer, and the subsequent guilt he felt at throwing it away, this gross little piece of her DNA.

And yet, he reminds himself that there is, oddly, more of her DNA out there somewhere. Somewhere, out in the world, a select few of her vital organs are in new bodies, presumably thriving and keeping their hosts alive and well. Presumably, there are people out there who will be forever grateful for these pieces of his wife. Actual, living pieces of her. Killian has no idea how to feel about that, truly. There will come a day, when he is able to pull himself out of this darkness that perpetually feels more crushingly inescapable by the day, that he is able to see the true and abundant beauty in it. Milah, gone, but literal parts of her living on, providing life-giving support to someone else’s body and soul. That's the true miracle, really, and something he’d know she would be proud of.

For now, in the depths of his despair, he feels annoyed, indifferent at best. Her benevolent medical and scientific donation was, for many long months, the thing standing between him and a proper burial for his wife, the thing that stood in the way of closure and him being able to say goodbye to her properly. This is the thing his mind latched onto, chooses as a target for his blame.

Closure arrives on his doorstep one afternoon, boxed and bubble wrapped, in the form of an unassuming black urn. When he finally received her ashes, half a year after her death, he knew what he would do with them, knew immediately what she would want him to do with them. But he can’t yet bring himself to say goodbye, and the urn sat above their fireplace for months. This is the moment it hits him, truly, that she is gone. This is what it takes for it to finally sink in. He spends a long time building up the courage, brick by brick, to do what he needs to do. And as what would be her 37th birthday approaches on a warm July day, he finally gathered the strength to lay his wife to rest and honor her the way she deserved.

What he doesn’t appreciate about the day, however, is the weather, which turns out to be an absolutely perfect New England summer day, which Killian very much resented.

It was almost like it was mocking him. Jabbing a bright, sunshiny finger right into his face and laughing at his grief, which still, even almost a year after the death of his wife, was still a wound that had left him hollowed. When his brother had died, suddenly and with too much life left unlived, he'd felt like the ground itself had been pulled out from under him, and he'd been left in free fall. Now, with Milah gone, it felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and crushed in front of him.

How did people live like this?

If he were truly honest with himself, Killian wasn't certain what he was doing each day could actually be called living. He was alive, sure. Most days, the only thing that kept that from being true was the unknown lurking behind the veil of death. He had his own theories, his own hopes, for what awaited in a possible afterlife, but of course, no one really knows for sure until their time comes. He couldn't be sure what would happen to him, whether or not he'd see Milah, if he died tomorrow. Hell would be dying and not being reunited with her. And that was a hell whose existence he was not quite ready to test.

The closest thing he had to his wife now was resting in his lap, ashes encased in ceramic. He had taken a small, private sailboat out to sea, sailed until there was no one else in sight, trying to find a good spot to release her ashes to the ocean she had loved so much. It had been close to two hours, now; he knew he was putting off the inevitable. If he didn’t do it now, he feared, with good reason, that he never would.

The best part about giving someone’s ashes to the sea was that there wouldn’t be one particular spot where her body would be laid to rest. The waves would take the dust of her and spread it for him, from shore to shore, just like they had taken his brother’s ashes. There would be no headstone, but the ocean itself would remind him of her, and he could visit her anytime he liked on a sea that had always brought him a sense of serenity.

Killian Jones had never believed in soul mates until he’d met Milah. And he still didn't quite believe in them, in the traditional sense. He didn't believe in a ready-made mate just waiting for him to find her. No, in his experience, life was far from ever that easy or that simple. But things had changed for him when he'd met his wife. Then, with her love, the broken pieces in him, irrevocably shattered the day his brother had died, shifted together into something that could almost be held together again. With her, he’d felt more whole than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

She had been married at the time, when they’d met. Daydreaming of leaving her terrible husband, dreams which grew in intensity with each passing day. And while she hadn't exactly left him for Killian, she may has well have. Everything had changed for her that day, too.

For while Milah had been his partner, they hadn't met each other and been perfectly content. But they had made each other stronger, in all the ways that counted. Now he believed wholeheartedly that soul mates existed. But they weren't found, ready made and prepackaged. They were made, forged through love and hard work working hand in hand.

These were the things he thought, as the gentle salted breeze ruffled his hair and brought stinging tears to his eyes. As he looked down at the urn that held the last physical piece of the woman he’d loved, would always love, was lost and adrift without.

“I love you, Milah,” he whispered to the wind. The tightness in his throat and jaw wouldn’t let him say more, but he knew he didn’t need to. She’d known how much and how fiercely he’d loved her, and he had to think that wherever she was, she still knew the hold she had on him.

He held the urn against his chest with his prosthetic hand, working to unscrew the top. The breeze calmed at just the right moment, and as he leaned over the side of the ship to release Milah to the sea she'd loved, the dust of her settled gently down into the water.

=========

gonna tag a few folks who I think might care this is up (again, sorry if I already tagged you!) @spartanguard @sunbeamsandmoonrays @caprelloidea @kmomof4 @queen-mabs-revenge @ahsagitarius @galadriel26 @t-tamm-

@lavendersoapsuds @its-imperator-furiosa @midnightswans @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @withheartfulloflove @captainswan-middlemist @sarahreadsff @princesseslikepirates @winterbaby89 @pirateherokillian @wordslovedreams

@hannah-mic @thecraftyartist @blackwidownat2814 @once-uponacaptain @kylalovesbabeme @swiftmicheles @emmaswanstlk @captainswanslay

@the-tones-of-wallflowers @kday426 @krystalsficpage

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan fanfiction #return to me

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aksannyi · 9 months ago

Text

Left Behind (1/1) - Captain Swan

Emma and Killian are urban explorers, taking camera crews and checking out abandoned spots to get footage of these liminal spaces for their docuseries - Emma's on YouTube, and Killian's on Netflix, when they converge on one location by complete coincidence. They argue over who has the rights to film this location when they find themselves trapped, and they come to realize that they’re more alike than not.

(I have been more than a bit obsessed with watching explorations of abandoned locations and learning their history and I just needed to put Killian and Emma in one of them.)

“Whoa, look at this place! This is so creepy!” Mary Margaret lowered the camera she’d been holding to take in their surroundings, her jaw dropping as it came into view.

The building loomed before them, its dark, brick exterior peeking out from behind the thick overgrowth of trees and vines. It was massive, so massive that they couldn’t see the full length of it from where they stood, and its dark, partially broken windows gave only the suggestion as to what the interiors once held.

Emma Swan, of YouTube fame, along with her friends (and camera crew) David and Mary Margaret, had always had a fascination with abandoned locations. There was something so unsettling about these liminal spaces, as though she could step within and be transported to a different time. Perhaps even be someone else for a while.

“How long has it sat here?” David was always amazed by just how much a space could decay in a short period of time, particularly with no upkeep.

“2005, I think?” Emma chimed in, taking her phone out to do a quick search of the location. “Yeah, 2005.”

“There’s no way this building is only 20 years old, Emma, look at it.” Mary Margaret said it with a wave of her hands, as if to punctuate her statement.

“No, that’s just how long it’s been abandoned. It was built like, a hundred years ago. But it’s only been left to rot since 2005.”

They walked toward the building, taking care not to trip over the cracks in the pavement. They’d parked Emma’s car a bit further away, so as to not arouse suspicion. It was best not to draw anyone’s attention to their excursions. “A hundred years old,” David mused. “That makes more sense. They were probably doing a bit of maintenance when it shut down, but couldn’t keep up with all the problems such an old place would have.”

“Okay, Bob Vila,” Emma teased. She always joked that David must have been a carpenter in his past life ‘or something,’ because he was always talking about the structure and maintenance of these places.

“I’m just saying. If this building was only twenty years old, it wouldn’t look like that. Even if no one so much as picked up a broom.”

“All right, all right,” Mary Margaret intervened. “Let’s hurry up and get inside before someone sees us.”

“You see anyone?” Emma had been keeping an eye on their surroundings as they approached, but it was always a good idea to make use of everyone’s senses.

“No,” David said, taking another glance around.

“Not a soul,” Mary Margaret confirmed.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54187552

They didn’t approach the front entrance of the building – that was almost certainly closed off, boarded up tight. Anyone wanting to keep someone out would have closed off the front door as their first line of defense, and it was probably the most heavily watched. Emma didn’t see any cameras, but if there were any, they’d be toward the main entrance of this dilapidated former hospital.

Instead, they headed toward an entrance to the side, which sat hidden under an awning of sorts, almost like it had been a hotel. She could see cars driving through here, picking up and dropping off patients, or perhaps ambulances. She shivered at the thought. Hospitals were not exactly her favorite place to be, even when they weren’t abandoned.

“Can you get it?” Mary Margaret was saying, watching over David’s shoulder as he used a crowbar to pry the doors apart. They had clearly been glass doors once. The glass was long gone, of course, but the doors were firmly boarded against trespassers.

Such as themselves. “Almost…” he grunted. “There!” The crowbar clanged to the ground loudly, startling all three of them as it echoed through the quiet space.

“Come on,” Emma beckoned, prying the doors a bit further apart and stepping carefully inside. They would have to try to close them when they left, so it would be best if they didn’t break anything.

“Oh my god,” Mary Margaret breathed as she took in the space.

It was a mostly empty room, save for a few thick support pillars, all of which had peeling paint and graffiti. “I FUCKED UR MOM” one of them proudly proclaimed, while others were considerably less coherent. There were a good number of swastikas and racial slurs throughout, and Emma rolled her eyes at the amount of blurring they’d have to do so that kind of crap would get minimal exposure. There were already enough assholes on the internet, no need to stoke those flames. She continued looking around, noting that the walls looked much the same, although there had clearly been a two-toned paint pattern, with some peeling wallpaper in a few spots.

A handful of chairs were scattered about, two of which were joined together, as waiting room chairs often were. One was turned on its side, and papers were scattered all around the floor – almost none of them containing anything legible, though a poster reminding patients about skin cancer still warned against the dangers of UV rays, even from its crinkled spot on the floor.

Some ceiling tiles were missing from the space, and stripped wires hung down, unimpeded. Some of the tiles lay broken on the ground, while a few others leaned against a wall. All of the fluorescent bulbs had been taken out, leaving only the shell of what was undoubtedly a bright, buzzing interior. A few boxes sat in the corner, their age apparent by the way they sagged beneath their own weight, and a lamp sat overturned, its lightbulb and shade both long gone.

“Wow,” Emma breathed, impressed. The first sight of any of these places was always the most breathtaking, and this was no exception. She knew that David had gotten her reaction, while Mary Margaret was busy filming the scenery.

“Smells kinda…musty,” Mary Margaret said, crinkling her nose at the smell.

“That’s an understatement.”

David was sure to keep Emma firmly in the frame, the light from his camera casting unnatural shadows in the darkened space.

“You’d think, with all the broken windows…” she trailed off. Would it really air out that much, with such a small amount of exposure to the outside air? Sure, there were plenty of broken windows, but many of them had been boarded up, and the ones that weren’t were quite a way off the ground.

“Well there’s a lot of dust,” David said, kicking at the dirt on the ground. The building seemed to hear them, as one of the ceiling tiles that had been leaning against the wall fell over, kicking up a cloud of dust that caused all three of them to start coughing. Sometimes, Emma wondered if it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to wear protective masks or something.

Emma cleared her throat, reaching into her backpack for a bottle of water. “You’re getting all of this, right?” She took a swig, then tossed it over to David, who caught it deftly, even with the massive camera on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he confirmed.

“Good.”

Emma continued to walk around the space slowly, taking in everything. This was only the first room, a waiting area of sorts, and she knew there would be plenty of other spaces to explore. This type of abandoned building was a gold mine for decay junkies like her viewers. (And herself, obviously.)

“Look, some of the furniture is still here. Ugh, look at all that mold on the cushions. It amazes me how they just leave these places. It’s like one day they just…stopped coming here. Like they just locked the doors one day and never came back. Everything just left here.”

“That’s actually true though. This part of the building was never used as anything after the hospital closed.”

“Yeah, I think they wanted to use it but couldn’t find a tenant.”

“Hard to imagine why,” Emma murmured dryly. The building was in horrible condition, that much was clear.

“Well, it looks like looters did pretty well for themselves,” David commented, noting the obvious lack of furniture, fixtures, and even coverings for the electrical outlets.

A shrill, quick beep sounded from down a hallway, and all three of the occupants jumped in surprise.

“Oh Jesus! Was that a fire alarm? Low battery?” Emma would never admit it to a single soul, but the mournful chirping of a dying smoke detector was probably one of the most unsettling sounds in the universe. She hated that sound. She always changed the batteries in her smoke detector well before they could ever hope to get to the point of alerting her that they were barely clinging to life.

“I think so, yeah,” David confirmed.

Emma was unnerved. “How long has that thing just been beeping every few minutes?”

“Probably as long as the building has been vacant.”

“That’s so creepy,” Mary Margaret breathed, and Emma nodded in agreement. Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

The alarm chirped again insistently, and all three of them startled again, despite knowing to expect it.

“Case and point,” Mary Margaret added unnecessarily.

“Like they just up and left! Those things have battery backup, but they’re mostly electric, right David?” He nodded. “But the electricity has been off for years, and that thing has been beeping pitifully ever since?”

“There’s no way,” David supplied. “No batteries are that good. I wonder if they just keep a few smoke detectors rigged up in case of fire?”

“Ooh, yeah. Arson is a problem at some of these places.” Mary Margaret began to rattle off a list of other abandoned places, some of which had been burned to the ground by vandals looking to get a cheap thrill.

“But why would they care? The building is condemned. What difference does it make if it gets torched? They could rebuild something better.” Emma kicked at the ground, scoffing. “It isn’t like this place can be repaired.”

David shrugged under the camera. “Beats me.”

“Maybe it’s an insurance thing.” They would have to have smoke detectors on the premises to get an insurance settlement, right? That had to be it. The alarm chirped again, and Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “So how long would this one have been here before its battery dies?”

Emma set her backpack down on the ground and reached into her pocket for her phone. She clicked on a few things, then rattled off the answer: “This site says anywhere from a year to like, five years. Depends what batteries they used?”

“Really?” David seemed intrigued, and Emma knew that he would do some more research into this topic when they made it back to their hotel.

“Yeah, today I learned that smoke detectors work better with specific batteries.”

“Huh,” he responded, confirming that he, too, had learned this very thing today.

Beep

“That’s gonna get old,” Emma said, heaving a deep sigh.

David shrugged again. “Well, do you have a nine-volt battery?”

“Of course I don’t, David! Who the hell ever has a nine-volt battery?”

“Well then let’s just try to ignore it and keep going.”

Mary Margaret changed the subject. “Oh my god, look at this. That’s the reception desk.” She had walked across what had to have been the waiting area to a curved counter, faded turquoise, the formica cracked – and in some places, gone entirely. Above the counter, the outline of the letters RGEN Y were still visible, although many had been painted over by vandals, obscuring their original verbiage. “Look, you can still see the outline where the letters were. Wow, this was the ER.”

“Well, the ER waiting room. Or like, triage,” Emma corrected. The actual emergency rooms would be down the hallway a bit. She wondered if any of the beds or curtains were still there. Probably not.

“Wonder how many people died here?”

David coughed. “Good lord, MM, why are you so macabre?”

“Like seriously! I’m just saying! This place has got to be haunted.”

“We’re not Ghost Adventures,” Emma reminded her. While it would be cool to have a show on the Travel Channel alongside big name shows like Ghost Adventures, she wasn’t sure that their particular brand of entering – which often involved the “breaking” part of “breaking and entering” – would be palatable for TV, even for cable television.

“Oh, come on, Emma, they’d love this!” Mary Margaret’s eyes were shining. She loved the show, and even Emma had to admit that it was fun to watch late at night with the lights off. Even if Zak Bagans and his team were overdramatic as all get-out.

“All right, all right, now can you stop fangirling and get over here with the damn camera?”

She picked up the pace with a huff. “Coming.”

Emma was standing behind the reception desk, poking around. There had once been drawers, but they were long gone. A small piece of corroded wire stuck out from inside one of the recesses where the drawers used to be, and some broken glass sat atop the desk, covered in dust. “Look, there’s some files.”

Mary Margaret zoomed in on the small pile of paperwork. It was a stack less than a centimeter high, the file folders warped with moisture damage and mold. “Do they have anything important?”

“They’re all stuck together. But I’d really doubt that they were personal medical files just…left here.”

“That’d be one hell of a HIPAA violation. Did HIPAA even exist when this place was still operating?”

“Nice pun. And I think at the end? Maybe?” Emma shrugged. She didn’t really feel like looking it up this time, and the signal here was weak anyway. “These were probably like protocol files or something.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” David replied with an exaggerated inflection. “One of the great mysteries of this place.”

“Oh, not you too with the dramatic haunted house crap,” Emma grumbled. “You guys-“

Suddenly, there was a loud banging noise coming from somewhere else in the building, followed by a shuffling sound and a couple of thumps. All three of the explorers jumped before freezing, their eyes wide with fear.

“What the fuck was that?” Emma whispered, her voice wavering slightly.

“I told you this place was haunted.”

“Mary Margaret, I swear to-“

“A rat?” she supplied, keeping Emma from finishing whatever threat she’d been about to level.

“Would a rat have been that loud?” David asked, and they all knew the answer.

“No, but at least a rat wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve encountered.” A few years ago, they’d come across an angry, terrified raccoon. They had no intention of harming it, but the wild animal certainly hadn’t known that, and it looked like it wanted their blood. Instead of exploring further, they’d turned around and explored other parts of the building, hoping it’d leave them alone.

It had.

Emma, David, and Mary Margaret still stood in place, not moving. Just as Emma was about to shake it off and get them back into the exploration, another series of noises wafted toward them.

It was voices, and they were muffled. Emma could only make out every few words or so. “We’re on…Haven … Hospital … 2005. … 1987 … was built, and it … the years, but nothing … building, who had hoped … hotel, … to rot …fell through.” Whoever it was had quite a monologue going, Emma mused.

Mary Margaret sighed. “There are other explorers in here?”

“Who the hell?” David asked.

“I think I know who that is,” Emma said, and she hoped she was wrong. “Hello?” she called out, alerting the others to their presence.

From the distance, she could vaguely hear another voice saying something about reshooting.

Emma wasn’t amused. She knew they had heard her, so why were they ignoring her? “Who’s there?”

“The last thing we need…” they heard, as the voices inched closer, “…some amateurs out here causing trouble.”

The voices were nearing, and there was one she definitely recognized. Damn it, not this guy. “Yeah, we need to get these trespassers out of here. They’re a liability.”

Emma heard the word trespasser and her blood ran cold. Shit. She couldn’t afford to get another trespassing charge. While she and her crew were always careful, that didn’t stop curious, concerned citizens calling in on them, which resulted in their getting citations more often than not.

But another group of urban explorers wouldn’t rat them out, would they?

Suddenly, an entire entourage came around a corner, three men and a short woman. Emma knew all of them. Killian Jones, the star of a Netflix documentary series about abandoned places, and his crew, Robin, Will, and Belle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groaned as she spotted him, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms around her chest.

“Emma Swan,” Killian Jones said, looking as though he had just discovered buried treasure. Emma was far less amused at the sight of him, but then she realized that he’d said her name.

“You know me?”

“Of course I know you. We seem to explore quite a few of the same places. Killian Jones, at your service.” He stepped forward, offering his hand.

Emma didn’t take it. Instead, she stared him down. “I know who you are.”

He lowered his hand, wiping it on his jeans. “So then you understand why we’re here, exploring this place,” he said, as if that made the fact that he’d encroached on their shoot any less obnoxious.

“It’s a cool location that I’m sure will be extremely popular with my viewers.” Behind her, David coughed again, and she could practically hear Mary Margaret thinking, but neither said anything. They both knew about Emma’s dislike of Killian Jones and had listened to the way she’d rant about him after hate-watching his show. Neither David nor Mary Margaret understood Emma’s vitriol toward the man – or his series – but they were her friends, and friends let friends rant about Netflix docuseries and the smarmy British narrators who made them.

Or so Emma had said, once upon a time.

“I would say the same, which is why I’m here.”

Emma wasn’t budging. “Well I heard you talking about kicking us out of here. You don’t own the building, so you have no right.”

He stepped forward, and Emma steeled in her resolve not to move. She wouldn’t let this guy push her around. “Given how nervous you were when we came around that corner, it seems that you felt as though you were caught. Breaking and entering, Swan? Is that how you get to all these places the other YouTubers don’t ever seem to hit?”

“It appears that way, doesn’t it,” she said, leaving the last word to hang between them for a few minutes.

He shook his head. Behind him, she watched his crew stand silently, though a look passed between Belle and Will. “Tsk. Do your viewers approve?”

“I’m not stupid! I would never put anything incriminating on film. Which reminds me – you’re going to need to delete that footage.”

“Well this certainly got a bit more interesting,” he mused, and there was that look passing between his crew members again. Emma felt her hackles raising.

“Listen, we’re just here exploring. How we got in here is irrelevant, isn’t it?” David chimed in from behind Emma, sensing Emma’s growing annoyance. She turned her head and looked back over her shoulder, shaking it slightly. Let me handle this, was the message.

Killian was already replying. “I wouldn’t say that it’s irrelevant-“

“Isn’t it? We’re here now.” She shrugged slightly, scuffing her boot on the dusty floor. “But it also appears that you’re doing the same exact thing, so I don’t get why-”

“Not quite. You’re going to have to leave.”

“Hold on a minute, we were here first! And if you’re breaking in, too, I don’t see how you have the right to tell us we’re wrong. A bit hypocritical,” she pointed out. Killian rolled his eyes, but didn’t address the accusation.

“Ahh, but you see, I’m filming a professional production,” he supplied.

“What the hell do you think we’re doing?”

He shrugged. “Being amateurs,” was his response.

“Asshole,” she spat.

“An honest asshole.” Emma’s YouTube channel was very popular, and her videos got hundreds of thousands of views, but they weren’t, strictly speaking, professionals as far as the industry was concerned. It was one of the pitfalls of content creation platforms – it was a job, but at the same time, it wasn’t. And it pissed her off that Killian was right. They were amateur filmmakers. Talented amateur filmmakers, but amateurs nonetheless. That still didn’t give him the right to be a dick, though.

“Honest my ass! You don’t get to come in here and kick us out when you’ve just done the exact same thing you’ve accused us of doing. “

“I-“

She put her hand up to stop him, gesturing with her finger as she spoke. “So just turn around, walk your ass the other way, and get the hell out. We were here first.”

It was clear that she wasn’t going to listen to his explanation, so he decided he’d try to be diplomatic. This space was enormous, surely they could get enough unique footage to satisfy both of their audiences.

“Look, we’re both here now, why don’t we just do this together? You don’t have to get me in any shots, and I’ll keep you out of mine. We can agree to be silent while the other team is talking, aye?”

“Why would I do that? You’ll get all the same footage as us.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “While I might get some of the same footage as you, you may have noticed that this building is massive. And besides, why are you so worried about overlapping footage when your video will be posted before my film is edited and released?”

“Are you saying we don’t edit our footage?” Emma was rarely this easily angered, but he’d managed to strike every nerve he possibly could in the short time they’d been speaking to each other.

Killian drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Emma waited silently, giving him the opening to answer her question. She could tell that he was getting aggravated with her. Good, she thought. Maybe she’d piss him off enough that he’d get tired of arguing and just leave so they could get back to filming.

“I’m saying you’re not professionals. We are. And professional productions take time.”

“Fuck you. “

“Perhaps later, you may wish to clean yourself up first.”

She balked, resisting the urge to repeat her previous statement, lest he take it even further. “Listen, just because you’re some bigshot Netflix star doesn’t mean you get to treat everyone else around you like shit. My channel has been steadily growing for the past ten years, I have a solid viewership, and I know what I’m doing. So why don’t you take your big, expensive camera crew back around that corner and go fuck off to somewhere else.”

He shook his head. “After all the work I’ve done on this location? You’re mad.“

“All that work and yet, we still got here first.”

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way then.” He nodded his head to one side, indicating that his crew should follow him. Robin had set his camera down, and he picked it back up, following Killian’s lead. “We’re on the site of the Mist Haven Memorial Hospital, which closed in 1987. It saw a few ownership changes in the time since, but fully closed – and was left abandoned – in 2005. When the-“

Emma started speaking over him. “We’re going to head down the hallway-“

He raised his voice, continuing, “they thought they could transform the building-“

“remnants they’ve left behind-“

Killian stopped, rolling his head back and interrupting her. “You’re polluting my footage.”

“You’re polluting my footage.”

They were in a standoff, staring each other down. Behind them, both crews stood quietly, watching but unwilling to interrupt. Emma narrowed her eyes, then Killian narrowed his. They both took twin deep breaths, and Killian tilted his head slightly with a saucy wink, knowing it would irritate her.

“Ugh!” This was going to cost so much extra time in editing, to remove all traces of Killian fucking Jones and his stupid fucking documentary voice. She turned around, motioning for Mary Margaret and David to follow her.

“Come around this way, look down this hallway! One of these rooms is where a nurse was stabbed.”

“Guess it’s a good thing they were already in the ER,” David supplied, and Emma let out a slight puff of air, amused. She was still annoyed, and she couldn’t seem to get a natural flow back knowing that Killian Jones was there, probably overhearing everything she said. She kept speaking, but despite her best efforts she couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed. She hoped that their footage past this point wouldn’t look forced or unnatural.

“This hallway is creepy,” Belle spoke up behind her, after having been instructed to also continue observing the space as though the other team was not there.

Killian continued into a nearby room, continuing his history lesson. “Back in this room, the founder of the hospital died, which was the first death knell in the lifespan of this hospital. A series-“

“Look at how this handrail is falling off!” Emma exclaimed, much louder than she’d have normally pointed out a feature of a location. Her team was still in the hallway, but she knew that her voice would carry and the other team would have to reshoot. She gloated inwardly. “David, zoom in on that.”

“Oh gross, it’s moldy,” Mary Margaret added, getting a different angle.

“Christ, that stinks,“ Emma continued, wrinkling her nose and stepping back.

“Opened back in 1927, this hospital saw the worst parts of the Great Depression, as people suffered from easily curable diseases they simply had no money to pay to eradicate. Suicides were at an all-time high, and many of the nurses sat right here on watch, trying to ensure-“

“This room is freezing,” Emma interrupted again, and Killian glared at her.

“Reshoot,” he said with a sigh, the obnoxious chirp of the dying smoke detector punctuating his statement. “You know, we could take turns-“

She interrupted, pretending to ignore him completely. “All these patients, all these rooms, now empty. Left to rot, like-“

“Water damage,” Killian pointed out, stepping in front of Emma’s crew and crouching near the baseboard to get a closer look at the line that indicated that there had been some type of flood.

“Really?!”

“What? You interrupted me, I feel it only right that I should do the same.”

“You’re the most aggravating-“

He stood back up, turning to face her, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Hey now, I offered to share the space. You wanted to do this the hard way. So by all means, keep going. I’m going to do my job. My editors are going to charge me double for this.”

“Then get the hell out of my shots.”

“My shots.”

They stared each other down, but neither of them wanted to concede even an inch. “I’m wasting time,” Killian said to his crew, turning and continuing to talk about the location. “It’s eerie, isn’t it, the way this bedframe is just situated at an angle? It certainly wasn’t like that while the hospital was operable-“

“Oh my god, look at the writing in here! What the fuck does that even say?” She ran her fingers along the letters, faded from years of wear and tear, and unintelligible.

“Swan, you can’t curse on my footage,” he growled.

“I’m not on your footage.”

“Unfortunately, you are.”

“Emma-“ Mary Margaret began, but Emma ignored her, focusing solely on getting Killian Jones out of this damn abandoned hospital.

“Could you just go away?”

“No can do, Swan. I’ve a deadline to meet.”

“Killian-“ Robin spoke up, but he was also ignored.

They were standing at a doorway, and Emma turned to enter the room at the same time as Killian did. The doorway was not narrow, but they jostled for position all the same, Emma bracing her hand on the doorframe and standing with her legs far apart, raising her elbows to shove him when he tried to pass. “I was here first!”

He elbowed her back. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a film to make.”

David spoke up again, sighing. “Come on, Emma, we can go to the other side of the building.”

“Why should I? We got here first. They can go shoot over there and come back here later.” She stepped on Killian’s foot, and he kneed the back of her thigh. He was now bracing himself on the other side of the door frame, refusing to give an inch. It was childish, and they both knew it, but neither wished to be the one to forfeit.

“When there’s less light? Hardly.”

“Jones…” Will tried, as unsuccessfully as the other crew members, to get them to stop.

“Bugger off,” was Killian’s response as he took an elbow to the back.

“Let me in the goddamn room!”

“Watch your elbow,” he grunted out after she hit him with it a third time.

“Well, if you’d let me in the room I wouldn’t have hit you!”

“Listen, I offered for us to share-“ They were both bracing on the doorframe still, and he heard a slight cracking sound, as though the wooden frame was faltering. They both stopped, their limbs still half-entangled from their battle.

“What the fuck was that?” There was another crack, and Killian released the doorframe.

“We should probably-“

It was as if everything happened all at once: the building was creaking and groaning and the next minute, the foundation above the doorway was falling away, causing the beams from the ceiling to fall. He didn’t even think, just jumped toward her, pushing her toward the ground and out of the way of the falling beam. He landed on top of her with a grunt, but they seemed to have avoided the biggest pieces of debris.

A few more rumbles and they heard more of the building crashing down around them. He could hear Emma beneath him, screaming, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

The dust settled. A small bit of light peeked through a crevice in the debris, and he could see that the space they were in was pretty tight – they’d narrowly missed being crushed to death.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Ahh, shit!”

“Bloody hell.”

“You can get off me whenever.”

He shuffled away carefully, trying to make sure he didn’t disturb anything that had fallen around them, in case the building wasn’t done yet “Sorry,” he apologized awkwardly.

“No… thank you.” He could tell what a supreme effort it took for her to thank him, but even Emma Swan couldn’t be so crude as to refuse to thank someone for saving her life.

“I do suppose gratitude is in order.”

“Yeah that’s why I thanked you. And I don’t think this is something you can flirt your way out of, hotshot. Unless those pouty lips can lift this door frame.”

He chose not to comment on the descriptor she’d chosen for his lips. “Unfortunately, my lips lack the skills to lift heavy wooden beams out of the way. They do, however, have other skills…”

“Ugh! Stop!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” he said, laughing slightly. “You do realize that I’m just trying to get a rise out of you?”

“You succeeded. Now we need to find a way to get out of here.” She looked around, surveying the damage. The space they were in was just barely big enough for the two of them to sit up, and neither dared to lean on anything. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“We’ve both been exploring for years. These buildings are all falling apart. It’s a wonder it hadn’t happened sooner.”

“Well that’s comforting,” she muttered. “Don’t you have people who come out to check these places first? Like, for safety? For your big, professional productions?”

“Of course I do, and I’m given specific instructions on places I should avoid for this very reason. This part of the building was determined by the insurance adjuster to be sound.”

“Well, someone fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Us.”

She was immediately on the defensive. “You think that our argument caused this?”

He looked at her, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Perhaps it was your yelling, it disturbed the delicate foundations of this place.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Perhaps it was your gigantic ego being incapable of fitting through the door.”

“Perhaps- “

She sighed. “Perhaps arguing isn’t fucking getting us out of here. Come on, if we reach up here we can probably-“

He shook his head, taking another long look around the space. He couldn’t be sure that they weren’t under several layers of debris down here. If they moved one thing, everything else could come crashing down. “Love, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She glared at him. “You got a better one?”

He took his phone out of his pocket, clicking the home button and seeing that he had no service. Emma mirrored his action, seeing her phone screen was cracked.. She groaned as she attempted – unsuccessfully – to turn it on. Calling for help was out of the question.

“Wait for rescue?” He asked, and even he knew it sounded pathetic. She let out an incredulous huff.

“From who?”

“The crew?”

Oh God, the crew! In their current predicament, she’d forgotten that she’d brought two other people in here with her, and that Killian had brought his team, as well. “Do you hear them? What if they- oh god, what if they’re all… it’d be my fault, I dragged them here…”

“Shit.” It was quiet. He thought they’d have heard some yelling by now. What if he’d been responsible for killing his entire crew?

“If they’re… and we’re stuck here… how long…?” She found it hard to speak the word. If they were dead. Dead. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. These were her best friends. She would never live with herself if she survived and they hadn’t.

“I don’t know.” He let out a long breath. Emma could tell that he, too, felt the weight of responsibility for the people he’d brought with him.

“Would anyone nearby be able to hear the crash? Would they think to look for people?”

“My truck is parked outside, so I’d hope so,” he replied. Sure, they hadn’t parked directly in front of this exact location, but eventually someone would find it odd that there was a car parked in front of an abandoned hospital.

“Mine, too.“

“That ridiculous yellow contraption?”

She felt her irritation rising again at his tone. “I like it” The Bug was old, but it was hers – one of the first things that she’d ever bought for herself.

“It fits you, I guess,” he said, and she snapped her head to look at him.

“And what does that mean?”

“That thing looks like it’s held together by duct tape and dreams. Kind of like-“

“Do not finish that statement,” she warned. She didn’t know what he’d been about to say, but it couldn’t have been anything kind, judging by their conversation so far. She sighed. For a moment, it had seemed like they were starting to get along, but now he was antagonizing her again.

“Fine,” he snapped.

“Fine,” she snapped back.

The silence enveloped them, and Emma realized at that moment just how little space they had. She could see that there were some small openings in the debris – she could barely see the light from one of the windows – so it wasn’t like they would run out of air, but the space was not a comfortable one by anyone’s definition. She wondered what would happen if they had to sleep here – if they had to spend the night, waiting for rescue, in a tiny space where perhaps one errant move could send the rest of the building upon them.

It was only when Killian spoke again that she realized she’d started breathing a bit more rapidly. “Your breathing is disrupting my thinking.”

“Oh, I’m sure your thoughts are exhilarating,” was her reply. As much as she’d tried to sound sarcastic, she was secretly glad that he’d drawn her out of her headspace.

“They are, actually. Not that I can hear myself think over the sound of you hyperventilating.”

“Well excuse me for panicking! We could die in here, and you’re hellbent on antagonizing me!” He recoiled, realizing that his attempts to lighten the mood with teasing had not been taken in jest. “This is your fault!”

It was his turn to be defensive. “How in the hell is this my fault?”

“If you hadn’t come around that corner and bothered us while we were filming…” she waved her hand, seemingly showing the result of him walking into the hospital.

“Oh, so I was supposed to just know you were here?”

“You could have just seen us and turned around. Let us do our thing. It isn’t like the building is going anywhere.”

He turned his head toward her slowly, giving her a pointed, incredulous look.

She swallowed. “Okay, so the building was going somewhere. How were we supposed to know that?”

“Exactly, love,” he nodded. “How were we supposed to know that?”

Emma huffed, a short breath pushing a few errant strands of hair away from her face, and she reached up to brush her hair back behind her ear. As much as she wanted to blame Killian Jones for all of her current woes, she knew as well as he did that they were both responsible for their predicament. Had they not been shoving each other like a couple of five-year-olds, the building probably would still be mostly intact.

He was still talking, she realized. “And we could have collaborated, if you’d been amenable to it.”

“Could you cut out the proper British guy act? This isn’t fucking National Geographic.” Who the hell uses words like amenable?

“I hate to break it to you, love, but this is my natural accent.”

“I mean your stupid vocabulary,” she amended, and he snorted, trying to keep from laughing.

“The mere fact that I have a vocabulary indicates that it is not stupid.” And damn it, she hated that he was right. Again.

She sighed. “This sucks.”

“On that, I am in agreement with you.”

“Fuck, I don’t even have my backpack on me.” Killian raised an eyebrow, silently asking her to elaborate as to why that mattered. “My backpack has water. Some snacks.”

“Planning on getting trapped?”

“No. But you so eloquently pointed out my ‘yellow contraption,’ which is kind of old. I like to be prepared. Plus, I like to snack. We spend hours in these places. You mean to tell me you don’t bring snacks? You don’t have anything to drink?”

“We keep a cooler of water in the truck, but snacks, no. Not on location,” he mused. He’d never thought to bring snacks into one of these places; they would shoot different parts of the documentary at different times, and they could always grab something to eat while outside the venue.

“On location,” she mimicked, her horrible rendition of his accent making him snort with laughter. “You sound so pretentious.”

“I’m a filmmaker, love. That’s what it’s called.”

“Totally pretentious.” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, snickering softly under his breath.

Emma was less amused. “What’s funny about this?”

“I’m laughing at you,” he replied with another shake of his shoulders, though he at least managed to contain his grin.

“Yeah, sure, laugh at me, kick me while I’m down! We’re both in here, we’re both gonna die! Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I am!”

“No you’re not!”

“Okay, well, first of all, we’re not going to die, and I was just trying to make you feel a bit better,” he said with a shrug, his tone apologetic. He realized that his approach with Emma had been wrong. She was far too guarded to find the humor in a situation such as this, and he should have contained himself, at least more than he had.

“Why should I?” She asked, throwing her hands up. “Feel better, I mean?”

“What’s the use in panicking? You’ll use more energy,” was his response.

“Why should that matter? We’re not going to be pushing our way out of here, we’ve already established that.”

He reached to push her hands down, keeping a grip on her wrist. He was surprised when she didn’t push his hand away. “When a crew comes to let us out, you might need some strength.”

“When. You seem awfully confident,” she retorted, her eyes betraying the worry she’d been trying to conceal. Despite her tough exterior, he could tell that Emma was more afraid than she’d let on.

“People know I’m here,” he said, hoping to provide an extra bit of reassurance. “They will be expecting to hear from me.”

“People other than your crew?” She swallowed again, trying not to think too hard about what might have happened to their friends.

“Yes, believe it or not,” he replied. “People actually care about me. People who aren’t on my payroll.”

At that, she cracked a smile, but decided to keep playing the role. “Like who?” she asked, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Like my brother, who will no doubt gloat about my idiocy in getting trapped in here, and who will be sure to tell me to stop my ‘foolish dangerous hobby,’ as he calls it.” Emma dropped the façade immediately, becoming indignant on Killian’s behalf.

“It’s not a hobby if you get paid for it.”

“Exactly. I told him that. This is my job. A job I quite enjoy.” As an afterthought, he added, “most of the time.”

“This is mine, too.”

He was surprised by that. It wasn’t easy to be able to support oneself with a career in content creation. “Really?”

“It’s almost impossible to produce good, quality YouTube content like this without committing to it. I worked for the first few years while I ran my channel, and you can tell by the quality of my videos, because I didn’t have the time to devote to the locations, or the time for editing them the way we do now Then I…I lost my mother,” she took a shaky breath and felt him squeeze her arm, “my adoptive mom, I never knew my real mother – and I decided then that I’d pursue this for real. She left me a bit of money, so I could comfortably quit and try to make this happen. If it didn’t work out, I’d at least know I tried. If it did – well, I’d be where I am right now.”

“Trapped in a collapsed building with me.”

“Maybe I should have kept my job,” she joked, but there was no bite behind it.

“Am I all that bad?”

No, she wanted to say, but somehow couldn’t form the word. It had been hard for her to let people in, to trust people, and she was already trusting him a lot more than she’d ever intended upon. True, she hadn’t expected to meet him and then become trapped in a tight space under a partially collapsed building, but she still wasn’t ready to be completely open.

He could see her warring with herself, so he continued. “I think we’ve got quite a bit in common, love. You say you never knew your birth mother, I’m assuming that extends to your birth father, as well?” He paused, and she nodded in response. “My mother died when I was four, then my father abandoned my brother and I when I was five. Liam was fifteen. One of his friends’ mums took us in so we wouldn’t get separated from each other. She kind of became my second mum.”

“What happened to her?” Emma asked, though she sensed there was no happy ending to this story.

“She died,” he said, swallowing hard. “Last year. Cancer.”

“It’s a bitch,” she said softly.

He chuckled darkly in response. “Indeed.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond, other than the usual platitudes and sympathy, and she had a feeling that he wasn’t one for wallowing. She was the same way. Hearing people offer sympathy to her forced her to think about it, and she didn’t want to think about it.

“Let me ask you something, Swan,” he said softly, and she lifted her head up.

“Hmm?”

“Is that why your series is named ��Left Behind’?”

“Um. Yeah, actually.” She was surprised. There were so few people who understood the double meaning of her series title, and in mere hours he’d picked up on it.

He nodded sadly. “I knew I saw it in you. The look of someone who had been abandoned. You put so much love and care into these explorations. You’re fascinated by things left behind, but you recognize the tragedy in it all..” She was too stunned to reply. “We’re more alike than you think.”

That shook her out of it. “I suppose. And what about your series? ‘Desolate and Deserted’?” She watched him reach to scratch behind his ear, a nervous gesture that made him seem oddly endearing.

“Aye, I was in a kind of rough patch when I came about the name. My girlfriend had just left me to go be with one of my mates, and I felt pretty much desolate and deserted.” He stopped for a moment, then continued. “Looking back, it never would have worked out, so I guess I should thank her for it, but the name is rather unfortunate, at that.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry. Cheaters are the worst. No one should have to go through that. It’s a shitty feeling.” Feeling like you’re unwanted, she didn’t add, but she didn’t have to. He understood.

“I told you. We’re more alike than you think.”

“I suppose we are.” It was weird, realizing that she may have been wrong about him, and that for all his bravado as portrayed on TV, he was just as flawed and broken as she was. “Look, I’m sorry for all of that, back there. Being the first to explore a location, that’s kind of my whole thing. Audiences are fickle, and I’m terrified of losing everything I’ve built.”

“I understand, Swan. More than you think. When you come from nothing-“

“Do you hear something?” They both sat silently, listening for something out of the ordinary. Then he heard it – some faint yelling. Were people here already, looking for them? Should they begin yelling?

The yelling was getting closer, though they couldn’t make out what the person was saying. Whoever it was didn’t seem to know where they were. “Is that-“

Mary Margaret interrupted him, her voice calling loudly from what must have just been outside the room they were in. “Emma! Killian! You guys in there?”

“Jones!” Robin’s voice called, and he heard Belle and Will calling further off in the distance.

“They’re alive,” he breathed.

“Oh thank God,” Emma replied, heaving a huge sigh. Not only were the people she loved alive – and probably fine, but they were actively looking for them.

“We’re here!” She yelled as loud as she could. Killian flinched and tried not to cover his ears, despite the volume of her voice. “We’re both fine! A few scratches!”

“Killian?” Will shouted, apparently needing to hear him.

“I’m fine! What took you lot so long?”

Even through a thick brick wall and a mountain of debris, Killian could hear Will’s biting tone: “We were trying to get out, you wanker!”

“We thought you were dead!” Mary Margaret yelled. “You weren’t calling for us, so we assumed…”

“We thought you were dead!” Emma shouted, and wiped a tear that had started rolling down her cheek. When they got out of here, she was going to give Mary Margaret and David the biggest hug imaginable.

“We’re calling 911! Don’t kill each other!”

“WHAT!?” Emma bellowed, her face turning to panic. The group outside didn’t respond, so she assumed that they were already in the process of calling.

“How else do you think they’re going to get us out of here? Divine intervention?” Killian asked.

She rolled her eyes. “The cops will come.”

“So?”

“We’re trespassing. Why are you not freaking out? We’re trapped under all this shit, the foundation is probably not that sturdy given… everything… and we’re going to get arrested once they pull our stupid asses out of here. How can you be so calm?”

“I have a permit, along with liability insurance,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do?” Now it all made sense, the way he’d reacted to her crew breaking into the location.

“You mean to tell me you don’t?”

“Would I be freaking out if I did?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. He had been teasing her earlier, but now it seemed that their explorations were a lot more amateur than he’d thought. When they got out of here, he’d try to convince her that she should start doing things the legal way. That wasn’t a conversation to be had at this particular moment. “But anyway, my insurance specifies ‘Killian Jones and his crew.’ None of their names are listed on the document.”

What did that have to do with anything? she wondered. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you could pretend to be a part of my crew – you and your own crew – and you can avoid the charges associated with trespassing.”

It was a generous offer, one Emma couldn’t believe he would make. “Why would you do that? After all the shit I’ve given you today?”

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

She didn’t respond, because she realized that everything she’d said about him earlier had been borne of assumptions, almost all of which were wrong.

He continued. “An asshole?”

“Listen, I didn’t mean…I mean…” she pursed her lips together. She knew she had to apologize, but Emma wasn’t always the greatest at admitting when she was wrong.

“No, no, I’m your competition, after all. That’s why you were so upset that we were here. You don’t want to lose half your viewers to my episode.”

“I mean, you’re not really my competition.” His eyebrows shot to the sky, and she quickly amended, “You’re not a YouTuber. Our audiences are not the same, and people expect different things on YouTube than they do on Netflix.”

“So then you really shouldn’t have been so upset about us being here,” he pointed out, and she shrugged. He was right.

“But to be fair, we are often covering the same locations, a fact that you have mentioned more than a few times in your videos.”

Emma was shocked. “You’ve watched my videos?” It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, given that he’d recognized her on sight, but she still felt flustered at the knowledge that someone as prominent as Killian Jones, a renowned documentary filmmaker who had a non-zero amount of Emmy nominations throughout his career, sat down to watch her videos.

Suddenly, she wanted to know more. Did he subscribe to her channel? Was he familiar with her posting schedule? Had he ever commented on one of her videos before?

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I? They’ll get us out of here, I’ll give them my insurance information, I’ll say we were all here filming together, and we can go our separate ways. Nothing to worry about, Swan.”

No one had ever called her by her last name before, and she kind of liked it, loathe as she was to admit it to herself. “Thank you.” She waited for him to make a snarky comment, or to make another flirtatious remark about how she could properly show her gratitude. When he didn’t, she turned to look at him, noting the way his eyes had softened.

“And when the firemen finally get us out of here, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Can’t just let a favor go for free, can we?” she snarked, immediately regretting her words when she saw him flinch slightly. She let out an apologetic breath, giving him the space to continue.

“Well you see,. I quite fancy you, when you’re not yelling at me.”

If someone had told her this morning that not only would she meet Killian Jones, but she’d be sitting next to him under a pile of rubble while he confessed to liking her, she’d have called that person a dumbass. And yet…

And yet.

He watched the surprise play across her face before continuing. “I’ve watched your videos for years, Swan. Not to copy your locations – we have similar tastes, is all. I actually enjoy your content. You have a fresh enthusiasm that my documentaries lack. A – youthfulness, a feeling of whimsy.”

“Yours are kind of clinical,” she agreed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “How old are you anyway? Fifty?” Emma Swan was not one for sincerity, but teasing? That, she could do.

He ignored the age comment, pointing playfully. “I knew you watched them!” His wide grin was perhaps the most endearing thing Emma had ever seen.

“Sometimes there’s nothing else on Netflix,” she shrugged. He narrowed his eyes at her, letting her know that he didn’t believe her for a second.

“Okay, okay! I’ve watched them! The history you dig up is really interesting. I sometimes wish I went through all the trouble before getting to these places. I mean, we do get a little bit of background, but you’re like an abandoned building archaeologist. The stuff you find out about these places is fascinating.”

“It does give the exploration more depth,” he agreed. It was a lot of work, the research that went into each of his videos, not to mention the interviews and location shots. He was glad to hear that someone he admired as much as Emma appreciated it.

“Tell me the history of this place.”

“Now, now, Swan, no spoilers.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I know how this episode ends already,” she joked, and he had no response to that.

“All right, so, George Mills made a fortune in the steel industry at the turn of the century. He was one of the first to open a steel mill just outside Pittsburgh, which – as you know – is well-known for steel production. He met his wife there, a woman half his age by the name of Regina Barnes. She was, according to many accounts, a tyrant, and just prior to the first World War, she forced him to sell the mill and move their family – they had three kids at this point – and settle in this area.”

“Why here?” Northern Maine wasn’t particularly close to Pittsburgh, so it seemed an odd choice.

“She had ‘a feeling about this place.’ A small, unincorporated area of the country, well off the beaten path, and she wanted to live there. She packed up her family, ‘convinced’ dozens of families to leave Pittsburgh with them, and they all settled down and incorporated the town of Storybrooke, which holds its name to this day.”

Killian’s use of air quotes had not gone unnoticed. She imitated the motion, asking, “Convinced?”

“Coerced. Allegedly.” Emma gave him a pointed look, urging him to continue. “She was apparently great at getting dirt on people, which was an excellent means for her to get her way. So she basically brought a small town’s worth of people with her to settle down, got them all to build her a mansion which, sadly, burned down about ten years ago, and appointed herself mayor of the town.”

“Her husband wasn’t bothered by this?”

“He was very enamored of her, it seems.”

“Or she had something on him, too,” Emma suggested, and he nodded slightly.

“We’ll never know, I suppose. Anyway, that’s how this hospital came to be. One of their children developed a chronic illness, and rather than travel to another city for healthcare, she blackmailed a doctor out of Boston and had the hospital built. They began construction in 1920, and the first wing of the hospital opened that year. This whole massive building was built and operational by 1927, funded in part by the number of disabled war veterans needing continuous care. Storybrooke was a thriving small town at that point, and the hospital was the largest for miles for over thirty years.

“It saw the tail end of the depression, had a major boom during the Second World War, as did the town. George Mills died shortly after the war, and Regina inherited his fortune. She ran the town, and the hospital was part of the town. She wasn’t mayor anymore, but every subsequent mayor answered to her. She had the money, and with it, the power. There is a lot of scandal surrounding Regina Barnes-Mills, so much that I can’t possibly put it all in the episode. I could do an entire documentary on her alone.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I don’t have time, for one. Perhaps I will revisit her story someday.” He paused, heaving a slight sigh. “Anyway, she died in 1983. She was 102 years old then, and held onto control right up until the end. Following her death, her children had a huge battle with each other over inheritance. Our lovely Mayor hadn’t been too clear about her intentions. Some local historians say that she didn’t intend to die.” He paused, giving Emma a chance to giggle. “The familial in-fighting and lack of leadership at the hospital was essentially its death warrant, though there were many other factors. Newer, more state-of-the-art facilities, people leaving the town, and the questionable decision to convert the hospital – well, a wing of it, at least – to a mental health facility. Problem was, there weren’t enough patients locally, so they kind of… outsourced.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?”

“Not as such, no. There were some lawsuits over the mistreatment of patients, and the hospital closed in 1987. A wealthy investor bought this place hoping to turn it into a hotel, and some parts of the building were converted into rooms. That lasted a couple years. It’s not like this area is a tourist hotspot. Except, you know, for people like us who want to explore decrepit, abandoned places,” he joked.

“I know the rest, I think. They couldn’t find anyone else to buy it and there was a huge fire all the way on the other side of the building. People wrote it off, right?”

“That’s essentially it, yes. And here it sits.”

“And here we sit,” she grumbled, heaving a deep sigh. He responded with a sigh of his own. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Emma pretended to be supremely interested in her cuticles.

Killian broke the silence. “So, have I made this place more interesting to you?

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head and trying to hide her smile from him.

“I beg your-“ He grabbed her wrist, causing her to look at him. “You were hanging onto my every word!”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. He was so offended at her feigned disinterest. “Perhaps I was merely appreciative of the messenger.”

“And not the message?”

She huffed out a breath, pushing an errant strand of hair away from her face. “I was trying to compliment you.”

“You were?” He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat slightly. “All right then. Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. “You guys all right in there?” Robin’s voice carried over the rubble.

“Fine!” Emma called, trying not to be too annoyed at the interruption from outside. They were just trying to help, after all.

Killian seemed to sense her frustration. “But you could get us out, yeah?

“The firemen are on their way. Try not to kill each other,” Robin advised. Killian made a mental note to remind Robin later that he didn’t need a second over-protective older brother.

“No promises,” Killian shouted back, winking at Emma as he did so.

Right then, she seemed to make a decision about something. “Okay,” she said, agreeing to an unknown prompt.

“Okay what?”

“Okay I’ll go to dinner with you,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement at the way his face lit up.

“Really Swan, what changed your mind?”

“I quite ‘fancy you’ as well,” she replied, in a poor imitation of his accent.

“Emma Swan, were you watching my documentaries to admire the locations, or just to admire me?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows in an animated fashion.

“You really are such a dick sometimes.” The insult was spoken, but it had no bite.

He shrugged casually. “It’s part of my charm.”

“I suppose.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” he pressed, and she looked down at her fingers again, picking at one of her nails.

“Both,” she muttered.

“Both?” He repeated, wanting to be sure he’d heard her.

She threw her hands up exasperatedly. “Both the locations, and you. All right?”

“Was that so hard?”

“Admitting that I’ve been a bitch to you all this time because I didn’t want you to know that I liked you?”

And there it was, out in the open. Sure, there had been the worry about him getting all of the prime bits of footage before she could manage it, but the real reason she was being so prickly was that she hadn’t wanted to admit to him – or to herself, for that matter – that she liked him. Kind of a lot.

“I wasn’t going to say it.” He knew better than to use that particular word in reference to a woman. She smiled then, surprisingly relieved that it was out in the open now.

“So what do you say, Swan, care to plan a collab? Starting here?”

What did she have to lose? “Okay,” she said. “But I still get to release my video on my schedule.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to manage how you run your channel, love.”

“Good.”

Inwardly, she wondered how it would all work – would they have contracts? As much as Killian said he wouldn’t want to meddle in her production, she knew that the folks over at Netflix would probably have a few more stipulations.

As if reading her thoughts, he continued. “I can’t promise that my agents will appreciate me bringing another personality onto the team. Especially one as volatile as you,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t make me find something to throw at you.”

He grinned. It really was too easy to get a rise out of her. “But. If we were to collaborate with each other, even if it’s only on this location - I think we could really have something. Your videos are good. And I daresay my documentaries are good. But together…”

“We could be great,” she finished, letting her mind wander beyond just their filmmaking endeavors. They could be great. What would it be like to get to know Killian Jones on a personal level? How much of his narrative charm was genuine? The more she got to know about him, the more she wanted to learn.

She startled when he spoke again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re quite fetching in that tank top.”

“I’m sweaty,” she protested, her face beginning to flush. “And covered in dust. And I probably smell terrible.”

He was close enough to dispute that assertion. “You smell nice, actually.” His voice was lower, huskier. He reached to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, and she shuddered at the gentleness of his touch.

She turned her head then, meeting his intense gaze. She leaned ever-slightly toward him, noting that he did the same. A pang of longing shot through her, and she parted her lips in anticipation of what was to come.

They closed the distance slowly, their lips barely grazing when a loud cracking noise pulled them from their reverie. “Y’all just sit tight in there, we’ll have you out in a few,” came the reassuring voice of what could only have been one of the firemen over what must have been a megaphone.

“All right,” Emma yelled weakly, barely trusting her voice. A loud motor roared to life outside, and the moment was effectively broken. The faint sound of rhythmic beeping, signaling that a vehicle was backing up, seemed to draw closer. She wondered how much work the rescue crews would have to do to pull them out of there. Exactly how much of the building was piled on top of them?

“We’ll finish that later,” Killian promised, grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. How he desperately wanted to pull her into him and claim her, but the background noise of the rescue effort was especially jarring. They may as well have doused him in freezing water.

He and Emma hunched over, keeping their eyes shielded in an effort to avoid any falling debris. There was a constant din – between the motors of vehicles, the yelling of workers, the beeping, and the sound of the building being lifted, Emma would be surprised if she left without a headache.

Be grateful that’s all you’ll have, she reminded herself. She grasped Killian’s hand, and he squeezed it reassuringly. “Bit loud,” he commented, and if she hadn’t just been thinking the same thing, she’d have made some sarcastic comment about him being Captain Obvious.

The fireman had said, “a few,” but they had no frame of reference for that statement. A few minutes? A few hours?

The noise was such that they couldn’t really converse, so they sat beside each other waiting for their eventual release, trying to be patient. Periodically, one of them would look up to check the progress, but that didn’t really give them any indication as to how much longer it would be, and the rescuers weren’t stopping to give them any updates. Eventually, though, the firefighters were pulling them out – Emma first, followed shortly thereafter by Killian. The sky was slightly darker, but night hadn’t quite fallen.

There was a flurry of activity as everyone rushed to hug each other and express their overall relief that this ordeal was over. The police had already questioned both crews, and they gathered statements from both Killian and Emma.

Emma must have seemed worried, because the officer reassured her that the questioning was merely for insurance purposes. The firefighters left first, and before long, the police officers were leaving, as well, leaving behind a construction crew, who had been tasked with ensuring that they got everything cleared from the site. They were all given strict instructions not to reenter the building by both the police and the construction workers.

“Good thing we got all of the cameras then,” Will grumbled, though Emma suspected that Will – not unlike herself – would have had very few qualms about disobeying the police.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Mary Margaret fussed over Emma, and Emma could only respond with a pointed look. A few meters away, Killian was subjected to similar treatment from Belle, and he met Emma’s gaze as he repeated – much like she had – that he was fine.

“I’m fine, Mary Margaret,” she said again, not even looking at her friend as she did so. In the waning daylight, Killian’s slightly mussed form seemed even more enticing, if that was even possible, and she caught his eye, noting how his gaze darkened with lust. “I’m fine,” she breathed, hardly aware of anyone – or anything – other than Killian Jones.

He raised an eyebrow at her and that was it. She stalked over to him, grabbed the collar of his still-dusty leather jacket, and practically crashed their lips together. Within seconds his hands were tangling in her hair, pulling her possessively closer and groaning deeply into the embrace. She felt her knees go weak as he kissed her passionately, his toned frame seemingly the only thing keeping her upright.

They breathed each other in, their hands clinging, groping, desperate, their breaths hot against each other when Emma finally – reluctantly – pulled away slightly, her lips trembling and a shudder shooting through her. She had never been kissed like that.

“Would you like to have that dinner date now?” Killian asked softly, his words low and gravely. For as long as she lived, Emma was certain she would never, ever forget how absolutely fucking sexy he sounded in that moment.

She giggled against him, pressing her lips to his in another short, quick, kiss, giggling again when he chased her lips with his own. “Maybe we should just skip the dinner part for now,” she suggested.

“I like the way you think,” he murmured against her, “But I do still want to take you out on a proper date,” he added, closing the distance between them again as she nodded her agreement.

“Mate, you gonna keep snogging her there all night?” Robin teased, and they stepped back from each other, noting the various states of amusement on the faces of their spectators.

“Right,” Killian said. He wasn’t going to stand here so his mates could give him the third degree, not when Emma Swan wanted him to take her somewhere more private. “Shall we, love?” he asked Emma, nodding slightly toward where his truck was parked. The crew could take care of the equipment and get the van back to their hotel.

Emma reached into her pocket and grabbed her keys, tossing them toward her friends. “M&Ms, take the Bug, would you?” Mary Margaret caught the keys, just barely, jingling them a few times with a pointed look, one that very clearly told Emma that they were going to have a long talk about this, and Emma felt Killian put his arm around her waist, leading her away from the stunned onlookers.

“Told you,” they heard Mary Margaret whisper loudly as they began to walk away, and Emma could only smile as she let Killian lead her to his car.

A few years later

“For Deserted and Left Behind, I’m Killian Jones,” he began the sign-off.

“And I’m Emma Swan,” she continued.

“And we’ll see you in the next exploration,” they finished together, holding their final pose until the camera crew gave them the all-clear. They’d probably reshoot that a few more times, but Emma personally felt that it was satisfactory.

It was one thing she’d had trouble adjusting to when she’d agreed to these periodic special collaborations with Killian – Netflix’s need to have them constantly reshoot everything. It was for camera angles, or lighting, or just a different tone of voice. She’d never known how exhausting it all could be.

“Hey, don’t go anywhere,” he said as she turned to leave, grabbing her elbow before turning to one of the cameramen.. “Can we get some more footage real quick?”

“Killian, I’m hungry,” she protested. “Can’t it wait?”

“This won’t take long, love.” He nodded to the cameraman, who started recording again before nodding back, indicating they were rolling.

“Three years ago, I ran into this lovely yet infuriating lass when we both stumbled upon the same location-”

“They know all this-“ she began to interrupt, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.

“Like I said, infuriating.” She tilted her head to the side, giving him that affectionate-but-annoyed look she’d perfected since they’d begun dating. “Little did I know, however, that I would find not just a partner in exploration, but one in life.”

He took her hand, dropping to one knee. “And I’d like to ask her to continue to be my partner, for the rest of our lives.” Her mouth hung open, tears welling up in her eyes as he took out a small ring box, opening it to reveal a perfect, beautiful ring.. “Emma, will you marry me?”

“Infuriating?” she teased as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Takes one to know one.”

“Emma…” he warned with a groan, squeezing her hand. Only Emma Swan could take a proposal and make it sarcastic.

“Yes, Killian. I’ll be an infuriating wife to an infuriating husband,” she agreed with a huge smile, and he slid the ring on her finger before standing up and pulling her in to a searing kiss, oblivious to the cheers – and tears – around them.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” he asked against her lips, and she shook her head slightly before diving back in.

“God, I hope not,” she replied, and kissed him again.

#ouat #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #emma swan #killian jones #my fanfiction #also hi hello this is my first published captain swan fic

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lovephotographyandcaptainswan · 9 months ago

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I wrote this CaptainSwan Fan-fiction forever ago and finally decided to post it! Too pzt. To type it out though lol 😂

#ouat #captain swan #emma swan #awesome #captain hook #killian jones #once upon a time #captain swan fanfiction

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cosette141 · 2 years ago

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While You Weren't Sleeping | OUAT fanfic oneshot

Author: cosette141

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Captain Swan

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Emma learns that Hook was a little less unconscious after their fight in the Enchanted Forest than he’d led her to believe. (tag to s3 ep The Jolly Roger)

AO3

(story under the cut!)

a/n: I personally still think that the s2 fight between Emma and Hook could have gone either way (one theory being that Emma actually won because Hook was being cocky, the other (more popular one) being Hook threw the fight because he didn’t want to hurt Emma).

I’m all for girl power so I love the idea of Emma having actually gotten the upper hand cause he was flirting too much lol and underestimated that Emma is a scrappy badass.

But this little story came along with the other theory, because I caught something Hook said in season 3. He tells Emma “Magic is a part of you, Swan. Don’t forget; I was there when Cora tried to steal your heart. I saw the power inside of you.” So, either this is a writing mistake, since he was supposed to be unconscious… or it was Hook’s flub, outing himself.

For the sake of this story, we’re going with the idea that Hook threw the fight, but I love both theories. :)

She found him where she knew she would; by the docks. And ever since seeing him again, though it’s been weeks since he woke her up in New York, she still felt a… something stir inside her at the sight of him. Something she’d felt at the town line, that might have prompted her to do something if they had been the only two people there.

But that was a long time ago.

And everything after Walsh…

She knew she had… feelings… for Hook—Killian.

However she didn’t yet know what to do about them.

“Hey,” said Emma, trying to ignore that feeling when he looked her way. “I need you to watch Henry again.”

Hook grinned, but it was still a softer one than he used to have.

Like this smile was one just for her.

“If you wanted to get close to me, no need to use the lad as an excuse,” said Hook, smirking a little.

Emma very nearly rolled her eyes. “I’m not.” At least not entirely. “Regina is giving me a magic lesson,” she explained. “We think that the both of us combined should be strong enough to overpower Zelena.”

His features shifted into one of a little relief. “That’s about the best plan we’ve got yet.” he said with a grin.

“Yeah,” said Emma, biting her lip, feeling a little less confident than he seemed to feel about her. She had no idea how to handle her magic and she wasn’t sure one lesson was going to change that.

“Don’t worry, Swan.” he said, the cunning slipping out of his expression, the look in his eyes shifting to something much more genuine. “Remember,” he said gently, “Magic is a part of you, Swan. Don’t forget I was there when Cora tried to steal your heart.” A change in his eyes, something like pride, like confidence , in her . “I saw the power inside of you.”

Emma smiled, a little heat touching her cheeks at the faith he had in her, nodding at his reassurance. Her magic was powerful, and that reminder did give her a little newfound faith in herself .

But her expression halted, something shifting in her eyes, and then her eyes snapped back to his.

Suspiciously.

“How do you know that?” she asked, eyes locked onto his. “Cora told you?”

“She didn’t have to,” he said, his own brows kneading with genuine puzzlement. “I was there.”

No…

“As I recall,” she said slowly, brows narrowing, “you were unconscious .”

“I—“ It was only then he seemed to understand the direction her interrogation was heading, and he froze. Swallowing, he scratched behind his ear, saying, “—aye, yes, I was.”

He didn’t .

“Then how did you know I used magic to stop Cora?” she demanded, brow hitching up sharply.

Hook swallowed again, eyes shifting to the ground before meeting hers.

Lie.

Emma felt something heat up her chest.

He did not .

“I—er, it only makes sense that’s how you—“

“ Hook .”

His eyes found hers.

And then…

He grinned .

Like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

Emma’s jaw dropped.

“I knocked you out!” she hissed.

“You knocked me down ,” he corrected, that amused grin lifting his lips into a crooked smile, and Emma suddenly wanted to smack it off.

“Are you saying you let me win? ” growled Emma, voice hitching up an octave.

“I’m saying,” he said, “I didn’t duck when you swung the compass at my head.”

Emma gaped at him.

But it was there in his eyes.

His stupid, cocky eyes.

“I knocked you out,” whispered Emma. “You were being a cocky bastard, and I knocked you out .”

Hook winced a little. “I’ll admit to being the cocky bastard, but you know as well as I do that you didn’t.”

Emma stared him down, and he let her, and damnit he wasn’t lying.

“But—“ began Emma.

“Swan,” he said, a little exasperatedly, “unless you’ve forgotten, I am a few centuries old. I’ve been a swordsman for hundreds of years, and you’d been one for all of five minutes.” At her narrowed eyes, he said, “Though I’ll admit, I did have quite the headache afterward.”

Emma felt anger and a thread of humiliation course through her.

He let her win?

She’d prided herself on that victory.

But something else snuck into her mind, a question that suddenly wouldn’t let her go.

She raised her eyes to Hook. “Why?”

The amusement slipped from his face. “What do you mean why?”

Emma’s anger faded. “I mean,” she said quietly, “why’d you let me win? It’s not like we were on the same side.”

His brows rose. “Emma,” he said, and it always shot a little chill down her spine when he chose to use her first name. “ Winning that fight would have meant either severely injuring or killing you.”

“So?”

He blinked. “What?”

“So?” repeated Emma. “At that point you were ‘done with me.’” She watched Hook wince at the words, and she suddenly realized he must have regretted saying them to her. “You risked your mission and Cora’s wrath for me? Why?”

Hook hesitated.

And Emma would never get over how strange, how rare it was to see him unsure.

But he smiled, something soft, and he shifted her hair with his hook, like he’d done on the beanstalk. “Because I was never done with you, love.” Taking a breath, he said, “I still had the last Bean. I knew Cora and I could use it to get here, and you deserved to return to your son. I… simply couldn’t bring myself to prevent you.” He scratched behind his ear again. “And, love, I…” He swallowed. “I do apologize for the way I spoke to you that day.”

There was a touch of anguish in his eyes, and Emma found herself smiling. “You let me clock you in the face with a compass,” she said. “I think we’re even.”

He smiled too.

His eyes on her, he said, “Rest assured, love, that you are the strongest person I know.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

His expression didn’t change. “I’m not placating you, Emma,” he said with a sort of gentle firmness. “I may have given you that fight that day, but Cora didn’t.” Emma felt herself pause, realizing that. “No one,” Hook went on, “in any of the realms had been able to defeat her, myself, Regina and the bloody Crocodile included.” He smiled. “So, trust me when I say that I’ve still yet to see you fail, and I know you will defeat Zelena.”

Emma felt herself smile. “Thanks, Killian.” she said softly.

Hook smiled too, something even warmer. Because Henry was nowhere in earshot, and she used his name.

Because she was also realizing that he had been the first person, other than perhaps Henry, to believe in her.

And before she could think twice about it, throwing a look over her shoulder to make sure Henry wasn’t looking their way, Emma stepped toward him, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

He stared at her in utter shock.

Breezing past it, trying to keep the heat from rising to her cheeks, Emma said, “So you’ll watch Henry?”

He looked like he was torn from a daze. Shaking himself from it, he said, “Ah—aye, of course.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. She turned to get Henry, when Hook said, “Emma.”

She turned.

“I’d be open to a rematch,” he said, that grin back at his lips.

Emma smiled. “I would, too.”

Hook grinned.

She left Henry with Hook, then walked away, heading toward her magic lesson with Regina.

And found that she might be open to more than just a rematch.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @sotangledupinit @tiganasummertree @eddisfargo @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @cs-rylie @elfiola

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #while you weren't sleeping #emma swan #ouat #ouat fanfic #killian jones #captain hook fanfic #captain hook #cosette141 ffn

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cs-rylie · 1 year ago

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Let's spread some love 😘. What are some of your top five favourite cs fics?

Five?! I guess I can give you five.. (plus a few extras..) I pick the ones I reread the most as my "top five favorites", which is the best way I know how to narrow this down, but I'm not convinced I have a favorite or a top 5. There are far too many good reads in the CS community!

My picks below the line - links are for ao3

I couldn't find everyone on tumblr, so PLEASE let me know their tumblr tags if you know them! Such amazing writers, the lot!

1. Unbreakable - xHookenonKillianx

I reread the epilogue, just by itself, quite frequently. It's so beautiful. As soon as I forget the meaning of certain details in it, I reread this fic, which usually amounts to once a year.

2. The Legend of Captain Killian Jones - hollyeleigh @hollyethecurious

Ooph I love when someone manages to bring pirate-from-the-18th-century Killian to a modern AU. I just love how all the details add up and how they fall in love and how Henry is as much a part of the story as CS. I reread this every October. (often once again when winter appears over, too)

3. Alone, until I get home - phthalo @peglegjones

I think I need to reread this [again] to give it accurate praise, because my memory SUCKS, but Henry and Ian's dynamic is one aspect I remember well, and appreciate. It's so hard to write kids and keep them relevant in a story and she does this sooo well. And the little bits of magick.. that made my heart swell. I don't wanna spoil anything..

4. How you remind me - cosette141 @cosette141

Any fic that can do it better than canon deserves praise. This is canon divergence from Killian showing up in New York, and the whole thing is my new head canon for the show.

5. Second star to the right - only_halfway_there

This was different than most CS fics, and I suspect it's because this was written before we got a lot of CS in the show? But that just means this author used her creativity, making a different Neverland, a different version of Hook, and the whole thing is so unique and beautiful.

This one is incomplete, hence it's spot here at #6, but I'll never give up on it being completed one day. A ton of people from the past show up in the present all at once, including one Pirate Captain Killian Jones. (Again.. pirate-from-the-18th-century Killian in a modern AU..)

Bonus, 6. A place in time - twistedroses @swanslieutenant

(feel free to send me more pirate-from-the-18th-century Killian fics.. no I don't have a problem!)

Now for the rest. I've reread most of these, but again ONLY FIVE?! These are not in any order, except the order I found them in my document. Again, lmk any missing tumblr names so I can tag these amazing writers!

Dark Grey - colormyheartred @cutieodonoghue

With affection - PhiraLovesLoki @phiralovesloki

Devastation and Healing - jrob64 @jrob64

More than all the stars - colormyheartred @cutieodonoghue

Beastly - xHookedonKillianx

Catch me if you can - LetItRaines @let-it-raines

A hard man is good to find - wtvoc @this-too-too-sullied-flesh

The convenient groom - @searchingwardrobes

A fairytale beginning - PocketAnon @pocket-anon

For the sake of Henry - jrob64 @jrob64

A band of grass and crown of flowers - hollyeleigh @hollyethecurious

only five my left foot *grumble grumble*

#cs library #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat #fanfiction #emma x killian #killian x emma #fanfic #ao3 #cs #captain swan fanfiction #rylie recs

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jrob64 · 1 month ago

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Exacting His Revenge - Chapter 2

Welcome to chapter 2 of @kmomof4's birthday story. There will be one more chapter after this, and because the birthday girl has requested smut for that chapter, the story is now rated M. I haven't begun writing the final chapter yet, but hopefully you won't have to wait too long.

Thanks so much to @hookedmom, my wonderful beta and friend.

Story Summary: When Hook sees an opportunity to finally get his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, he seizes it, putting him in the company of Emma Swan. A season 2 canon divergent story.

Rating: M

Words (Ch. 2): 6076

Posted on Tumblr - Chap. 1 and also on ffn & Ao3

Story under the cut

Hook had been to many ports in his hundreds of years, but none as crazy and disconcerting as New York City. The people at the harbor seemed especially interested in his ship and he almost decided against leaving it there, but knew time was of the essence.

The city itself was loud, dirty and obnoxiously colorful. Bright lights flashed everywhere around him and huge signs displayed pictures of everything from barely clad women to bottles of whiskey.

People walking past barely paid attention to him, even though he saw no one else dressed, even remotely, like him. However, their attire was vastly diverse and he supposed he really didn’t stand out any more than anyone else.

At first, he was overwhelmed with the tall buildings and massive size of the city and nearly despaired at finding Emma. Taking deep breaths of the stale, putrid air failed to calm him, so he sought a place where he wasn’t surrounded by buildings that seemed to stretch as high as the beanstalk he and Emma climbed.

When he finally found a large plot of grass and trees, he wandered through it until he spotted a bench in a somewhat quiet area. Sitting down, he closed his eyes and pictured Emma. Ever since he first laid eyes on her from his position underneath a pile of bodies, he felt a connection with her that he really couldn’t explain. It was as if he could tell when she was near, simply by thinking about her. She was like a magnet, drawing him to her.

The longer he sat there, the clearer his mind became. When he was compelled to start walking again, he seemed to have some indication of which way to go. Before long, he was standing outside what appeared to be a residential building. He went into the lobby, but found it empty. Looking around, he discovered a small bench along the wall beside the door and settled down on it to wait.

Numerous people came and went while he waited, none of them paying any attention to the leather clad pirate. He was beginning to think his intuition was wrong, when he heard a familiar voice and saw Emma and Rumplestiltskin entering the lobby.

“...still can’t believe you screamed about wanting to be the first one off the plane until you got yourself placed on the ‘no fly’ list, Gold. How are we supposed to get back to Storybrooke now?”

“I can get us back with a mere flick of…”

“We’re in the fucking land without magic!” Emma hissed.

“We’ll worry about the problem of getting back later. Right now, I need to find my son.”

They were so caught up in their conversation, neither of them noticed Hook. As they searched for something on the wall, he bided his time. He hadn’t prepared his hook with the poison yet and he didn’t want to do it while they were standing right in front of him.

“I bet this is it,” Emma said. “It’s the only one without a name. I know from experience that when a person doesn’t want to be found, they won’t put their name beside their apartment number.”

She pushed the button beside the number and waited. There was no response. She was getting ready to press it again when a heavyset woman with her hands full of shopping bags entered the lobby. Rudely pushing past Emma and Gold, she dropped the bags that were in her right hand, dug in the pocket of her gaudily flowered dress and withdrew a key. After unlocking the metal gate, she collected her bags and passed through.

Quickly, Emma stopped the gate from closing and gestured for Gold to go through ahead of her. Hook watched their slow progress up the stairs, waited until they disappeared, then pulled the bottle of poison out of his pocket. Before he had a chance to uncork it, a man entered the lobby. Something about him seemed familiar to Hook and he studied the man as he unlocked the gate, entered, then hurried up the steps.

Hook was so busy trying to place the man, he forgot to get his hook ready to attack Rumplestiltskin. He was further distracted by feet pounding down the stairs. The man who had just gone upstairs plunged back down them, burst through the gate and took off out the door.

“Go get him, Miss Swan!” Hook heard Rumplestiltskin shouting. “I can’t run, so you have to catch him. Get him to come back here and talk to me!”

As Emma flew past Hook, red scarf trailing behind her, he realized why the man she was chasing looked familiar. It was Baelfire!

Thinking quickly, Hook dashed across the lobby and caught the gate with his hook before it slammed shut. He knew he didn’t have much time if Rumplestiltskin was on his way downstairs, but after listening carefully for several seconds, he was able to determine the crocodile wasn’t following Emma.

As he uncorked the poison, he grinned at the irony. The day Rumplestiltskin found his son again was the day he was finally going to die. After dousing his hook with the deadly poison, he stuffed the empty bottle back into his pocket. Then he began creeping up the stairs, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of the vile imp.

When he reached the second floor, he moved down the hallway, listening at each door along the way. Behind some, he heard music or conversation, while others were completely silent. He knew the man he sought could be in any of those apartments, but Hook had a feeling he wasn’t.

Continuing on to the next floor, he immediately noticed an open door at the far end of the hallway. Sucking in a breath, he started in that direction, pondering if he could possibly be lucky enough for that to be the right place.

Once he reached the doorway, he peeked around the open door and saw Rumplestiltskin leaning out the window, looking down at the street below. Hook swiftly covered the space between them, grabbing the other man’s arm and spinning him around.

“Tick tock, Crocodile,” he growled, then sunk the tip of his hook into Rumplestiltskin’s chest.

Gold let out a choked cry, dropping his cane to clutch at the metal appendage. “You…you cannot kill the Dark One,” he gasped.

“Ah, but dreamshade straight to the heart can,” Hook leered. As Gold’s eyes widened and filled with fear, Hook continued, “Now, as you die, you can think about how very close you came to seeing your son again. The one you abandoned because you chose power instead. And you can think of Belle, back in Storybrooke, waiting for you to come home. I told you all demons could be killed and it looks like I did indeed find a way.”

Yanking the hook out of his victim, Hook gave him a slight push and watched with satisfaction as he slumped to the floor. “Milah’s death is finally avenged. I’m sated, replete. My life’s purpose is met,” he said savagely, his face mere inches from Rumplestiltskin’s.

Then he straightened up, turned, and triumphantly walked out the door.

*********

It took Hook longer than expected to make it back to his ship. When he finally did, he was appalled to find that he owed docking fees and they wouldn’t take doubloons as payment. By the time he worked out a deal with the harbormaster to send the money once he got home (which he had no intention of doing) the sun was beginning to set.

He readied the ship to sail, trying to keep his mind off of the fact that he may never see the lovely and fiery Emma Swan again. Just as he was set to instruct the dock workers to untie the ropes, he glanced across the bow of the ship and his mouth dropped open in shock.

He could see Emma and Baelfire were approaching the Jolly Roger. They were half carrying, half dragging Rumplestiltskin between them. As they started up the gangplank, Hook moved to block the opening in the ship’s railing. “Where do you think you’re going?” he boomed.

Emma and Bae looked up at him in surprise. “Hook? You’re here?” she asked.

“Where did you expect me to be? This is my ship after all. How did you know it was going to be here?”

“We took a chance,” Baelfire answered. “My father said it was you who stabbed him. We figured you sailed to New York and hoped you hadn’t left yet.”

“When we saw the ship, we thought you may have gotten lost on your way back here or something,” Emma said. “Neal said he could sail the ship back to Storybrooke, but now that you’re here, you can do it.”

Hook widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “The bloody crocodile isn’t coming aboard my ship.”

“Hook, please,” Emma begged. “He says he has a cure for dreamshade in his shop…”

“Why would I want him to be cured?” Hook interrupted. “I intended to kill him. I’m not going to do anything that will help him survive.”

“You owe me, Hook,” Baelfire snarled. “You already took my mother from me and now you’re trying to take my father, too.”

“And my son’s grandfather,” Emma added.

“Your son’s…How?” Hook asked, but as soon as he did, the pieces clicked into place. “Wait, you mean the two of you…?” He gestured between Baelfire and Emma.

“Can we discuss this aboard the ship?” Emma asked, hoisting Gold’s limp form up a little higher. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Hook remained slackjawed for another few moments, before his countenance darkened once again. “I told you I’m refusing his admittance onto my ship.”

Emma gave Baelfire a meaningful look, then disentangled herself from Gold, leaving his son to keep him upright. She hurried up the ramp to stand in front of Hook.

“Look, I know you hate the guy and I don’t blame you, but Henry has the right to know Gold is his grandfather. Plus, Neal is Henry’s father and he deserves a chance to meet him.”

“Neal?” Hook questioned.

“That’s how I knew him, not as Baelfire. He took a more modern name in the land without magic.”

“How did the two of you…”

“I’ll explain everything to you later, but first we need to get back to Storybrooke. Personally, I don’t care if Gold lives or dies, but since it turns out he’s Henry’s grandfather, I’ve got to do all I can to try to help him survive.”

Hook’s jaw ticked furiously, but before he could protest again, Emma stepped closer. Looking deeply into his eyes, she pleaded, “Please, Hook. Do it for me?”

Hook narrowed his eyes and stared at her for several long moments. “What’s in it for me?” he finally asked.

Emma sighed heavily. “Can’t you just do it out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I’m a pirate, Love. I have no goodness in my heart.”

“I don’t believe that, Hook. You helped me and Mary Margaret get back to Storybrooke and you can’t convince me it was only because you wanted to get your revenge.”

“Emma! Hurry up!” Baelfire called.

She turned to look at him, then turned back to Hook. “If you get us back to Storybrooke, I’ll…I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re a hero.”

Hook blinked in disbelief. “A hero?”

“Yeah. Like I said, you brought the rightful queen back to her people.”

“I also shot the town librarian.”

“True, but if Gold dies, they’ll be able to overlook that. Everyone in town hates him.”

“I’m bringing him aboard, Hook!” Bae yelled, his voice strained from holding his father up.

“Please, Hook,” Emma begged again.

He reached out and captured a lock of her hair between his thumb and fingers. “I’ll allow him aboard on one condition.” Emma raised a brow, silently encouraging him to continue. “You join me for dinner on the Jolly Roger once we’re back.”

“Seriously?”

“You’re asking me to bring my worst enemy onto my beloved ship and sail him to Storybrooke in an effort to save his life - the life I’ve been trying to take for hundreds of years. One dinner with me isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Emma glanced between him and the men on the dock. Then she seemed to deflate a bit. “Fine. I’ll have dinner with you.”

Hook watched her walk back down the gangplank and help Baelfire maneuver Rumplestiltskin up to the ship, swallowing down his malice with every step they took. When they got the injured man aboard and began making their way to the hatch which led down to the living quarters, Hook quickly stepped in front of them.

“I may have been forced to allow him on my ship, but he will not be given the luxury of being in my quarters, or even those of my crew,” he growled menacingly.

“Where are we supposed to put him then?” Emma asked, breathing hard from the exertion of hauling the man around.

Hook walked over to the starboard side of the ship. “There,” he said, pointing to a specific place on the wooden deck.

Giving him a quizzical look, Emma helped Neal lower Gold down to the designated area. While they helped the man get as comfortable as possible, Hook went about sailing the ship out of port.

Once they were out on the open sea, Emma climbed the steps to where Hook was standing behind the wheel. “Is there any way you can make this ship go faster? If we don’t get back to Storybrooke very soon, it’s going to be too late.”

“Our speed is dependent on the wind. I can’t control that.”

Emma looked thoughtful. “I wonder if I could.”

Hook narrowed his eyes. “Are you thinking of using your magic?”

“You have magic, Ems?” Baelfire asked incredulously, taking them both by surprise. Neither had heard him approaching.

Emma sighed and turned toward him. “Yeah, it seems the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming somehow has the ability of performing magic.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“When the evil queen’s mother tried to pull my heart out of my chest to crush it, she couldn’t. Apparently it was because I have magic inside me.”

Neal laughed humorlessly. “You expect me to believe that?”

Hook moved to stand beside Emma. “It’s true. I saw it myself.”

The other man crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t mean Emma has magic. Maybe it just means pulling a person’s heart out isn’t possible.”

“It bloody well is possible,” Hook growled. “I watched your father do it to…” He stopped short, suddenly realizing what he was about to say.

“To who, Hook?” Baelfire challenged.

Hook set his jaw, determined to set the record straight at last. “To your mother. That’s how she died. Your father” he spat, pointing to the man writhing in pain on the lower deck, “reached into her chest, pulled out her heart and crushed it right in front of me. She died in that very spot. That’s why I had you lay him there, to remind him of the horribly despicable act he committed.”

“You’re lying,” Baelfire said through clenched teeth. “He told me pirates killed her.”

“That’s the thing about the Dark One,” Hook shot back. “Dark One lies. Dark One tricks. The truth is, Milah and I loved each other and she was miserable with him, so she ran off with me. He couldn’t stand the fact that she left him, so he killed her.”

Baelfire’s face lost all color. “Is that true?”

Hook’s eyes softened, seeing the boy he once took care of within the man. “Aye, and I’ve been seeking my revenge ever since. I tried to tell you when you were a lad…”

“But you can’t deny that you took her away from me,” Baelfire accused.

Hook dropped his head and swallowed. “Not a day went by that she didn’t miss you and talk about you. We always planned to go back to get you when you were a bit older and better able to live aboard the ship, but she..she was killed before we could do it.”

The two men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Emma looked between them, then cleared her throat. “Do you, uh…do you want me to try using magic…”

“No!” Neal shouted, making her jump. “Look, I don’t know if you have magic or not, but even if you do, I don’t want you to use it.”

Emma gaped at him. “But your father may die!”

“Let him die. He’s destroyed countless lives and killed so many people. Now it’s his turn. You reap what you sow,” Bae said bitterly, then he turned and walked to the port side of the ship, completely ignoring his father’s weak pleas.

Emma turned to look at Hook. “I, um…I understand now.”

“Understand what, Love?”

“Why you sought revenge against Gold for so long. Is that what Cora intended to do to me? Tear out my heart and crush it?”

“If I remember correctly,” Hook said, sauntering toward her, “she meant to rip out your mother’s heart to present it to Regina. You simply got in her way.”

Emma mulled that over for a few moments. Finally, she looked up at him, sincere sympathy shining in her eyes. “I’m sorry about Milah, Hook. That must have been very painful to watch.”

He sighed. “Aye, it was. Even the pain from him cutting off my hand didn’t hurt as badly as seeing the light go out of her eyes as life left her body.”

Her head snapped up. “He…he cut off your hand after he killed her?”

Hook nodded grimly, subconsciously rubbing his hand over the curve of his hook.

“That explains why you call him ‘crocodile’.”

His brow raised in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like in the book Peter Pan, when Pan cuts off Captain Hook’s hand and feeds it to the crocodile.”

“That book is a work of fiction. Pan is a demon, but he had nothing to do with me losing my hand. However, I am intrigued that my fame is so widespread that I’ve been written as a character in a novel.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “So why do you call Gold the crocodile, then?”

“When he’s in his true form as the Dark One, his skin is scaly and greenish-gray, like the cold-blooded reptile he is.”

She hummed in understanding, then turned her eyes to the deck. Neal was leaning on the ship’s railing, his back turned toward his father. His jaw was clenched tightly and that, combined with the way he agitatedly rubbed his hands together, clearly conveyed his anger.

On the other side of the ship, Gold lay on his side, one hand clutching the wound in his chest, while the other stretched toward Baelfire futilely. Emma could see his lips moving, mouthing the words, “Please, Bae” over and over.

With a quick glance at Hook, Emma went down the steps and over to Neal. Hook didn’t follow, but couldn’t help himself from listening to the conversation. Years of being on the sea allowed him the knowledge that sound carried on the water and most private conversations were anything but private.

“Don’t you think you should go over and talk to him?” Emma asked. “If you don’t and he dies, you’ll probably regret it for the rest of your life.”

Baelfire shrugged indifferently. “I haven’t talked to him for years and I don’t regret it. I could have lived the rest of my life without seeing him again and I wouldn’t regret it.”

“You can’t know that for sure…”

He whirled around, his face contorted in anger. “He fucking killed my mother, Emma! Then he lied about what happened to her and went on living his pathetic life as the fucking Dark One! He chose being the Dark One over being a father to me! I owe him nothing!”

Hook felt a twinge of jealousy as Emma laid her hand on Bae’s shoulder. “This is your last chance, Neal. Ask him why he made those decisions. The man is dying. He may be ready to confess and cleanse his conscience.”

“He wouldn’t be able to cleanse his conscience if he had an eternity,” Baelfire spat.

“Then at least tell him how you feel. Make him understand how much he hurt you. I…I did that with my mom and it helped me deal with my feelings of abandonment.”

Bae glanced over to where his father lay in agony. Hook could tell he was contemplating what Emma said. Finally, he blew out a long breath, gave her a grim smile and patted her hand where it still rested on his shoulder. Then he slowly crossed the deck and lowered himself to sit beside Rumplestiltskin.

After following his movements, Hook looked back at Emma. She was standing with her arms crossed, watching the scene unfolding on the other side of the ship. She must have felt his gaze on her, because her eyes shifted to him for a brief moment, before flicking back. Hook reluctantly turned his attention to the two men.

Father and son sat without speaking for several tense moments. When Baelfire finally broke the silence, it was through gritted teeth. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to do something you rarely do and tell the truth. Agreed?”

“Bae…”

“Agreed?” Baelfire asked again, barely containing his rage.

Rumplestiltskin sighed. “Yes, son.”

“How did my mother die? Did you kill her?”

“You have to understand…”

“Did. You. Kill. Her?” Baelfire bit out.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Baelfire clenched his hands into fists. “By tearing out her heart and crushing it?”

“Yes, but she…”

“Save it! Nothing she did was bad enough for her to deserve that kind of death.” Bae pushed himself to his feet and paced back and forth beside his prone father. “Did you kill her before or after you refused to follow me through the portal?”

“After. I was…” He sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at his chest, a wave of pain obviously passing through him. Hook couldn’t help but feel a macabre sense of satisfaction over being the one responsible for the crocodile’s suffering. “I was trying to obtain a magic bean…in an effort to find you. I knew she had one.”

“You planned to find me?”

“Yes. I…I’ve been trying to find you ever since you left.”

“Since I left?” Bae exploded. “You mean since you let me go!”

Rumplestiltskin stretched out a bloodied hand. “Please, son. All I wanted all these years was to be reunited with you. You have to believe me.”

Bae suddenly slammed a fist down on the railing. “How can I believe you? You’re the Dark One! All you do is lie! If you truly wanted to be with me, why didn’t you come through the portal with me in the first place?”

“I was afraid…”

“Afraid of what? Losing your power? Not having magic? What could make you so fearful that you couldn’t even stay with your only son?”

“Bae, I…I wanted to give you everything…”

“I didn’t need everything! I just needed you, Papa!”

“Please…forgive me,” Rumplestiltskin managed to say between labored breaths.

Baelfire studied him for several seconds. “I…I don’t think I can. My whole life has been tainted because of your terrible choices.”

“Bae…please…”

Squatting down beside him, Baelfire looked into his father’s pain-filled eyes. “Let me ask you something. If you could do it all over again, would you still have become the Dark One, or would you have stayed with me, even if it meant being known as the town coward?”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to answer, but seemed to reconsider. When he finally spoke, he said, “I wanted to protect you…and I couldn’t do that…unless people feared me…”

Bae stood up. “That’s all the answer I need. You’ll always choose power over me or anyone else. Now, you’re going to die alone, just like you left me.” With those words, he walked away from his father.

Hook watched Baelfire move to the bow of the ship, then shifted his eyes to the pathetic, sniveling form of the Dark One. He expected to feel nothing but glee over the heartbreak and demise of his nemesis, but to his surprise, he felt a tiny pang of sympathy for him. Hook himself knew what it was like to have Baelfire turn his back on him and walk away.

“Do you think I should talk to him?” Emma asked quietly.

“Baelfire or the crocodile?”

“Bael, um, Neal. Maybe I should try to convince him to give his father another chance. He is dying, after all. It’s the last chance he has to forgive him.”

Hook speared her with an intense look. “He doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”

“I know he’s the Dark One and has done some horrible things, but…”

“That’s correct, and you just heard him tell Bae that, given the chance, he wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Still…”

“Look, Swan, if you feel sorry for the bloody crocodile, perhaps you should be the one to comfort him in his dying moments. Bae made his choice, and the underworld will freeze over before I give him any sympathy.”

“I understand, but it just seems really sad for him to die all alone on the deck…”

“In the same spot where my Milah died?” Hook growled. “I consider it poetic justice.”

Emma looked back at Gold and chewed her bottom lip. Then, after a quick glance at Hook, she made her way down the steps. Hook watched her go, jaw ticking in agitation.

She knelt down beside the dying man and murmured something Hook couldn’t quite hear. At the groaning acknowledgement of the man, Emma continued in a louder voice. “If we don’t make it back to Storybrooke in time, do you, um, is there anything you want me to tell Belle?”

“Tell her…I wish…I could have…seen her…one last time.”

“Anything else?”

“Thank her…for loving…a beast…like me.”

Emma nodded. Hook could see Rumplestiltskin’s chest rising and falling more shallowly with each breath and knew the end was very near.

“You…and Bae…” Rumplestiltskin gasped. “Do the…two of you…”

Emma’s eyes widened. “If you’re asking if I love him, the answer is no.” Hearing those words, Hook couldn’t help breathing a small sigh of relief.

“But Henry…”

“Today was the first time Neal heard about Henry. He didn’t know I was pregnant when he, um, the last time I saw him.”

The two fell silent and Hook wondered if the crocodile had spoken his final words. Just as he was convinced he had, he heard the man mutter, “Tell…Bae…I’m sorry.”

Before Emma could respond, Rumplestiltskin emitted a rattling breath and went completely still. Emma put two fingers on his throat to feel for a pulse. After a few moments, she announced, “He’s gone.”

At her words, Bae turned and made his way back to his father’s side.

“He told me to tell you he was sorry,” Emma said. “Those were his last words.”

Baelfire shrugged his shoulders. “It’s too little, too late. He had the opportunity to tell me himself, but he didn’t.”

As the two of them stood looking down at him, a swirl of black smoke began rising from his body, causing both of them to jump back.

“What the hell is that?” Emma asked.

“It appears to be the darkness leaving its host,” Hook explained, ambling over to stand beside her.

Her eyes widened. “It…it’s not going to attach itself to one of us, is it?”

They warily watched the haze floating in the air, ducking when it got close to them. After hovering for a while, it drifted away and dissipated.

“Where did it go?” Emma asked. “Is it going in search of the next Dark One?”

“There won’t be another Dark One,” Hook said.

“How could you possibly know that?” Baelfire snapped.

Hook looked at him pointedly. “How is the power passed on?”

“By killing the Dark One with the dagger,” Emma answered.

“Aye, and since the crocodile wasn’t killed with the dagger, the darkness has no one to whom it can attach itself.”

“So it’s just…gone?” Emma inquired skeptically.

“It would appear to be.”

Bae’s eyes shifted from where the darkness disappeared, down to his father’s lifeless form. Squatting down, he brushed some strands of hair away from his forehead. Emma hesitantly reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Neal.”

“He wasn’t always a bad father, you know. When I was a little boy, he was the best Papa. But then, the darkness and his thirst for power took over and he…” He hung his head and rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other remained on his father’s forehead. Suddenly, he shouted, “Damn you, Papa! Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why did you have to become the fucking Dark One? Why?”

As sobs wracked his body, Hook and Emma exchanged helpless looks, unsure of what to say or do.

“Bae,” Hook began.

Baelfire jumped to his feet, face contorted in pain and anger. Jabbing a finger into Hook’s chest, he screamed, “NO! Do not say anything! You took both of my parents from me and I hate you!”

“Calm down, Neal,” Emma said.

Neal turned and unleashed his wrath at her. “Are you taking his side? He’s nothing but a selfish, filthy pirate, Ems!”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but just a few minutes ago, you made it sound like you couldn’t care less that your father died.”

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that he killed him!” he raged, poking Hook again.

Hook didn’t respond. He understood that Bae had anger he needed to work out. If Hook was the recipient of that anger, he would accept it, as long as he didn’t direct it toward Emma.

“Look,” Emma said forcefully, “we’re gonna have to be on this ship together for quite a while yet, so just try to stay away from each other, alright?”

“Aye, Love,” Hook said. “I think we can do that.”

Baelfire took a step away from Hook and eyed him critically. “Where do you get off calling her ‘love’? Is there something going on between you two?”

“No!” Emma replied quickly. At the same time, Hook poked his tongue into his cheek, before answering, “Perhaps.”

Bae looked from one to the other, eyes squinted and mouth set in a hard line. “Stay away from her, Hook.” Grabbing Emma’s arm, he said, “Come on, Ems. Let’s go below deck.” Before she could respond, he started toward the hatch, yanking forcefully on her arm.

She planted her feet and tried unsuccessfully to pull out of his grip. “I don’t want to, Neal. I’m going to stay up here.”

“With him? You can’t do that. He’s…”

Emma jerked her arm free and glared at him. “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Neal! I’m no longer a teenage girl that you can manipulate. I may have helped you with your father, but don’t get the idea that I have feelings for you any more or that we have any chance of getting back together. I’m older and much, much wiser now.”

Hook watched Baelfire’s expression change from anger to confusion. “But you said we have a son…”

“We do, but that doesn’t mean that we’re going to be a family! You set me up for your stupid crime then abandoned me, so I had him while I was in jail and had to give him up for adoption. He managed to find me last year and talked me into going to Storybrooke, the cursed town created by Regina, who is the Evil Queen and his adoptive mother.”

Hook’s brows raised. That bit of information was news to him.

“You let the Evil Queen adopt my son?” Bae shouted.

Emma’s expression became furious. “Let her? I didn’t let her do anything! I didn’t know who was adopting my baby! I had no idea a fairytale world even existed where I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming…”

“For real?” Bae interrupted. “They really are your parents?”

“Yeah, which makes them Henry’s grandparents along with Rumplestiltskin, and his step-great grandmother, the Evil Queen, is also his adoptive mother. If you tell me you’re actually the big, bad wolf - which would be very easy for me to believe, by the way - his family tree will be complete.”

Hook couldn’t help but smirk at her statement, but sobered the next moment when he realized that Milah was also the boy’s grandmother.

“I already told you why I had to leave you, Ems,” Neal said, his tone almost pleading.

“Oh, that’s right. Pinocchio told you he knew who you were, so rather than face your father, you decided to let me take the fall. It seems being a coward is a hereditary thing.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t know what it was like having the Dark One as my father. I was forced to make that choice…”

Emma took an aggressive step forward, her finger pointed in Baelfire’s face. “You told me you loved me! We could have had a good life together with our son!”

“We still can, now that the curse is broken and my father is gone.”

Emma turned her back, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s too late, Neal. I don’t love you any more. Maybe it would be better if Hook turned the ship around and took you back to New York.”

“I want to meet my son and bury my father. Besides, I would never let you sail back to Storybrooke all by yourself with that pirate.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I just flew to New York with the Dark One. I think I could handle Hook.”

Hook pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at her words. She had proven more than once that his assessment of her being a tough lass was accurate.

“Emma…” Bae began.

She whirled around to face him again. “Look, Neal. Just because we’re on this ship together until we get to Storybrooke doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other. I’ve said all I want to say. Now, I’m gonna go over there,” she said, pointing to the other side of the ship, “and you can go…wherever you want to go, as long as it’s nowhere near me.” With that, she stomped away.

Hook turned and climbed the steps up to the helm. Standing behind the ship’s wheel, he watched Bae find a piece of canvas to lay over his father’s body. Then he sat down on the deck beside it and unabashedly stared at Emma, who was standing with her back to him, gazing out at the waves.

Hook’s eyes were also drawn to the blonde spitfire, her hair whipping in the wind. He could tell she was still angry by the way she stood stiff and straight. Knowing she couldn’t see him, he continued to observe her openly.

The first time he laid eyes on her, he was struck by her beauty. As he spent more time around her, he admired her fire and determination. Most people who held a knife to his throat would have found themselves on the pointy end of his sword. Then she chained him up in the lair of a giant. Yet he felt himself inexplicably drawn to her.

“I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.”

He had plenty of time to think about that statement after she left him there. It gave him a strange feeling of hope that perhaps she thought of him as more than just a thieving, murderous pirate. Perhaps it was possible for her to see the good and honorable man still underneath all of his leather and bravado.

As the Jolly Roger sailed silently toward Storybrooke, Hook contemplated what he would do now that his quest for revenge was finally over. He had no family and no home, other than his ship. He had already sailed to numerous realms and seen almost everything the world had to offer. Nothing held any appeal for him.

Except Emma Swan.

That’s the moment he made the decision to stay in Storybrooke and try to win her heart.

*********

Thanks for reading!

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#exacting his revenge #jrob64 #csff #birthday fic for krystal #ouat season 2 canon divergent #chapter update #chapter2 #captain swan fanfiction #ouat fanfiction

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