#captains swan ff

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (1/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest it is I, your CS Secret Santa! Thank you for being so patient and understanding! I'm sorry I couldn't post this sooner, but between the normal busyness of the holidays and my entire family coming down with Covid, finding time to write was a struggle. I hope you find this worth the wait. It was lovely hearing about your traditions and I hope you had a fantastic holiday!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition CS Winter Bingo square!

Rated eventual E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

She was late. Super late. Incredibly late. Late enough that she was certain her brother had already called the cops to report her missing. Late enough that it was already pitch black on the back mountain road, forcing her to drive at a creeping speed so she didn’t careen off the side of a cliff, which was making her even more late.

In her defense, they should all have expected that she’d be late. She was always late. Every dinner, every holiday get together, every vacation, every celebration, Emma Swan was always notoriously late.

Not because she didn’t want to spend time with her family. Far from. She just… wasn’t always in control over her own schedule. Bail bonds and bounty hunting wasn’t exactly a 9 to 5 gig, and when a mark finally crawled out of whatever hole in which he (it was more often than not a he) had hid himself away through some dumbass attempt to avoid the consequences of his own dumbass actions, well… many times it meant a change in her plans.

Was it annoying? Yes.

Did she make sure to take out that frustration on the perp? Also, yes.

Was it even worse for the offender when he made her late for the Christmas get-together her cousin Elsa had planned for them all - a four night stay at a picturesque mountain cabin big enough to sleep three married couples and two singles with amenities that would keep them cozy and content over the holiday? Oh, yes.

Big. Fat. Yes.

To go with the big fat payout she needed in order to pay her portion of said holiday getaway.

Rounding another winding corner, the soft glow of the illuminated cabin stirred a strange mix of sensations in her chest; a swirl of relief at nearly being there and panic over what was awaiting her inside. Parking her bug next to the vehicles that signalled she was indeed the last to arrive, Emma fortified herself for a moment before exiting the vehicle, grabbing her bag, and marching up to the cabin as though she were about to face a firing squad.

David, her brother, and Liam, Elsa’s husband, would likely scold her with their hands firmly planted on their hips or their arms crossed tightly over their chests. The rebukes would be drowned out by David’s wife, Mary Margaret, and Elsa’ sister, Anna, who would both rush at Emma and force her into claustrophobic hugs while they expressed their worry and relief, offering Emma a blanket, a place by the fire, a plate of food, a cup of tea, all without taking a breath between them as Anna’s husband, Kristoff, tried to tell the women to let Emma breathe and get settled.

The only one who would not be making a fuss would likely already have a drink ready for her, a knowing smirk teasing his lips as he tried to stifle an eye roll at the group’s overreaction.

Killian Jones. Liam’s brother and the only other single member of their group.

Hand on the doorknob, Emma took a deep breath and opened the door to the expected chaos. And chaos there was, but… none of it seemed to be about her and her tardiness.

Elsa and David were in the kitchen. One of their phones, clearly on speaker, was held between them as they argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. Liam and Kristoff were seated at the dining table with a laptop open, the elder Jones frantically typing and clicking as Kristoff scrolled on his phone with a furrowed brow.

“There’s nothing up here that could be used as an extra one,” Anna called out from the top of the stairs. “Mary Margaret and I have looked through all the closets and checked all the furniture.”

None of them had noticed her presence yet, and she was about to say something when heavy boot falls sounded from the porch behind her.

“Ah, Swan. You arrived in one piece then?” Killian said cheekily with an arm full of firewood.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, setting her bag down so she could help with the load he was carrying. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” he assured her, making his way to the fireplace and stacking their logs beside the hearth. “You missed the initial excitement, but you’ve made it in time to witness the spiral everyone has since descended into.” Emma glanced around the cabin at the said spiral, wondering what had set everyone off as Killian added a couple of logs to the fire, then grabbed the poker so he could stoke it. “I told them I’d make do on the couch, or even a pallet on the floor, but--”

“Sleeps ten, my ass!” Elsa shouted as she angrily hung up the call. “They swapped out the couch and forgot to update the listing!”

“What?” Emma said, but no one other than Killian seemed to have heard her, or even realized she was there.

“That’s ridiculous!” Liam bellowed. “What do they plan to do about it?”

“Can they bring an air mattress or cot?” Kristoff asked, still scrolling through his phone. “Because none of the local stores seem to have one, and even if they did, they’d be closed by the time we got back to town.”

Killian stepped away from the fire he’d coaxed back to life and into the metaphorical one building at the kitchen island where the rest of their group - save for Emma - had gathered.

“I already told you, the couch will be fine.”

“Don’t be silly, Killian,” Anna replied. “Have you seen that couch? It’s far too narrow and your feet are gonna dangle off the end.”

“Then the floor will suit me--”

“For the amount of money we spent renting this place, you are not sleeping on the floor,” Elsa declared. “I cannot believe this! How could they make a mistake like that?”

“What did the owner say?” Mary Margaret asked, setting out a platter of food she’d removed from the fridge and encouraging everyone to eat something… as though snacking would somehow fix the issue. An issue Emma still wasn’t sure was the cause of everyone’s upset.

“He won’t do anything,” Elsa snapped. “He said they had to replace the couch, which had been a sleeper, and apparently forgot to update the listing, but didn’t see the problem since we only have eight people, not ten, and there are four king size beds.”

“Didn’t you explain that there weren’t four couples, though?”

“Oh, she did,” David interjected. “But the man didn’t seem to care about anything other than getting back to his tropical Christmas vacation.”

“So what do we do?” Anna asked. “Where is Killian gonna sleep?”

“He and I can just share the bed.”

Seven heads collectively snapped in her direction, a mixture of shock and surprise being directed her way as her family, for the first time, realized she was there and then computed her words.

Words she would later blame on the fact that although no one seemed bothered by the fact she was late, she still felt the need to make up for it and therefore was compelled to offer a solution to the problem, even if said solution meant sharing a bed with a man she absolutely did not have feelings for and no one would convince her otherwise, not even her own treacherous heart, and thereby torturing herself for the next several days.

“Are you sure, love?” Killian asked, his eyes scrutinizing her, looking for any hint that she might be regretting the offer and wished to back out. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t completely comfortable with.”

“Are you planning to make it uncomfortable for her?” David asked in his overly protective, brotherly tone. “Because I’m warning you--”

“Warning him?” Liam braced his hands against the top of the island and leaned over it, staring David down as he asked, “Are you insinuating my brother is some sort of cad who would take advantage of--”

“We all know Killian’s reputation.”

“Okay,” Emma interjected before things could escalate further. “I think you’re all forgetting that I have a reputation, too. Of being able to take care of myself. Besides, I trust Killian. We’re both adults. There’s no reason for either of us to sleep on a couch or the floor when there is a perfectly good bed, big enough for us to share. So…” She marched back over to where she’d dropped her bag and collected it as she continued on, “If you don’t mind. I’ve had a long day and all I want right now is a shower and some sleep.” Directing her gaze to Killian she asked, “Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s uh…” he began, scratching behind his ear as he furtively cast a glance towards David. “It’s on the landing.”

“Great,” she said, turning towards the stairs. “Grab it on your way up so you can settle in while I shower.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret called out. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat or--”

“I’m fine,” Emma answered back halfway up the stairs. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Killian hesitate at the bottom step. “Are you coming?”

“Aye,” he answered, following after her two steps at a time and grabbing his duffle before slipping into the room behind her.

Tossing his bag onto the bed, he glanced around the room and inquired one last time, “You’re certain you’re okay with this, Swan?”

“Yes, Jones,” Emma replied in an exasperated tone she hoped masked the nerves currently coursing through her. After gathering up her toiletry items, she straightened and faced him, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Unless… You are uncomfortable with it and would rather--”

“No, no,” he insisted, his shoulders relaxing and his usual cocky demeanor coming forward. “It’s not that,” he said in a cheeky and slightly taunting tone.

“What is it then?” Emma asked, trying hard to not be taken in by his charm as he swaggered towards her.

“Well, I seem to remember you saying something about it being a one time thing the last time we shared a bed,” he crooned, twisting a section of her hair around his finger. “Seems you’ll have to eat those words now.”

Emma wet her lips and tried to squash the delighted feeling surging through her at the way his eyes dropped to follow the motion. “Bad form bringing up our… what did you call it?” she asked in a mocking tone as she cocked her head to one side. “Our dalliance?” He winced at her terrible attempt to mimic his accent and they both chortled as she reminded him, “I thought we agreed to never speak of that night again.”

“You’re right, Swan. Bad form indeed,” he conceded in a soft timbre. “My apologies, love.”

He backed away and retreated to the other side of the room where he made himself busy unpacking his duffle. “Go ahead and shower, Swan,” he said. “I’ll hop in after you.”

“Thanks,” she threw out over her shoulder as she shut herself in the bathroom, suddenly very eager to have a bit of separation from him. From him and the memory of that night. The night they had shared a bed - and a whole lot more - with one another after copious amounts of alcohol and hours on a dance floor somewhere in the Caribbean during the cruise they’d all taken together earlier that year to celebrate Liam and Elsa’s wedding.

A memory that stubbornly refused to be cast aside, making for a very long shower - a fitful, highly inappropriate shower - especially considering the man she’d been fixated on was in the next room, waiting on her to finish so he could get naked and wet and…

Dear God, Emma. Get a grip!

Emerging from the bathroom, adorned in her pajamas with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Emma hoped the red in her cheeks would be chalked up to the heat of the shower and not because her fantasies had gotten away from her.

“All yours,” she said, pulling her hair dryer out of her bag and plugging it into the wall at the makeshift vanity.

She combed through the wet strands as Killian hovered at the doorway to the bathroom. Pausing her actions, she stared up at him expectantly, trying not to remember what he looked like shirtless.

“About before,” he said, his voice deep with an edge of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by bringing up that night, I just…” He left out a heavy breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I was just trying to bring a bit of levity to an otherwise tense situa--”

“Killian,” she said, waving him off. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t upset me by bringing it up.” Shrugging, she tried to give off a sense of nonchalance about the whole thing. “It happened. We’ve both moved on from it. No big deal.”

“Right,” he said with a bit of a drawl. “Well… I’ll try not to take too long, so as to not keep you up.” Glancing towards the bed, he said, “I hope it’s okay that I took that side. I didn’t know if you had one you preferred.”

Emma turned to see which side he’d taken. Not that it mattered.

“Honestly,” she answered, “I don’t really have one. It’s not like I share my bed often enough with anyone to develop a preference.”

“Aye. Same,” he replied with that adorable lopsided smile of his.

Emma’s heart fluttered for several seconds after he disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t often share his bed? Really? Like David had said earlier, Killian had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. It was one of the reasons she’d pulled back after their night together; she’d hated being just another notch on his bedpost.

How many notches had he added since her, she wondered.

She had plenty of time to contemplate that question. It wasn’t until well after she’d dried her hair, set her alarm, and settled under the covers that Killian emerged from the bathroom. The last drowsy thought Emma had was whether he’d taken advantage of the memory of them together to help let off some steam whilst he was in the shower like she had. She didn’t get a chance to dwell on the thought, though. The tiring day had caught up to her and sleep took over the moment she felt the bed dip beside her.

~/~

“Morning, Emma! Sleep well?”

Anna’s voice was far too perky for the current early morning hour, causing Emma to grimace as she shuffled past the red headed woman on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” Anna whispered, tiptoeing behind her. “Coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“Please,” Emma grumbled, slumping down onto one of the barstools at the island. “A fresh pot? How early did you get up?”

“Mary Margaret and I got up with the guys,” she said, pouring Emma a cup, then placing it and a tray of fixings on the counter top in front of her. “We wanted to make sure they got a good meal and some coffee before they headed out.”

Emma nodded her understanding, adding enough sugar to her cup that it would have earned her a disgusted look from Killian had he been there and not out traipsing through the woods with an axe. It was an annual tradition at this point. For the past five years - ever since the Jones brothers had entered their lives through Liam and Elsa’s courtship - the guys went out on Christmas Eve morning and cut down a tree for them to decorate. While they were out finding the perfect specimen, Mary Margaret would lead - or in Emma’s case, berate - the girls in making the decorations. The guys would join in once they got back and set up the tree, and the day would be spent stringing popcorn or dried oranges or cranberries for garland as well as attempting to avoid tiny cuts from the origami-esque construction of paper or cardboard ornaments.

There were also snacks and cocktails, the occasional break from crafting to watch a Christmas movie or play a game. Of course, every year, Emma and Killian would insist they watch Die Hard, which Mary Margaret would dismiss as not being a Christmas movie and an argument would ensue - mostly because it gave both Emma and Killian a perverse sense of pleasure to rile up Mary Margaret. Not that they didn’t love the movie or wholeheartedly believe that it was, in fact, a Christmas movie.

“Oh, Emma! You’re up!” Mary Margaret set down a stack of boxes on the island, the contents of which held various crafting supplies no doubt. “Did you get some breakfast?”

Emma shook her head and waved off the woman’s attempt to feed her. “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll get something after I’m sufficiently caffeinated.”

“Well drink up,” Mary Margaret ordered as she began to retreat back into the room she and David were using. “We need to get going on these decorations.”

A moment later she returned with several sacks and with Anna’s help, began organizing the supplies. Emma took that as her cue to find another place to enjoy her coffee.

Glancing out the French doors that led to the back deck she caught sight of a platinum blonde braid. Emma grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders before joining Elsa in the peace and quiet of the mountain morning.

“Hey,” she said, pulling Elsa’s attention away from the view. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” Elsa replied, making room on the bench. “Do you want me to turn on the heater?”

It shouldn’t have surprised Emma that her cousin hadn’t already started the propane heater. The cold had never seemed to bother her like it did Emma.

“No, I’ve got it.” Emma cranked up the heat then sat down, snuggling into the blanket she’d brought out with her.

“Sleep okay?” Elsa asked. “Any problems with the room?”

“No,” Emma answered, taking a sip of her coffee before adding, “The room’s great. Very comfortable.”

“Good,” Elsa said, turning her attention back towards the snowy mountain view. “And sharing with Killian? That, uh… Did that go okay?”

Emma rolled her eyes and hid her knowing smirk behind her mug. “It was fine,” she replied.

“I mean, I’m sure Killian was a gentleman, I just hate that the two of you have to endure this awkwardness when I did my best to--”

“Elsa,” Emma interrupted. “It isn’t your fault, and we will make do. It’s fine. Really.”

The icy blonde’s shoulders relaxed and a puff of exhaled air lingered at her lips for a moment before she said, “Good. I’m glad.” With a furtive glance in Emma’s direction she muttered, “Let’s just hope David thinks it's all fine.”

“I’m a big girl,” Emma reminded her cousin. “David will get over it.”

“I don’t know,” Elsa replied in a sing-song tone. “He was looking pretty hostile this morning when Killian sauntered down the stairs with a whistle on his lips. I’m pretty sure Liam made sure to be the one who took the axe when they left.”

The two women shared a chuckle, both of them knowing full well there was no danger of the men resorting to violence, even if they did bluster a bit.

“I’m sure Killian is reveling in the opportunity to needle David, but I trust Liam to make sure cooler heads prevail.”

“And his needling wouldn’t have any elements of truth in it, right?” Elsa inquired, not so subtly.

Emma sighed exasperatedly. “No,” she stated adamantly. “Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Elsa’s scrutiny, her piercing blue eyes cutting through her assertions as she hummed a dubious sound.

“If you say so.”

Emma was about to double down on her words, but was cut off by Anna’s sudden appearance.

“Everything is ready! Come make decorations with us!”

Emma and Elsa shared a resigned look then followed Anna back into the cabin, after shutting off the heater, of course. The ladies then spent the next hour or so making handmade decorations whilst also prepping food items for the upcoming meals.

When the guys returned, Emma stayed out of the way. She’d learned from years past to just let David, Liam, Mary Margaret, and Elsa duke it out on the best way to set up the tree. While the four of them conferenced in the living room, she joined Anna in the kitchen, who was busy making everyone a hot cocoa.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please!”

The two women filled and garnished mugs of hot cocoa while every so often peeking outside to watch Kristoff and Killian clean up the tree. Once it was suitable for indoors - and they’d gotten the final word of where to set it up - the men brought it inside and secured it in the stand. Everyone stood back to admire the magnificent find as Emma and Anna handed out the beverages.

“Jones,” Emma said, offering him a hot cup as she came to stand beside him.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, slightly out of breath. A half-smile pulled at his lips and crinkled at the corner of his eyes when he noticed she’d adorned his in the same manner as hers - with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It was how she’d always taken her cocoa and slowly but surely she was converting the rest of their group to do the same.

“It’s a great looking tree,” she commented, sipping her hot chocolate nonchalantly so he wouldn’t read too much into her compliment.

“Aye,” he said, taking another long look at the fruit of his and the other men’s labor. A fruit that was quickly filling the living room with a pungent pine scent that tickled Emma’s sinuses. “And what of your efforts?” he asked, turning his attention onto her. “Care to show me what you lasses have been working on and how I might assist?”

Emma rolled her eyes and led him to the dining table where he prompted her to give him a demonstration of the crafting. Soon, the others joined them and the day went on just as Emma knew it would: completing the decorations, stringing lights and garlands, decorating the tree, gorging themselves on a big meal, partaking in snacks, then some drinks, then some more drinks, and arguing over then watching several Christmas themed movies and shows. Unfortunately, no Die Hard.

“You know, Swan,” Killian whispered in her ear as everyone began to disperse from the living room to turn in for the night. “We have a TV with streaming services in our room��”

The feel of his breath against the shell of her ear, as well as the way he said ‘our room’ sent a thrill up her spine.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.

Was it fortunate?

“Your point?” she said, her voice a little too breathy, but maybe he’d think it was because they’d just climbed the steep steps to the second floor.

“My point,” he continued, following her into their - THE - room, “is once we’ve showered and readied ourselves, we can watch Die Hard in bed and celebrate the season properly.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jones,” she replied, even as her heart skipped a few beats at the reminder they’d both be taking turns getting naked and wet with only a flimsy door that did not lock between them.

Ever the gentleman, Killian let her go first. While he took his turn, she busied herself with getting ready for bed, queuing up the movie, and adding an extra blanket to the stack of covers. In no time, they were settled on their respective sides of the bed, enjoying watching John McClane run around Nakatomi Plaza barefoot whilst being a ‘fly in the ointment’ to Hans Gruber.

They both barely remained conscious, but somehow got to the credits before crashing. The constant recitation of dialogue probably helped.

At some point in the night, a rustling sound in the corner of the room stirred Emma. Instinctively, she reached over to feel for Killian, only to find his side of the bed empty.

“Killian?” she croaked out, his name heavy on her tongue from sleep. “What are you--”

“The heat went out,” he told her, making her aware of her own shivering and the frigid air of the room. “Elsa is having kittens over it,” he went on to explain. “Giving the owner a right earful as we speak.”

A low hum and soft glow began to fill the room. Killian stood and visibly shook himself before heading back to bed.

“What’s that?” Emma asked, shifting in bed and moving closer to the middle.

“Space heater,” Killian answered, still shivering from the cold. “The owner relented and gave us the code to the storage closet. There were a few of these in there.”

Emma hummed in response, her mind weighing whether to bring up the idea of--

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we… that is,” he hedged, clearing his throat. “Until the heater manages to raise the temperature, would you be okay if we…”

“Sure,” she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she scooted closer to him.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his chest already plastered against her back and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Emma moaned in relief, the heat of his body already warming her and staying the chills that had made her tense. In an effort to find a comfortable position for her legs - without entangling them with his - she rocked her hips back into his and felt…

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbled in an embarrassed tone as he pulled away. “Apologies, Swan. I didn’t intend--”

“Killian,” she laughed, rolling over to face him. “It’s fine. It happens. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I just don’t want you to think I have ulterior motives for suggesting--”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “I know guys can’t always control… that.”

“Well, I am usually much more in control of such things, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said in an appeasing tone, earning her a side-eyed glare. “Seriously, though,” she continued, trying to coax him back to her. “Your morning wood doesn’t offend me, so will you please come back here.”

He relented after some not so gentle tugging, and a moment later they were once again entwined in the other’s arms.

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, nestling a bit further into his chest. “How are you always so warm? I feel like I’m always cold.”

As Emma drifted off to sleep she was certain she heard him say, “I know, love. But I’ll always be here for you when you need to keep warm.”

Part Two - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken at All Chapter 18/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Oh hey! What's up everyone?

I know it's been a while (shocking) but it's Solstice today and the muse decided something needed to be posted for this fic in honour of the fairy orgies XD

This was written super fast and not really re-read because it's already 10pm so I'll probably edit it later but I'm giving it to you all now.

Happy Solstice and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

********

Part 18

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Will shrugs when they stand outside the mouth of the cave the next morning. Emma and Wendy roll their eyes at the same time. It does look that bad. For a place called Echo Cave she’d had expected something bigger, something louder. But all she can see as they approach is a narrow tunnel in the rockface, no sound escaping from within. So she jumps when Tiger Lily’s voice suddenly comes from within. 

“You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Killian nods. “The forest has changed a fair bit since I last made the journey - it took us longer than anticipated to find the path.” 

“You have a habit of doing that,” Tiger Lily scoffs. “Misinterpreting time.” 

The reply is so quick, and Killian’s sigh so exhausted, that Emma has to hold back a snort of laughter.

“We came as fast as we could.”

“Come then, let’s not delay any further. The others have gathered.” 

“Who are the others?” Emma asks Hook quietly as they follow.

“The eldest of those who were here before Pan. They were barely more than children when it happened, but They have some memory of how things were.” 

“I thought you said they’d forgotten all their magic.” 

“We did not forget,” Tiger Lily snaps from the entrance. Emma watches as the faint, gold dusting of magic that covers their skin, the only light in the otherwise pitch black cave shimmers and slides over their arm, cascading like water down through their fingers  that they trail along the  rocky wall, leaving flecks of sparking, gold dust in their wake.  “It was taken from us. Through slaughter and cruelty. When the children who were left behind grew enough to become a threat to Pan, we were forced to lock away what little we remembered or meet the same fate.” 

Every time she thinks it can’t get worse, it does. The massacre of Tiger Lily’s people and the destruction of their history, the torture and killing of the Lorelei, the horror of the murder of those boys on the beach. There’s no end it seems to Pan’s cruelty, to his thirst for blood. 

Emma reaches for the shimmering of light that remains along the wall, glittering and moving with the flow of the rough surface. It glows brighter beneath her touch and something swells from deep within her, rushing to meet it, warm and electrifying, before she yanks her hand back and stumbles the rest of the way though. 

The walk is long, this cave buried deep in darkness and stardust. She’s not sure she even hears it at first, a small whisper of a voice from far away, the words too quiet to make out, but repeating. As they continue along and a dim light starts to appear in the distance, they grow louder. It’s a child’s voice, rolling against the walls of the cave - wish I’d never come here… just want to go home. Just want to go home. Just want to go home….

She feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back and realizes she’s stopped walking. “It’s alright, love. It’s just an echo. The last secret that was shared here.” She still hesitates, not wanting to get any closer to the haunting voice. “Whoever they were, they’re not here anymore.”

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

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[cosette141]

You, Me, and Who You Used to Be | CS Fic (CSSS 2024 Gift for BelovedCreation)

Merry Christmas!!

I'm your Santa this year!! :) 🎄🎄

Using your prompts of pining, Enchanted Forest, and angst with a happy ending, I give you:

Summary: (CS movie divergence) After getting her parents back on track, Emma’s magic returns. But before she can conjure a portal home, Killian is abducted. Alone in a world she knows nothing about and with no idea how to find Killian, Emma enlists the only person��or rather, pirate—who would be as motivated to save Killian as she is. However… Killian’s past may just be what destroys the future. CS

AO3

Words (so far): 5k+

NOTE: This is currently only the first chapter of this fic - long story short, the fic I spent weeks on just was not coming together, so I last minute changed to this one. It was an idea I had written the beginning of years ago that I remembered when I was trying to find something to align with the prompts you gave me :D so I knew it would be perfect to write for your gift!! I spent the past week working super hard on this trying to get it finished for you in time, but it was getting so rushed and you do not deserve a rushed gift!! So I decided to give you the first 5k words now, and I'll be updating it with the rest over the coming weeks! :)

Chapter One (under the cut!)

A/N: Story context: This is a canon divergence of the CS movie, which begins right after Emma gets the wand from Rumplestiltskin. (He does not send him to his vault of do-not-touch things in this version tho. We’ll pretend Elsa gets to Storybrooke some other way lol. I’ll also be ignoring Marian, which, the show pretty much did when it just ended up being Zelena anyway lol. 

Emma smiled at the faintly glowing wand in her fingers, feeling the warmth of the return of her magic, lighting a glow in the vast dining room of Rumplestiltskin’s castle. 

Everything was back on track.

Including herself.

Perhaps she had been trying to take the easy way out, blocking her magic from returning so she could go back to New York with no ties left behind. 

But more than anything, it was Killian’s smile now that made the warmth inside her grow even more, and if it wasn’t her imagination, made the wand spark a little brighter.

“It works,” whispered Emma, staring at the wand in awe, eyes snapping to Killian. “My magic is back!”

“I knew you could do it, love.” said Killian softly, a relief in his eyes, like it was for both the possibility of getting back home, and for the fact that he still blamed himself for her powers being taken in the first place. 

“Ah, the Savior, of course,” murmured Rumplestiltskin from his perch on the edge of his dining table. “I should have known you would have magic of your own.”

Emma suddenly realized just how much Rumplestiltskin knew. “Is it a problem that you know…?”

“It would be,” he agreed, but lifted his hand, where a potion bottle materialized. “However, I have spent the past few hours mixing myself a Forgetting Potion.”

Emma smiled. “Good. Well, let’s do this, then.” She then lifted the wand, about to attempt to bring forth the time portal.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rumplestiltskin, jumping down and pushing her hand with the wand down. “Not in here. You might bring any number of my possessions with you.”

Emma winced, eyes finding the myriad of scary-looking things in the castle, wondering just how catastrophic that could be. 

She looked from Killian’s raised eyebrow to Rumplestiltskin. “So where do we—“

But not a second later, Rumplestiltskin’s castle was gone, and suddenly they were outside. Trees, greenery and blue sky replaced the walls of the Dark One’s abode. They weren’t too far from the town below, and not far off was the sea. But they were in an empty enough area of the forest that no one should see anything, and nothing should come with them.

 “Well,” said Killian, giving her another smile, “ready, there, Swan?”

Emma nodded. She lifted the wand again, concentrating on her magic, on the emotion in her chest, bright and raw. The tiny flicker of a portal, like a zipper drawn in the very fabric of the air, appeared before them. 

Killian grinned. “That’s it, lo—” 

He was cut off with a grunt, and Emma’s eyes snapped to him, her concentration broken and the tiny beginnings of the portal fizzled back out of existence. 

Emma’s heart stopped. 

They were no longer alone. 

A burly, muscled man had his arm around Killian’s neck in a chokehold, his other arm pinning Killian’s left arm to his side. Killian let out an angry, surprised snarl, jerking hard against the grip. 

“Hook!” cried Emma, jamming the wand in her back pocket to hide it and running toward him, only skidding to a stop when three other thugs suddenly flanked the first.

“Sw—“ began Killian, his right hand scrabbling at the hold around his neck, but his airway was quickly cut off. Red rushed to his face, and Emma’s heart froze.

“Sorry, darlin’,” said the man’s raspy voice. “We got direct orders to bring Captain Hook in. He stole from us last night, and now he gon’ pay. Pretty stupid to show yer face in the open like this, without yer crew, no less.” A dark chuckle. “Shoulda sailed away when he had the chance.” To someone behind him, he shouted, “Lucky catch, men!”

Killian struggled against them, something angry and feral, landing a blow to the man's gut. The man growled and stumbled, and Killian reared back to hit him again until the man snapped, “Stop fightin’ or the wench dies!” That made Killian freeze, staring at her with icy horror. 

For a moment, Emma and Killian stared at each other, and it felt like time stood still.

Panic rushed through Emma's chest.

Magic.

Magic.

But she had no idea how to use her magic.

And if she took even a step forward, she'd get a sword through her in seconds.

Killian grunted as a second thug grabbed him on his other side, ripping Killian's sword from his sheath.

Panic rose even sharper in Emma's chest.

Killian swallowed, eyes locked onto her. “Go—home,” Killian managed, his eyes pleading and broken, with something in them that looked like goodbye, only making Emma’s eyes burn. 

“Hook—!” breathed Emma, running for him, but froze when three swords pointed in her direction, so close to her it made her stumble back, falling to the ground.

And by the time she made it back to her feet, they were gone.

-.-.-.

Dark had fallen.

The air had chilled. 

But none of it gave her the cold dread inside her chest. 

She’d searched for hours.

But those men obviously knew this forest better than she did, and it was easy to get lost in it. 

Too easy.

She let them take him.

Emma kicked herself.

She should have done something.

She should have done something.

She should have been spending all the time back in Storybrooke learning magic instead of shoving it away.

Because now Killian was gone, and it was all her fault.

She got them stuck in the past.

She was the reason Killian stopped trying to free himself from those bastards.

She was the reason that they may never see each other again.

Emma couldn’t stop seeing his eyes. 

The resignation.

The defeat. 

The horrible, utter sadness.

She was now alone, and she’d never felt this alone in her entire life. 

It was one thing to grow up being alone. 

And it was another thing entirely to find people, to fall for people, and to have them ripped from you.

It was an entirely different thing to know what it felt like to not be alone.

And ever since meeting Killian, more or less after he decided to become a part of something , he’d been practically glued to her side. He’d voluntarily gone back to the land he hated more than anywhere, he’d given up his revenge, he’d found her in freaking New York City —an endeavor Emma still didn’t know how he managed to do—and how he managed to find her in a world he knew hardly anything about?

Emma stopped on the path, feeling the chill of the air. 

Even the air felt different in the Enchanted Forest. It felt… unearthly, which, wasn’t exactly off point. The magic in the land seemed to crackle like a charged atmosphere. The animal sounds, the nightly coos and caws were different, and all this different was unsettling and…

She really, really didn’t want to admit she was scared. 

But Emma didn’t have Mary Margaret with her this time. She didn’t have a princess squad to help her through. And, she didn’t have Hook.

Killian, who was god knew where. 

He might even already be—

No , said a firm voice in her head, trying to quell the hair that raised on the back of her neck at the thought. They wouldn’t have kidnapped him if they were going to be quick about it. 

The idea of him suffering at all…

Emma swallowed, hard, trying to shove down the rush of panic that shook her fingers.

How the hell was she supposed to find him?

She was a complete outsider. 

She not only wasn’t from this town, she wasn’t from this world , and she wasn’t from this time, not by a long shot. 

She was trapped thirty years in the past, and Killian could be anywhere. 

“Go home.”

Emma shut her eyes at Killian’s echo.

Go home.

He wanted her to go home.

He wanted her to leave him here, conjure the portal, and go home.

The very fact that he thought she would made her chest hurt, because how could he think she’d leave him here?

But…

“You really thought I’d let you drown?”

“Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain? ”

Here she was thinking how he could possibly think she didn’t care about him, when…

“Do you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He said anyone.

He meant me.

And replaying it all, how could she think he’d know she did?

All she’s done since he saved her in New York, was walk away from him.

But she did care.

She more than cared.

And now, she may never —

No.

Emma opened her eyes, ignoring the burn in them.

Determination set into her face, Emma made up her mind without hesitation. 

There was no way she was leaving here without Killian.

The thought of returning to life without him, living without him…

It felt wrong. 

Something about him in her life just made sense. Even now, she felt like something was missing, and suddenly she was wondering how she ever considered leaving her family, leaving him, to go back to New York. 

“Go home.”

She couldn’t go home when he already became her home.

But… 

How on earth—or, how in the Enchanted Forest—was she supposed to find him?

And before they did something terrible and irreversible to him?

“He stole from us last night. Now he’s gon' pay.”

Emma blinked. 

Killian didn’t steal anything from anyone; she knew he hadn’t. He’d been too concerned with messing up the time continuum.

He hadn’t stolen.

But Emma had a pretty good feeling who had.

And Killian was currently paying for his crime. 

Emma smiled grimly, a plan unfolding in her head. 

She started walking, faster this time.

She just hoped the Jolly Roger was still in port. 

-.-.-.

Emma clung to the shadows when she entered the town. 

Thanks to Rumplestiltskin returning her clothes, she was no longer wearing the ragged dress and cloak that they had stolen, and was back in her jeans and leather jacket. Something that, Killian’s voice reminded her, hasn’t come into vogue, ever. So… she had to be careful. They just fixed the timeline; they cannot ruin it all over again.

But Killian was worth that risk.

As she clung to the dark areas of town, Emma was reminded of a younger her, living on the streets, dodging shadowy corners to pitch black alleyways. It was evening, the sky blackening with an array of stars, but the town still bustled with life, mostly around the taverns. 

Emma passed the tavern she and Killian had found his past-self in, and Emma risked a look inside, but he wasn’t there. 

Her heart quickening, Emma suddenly worried he wasn’t even in town.

She picked up her pace, following the path past-Hook had led her down when he’d been her inebriated guide. 

Emma emerged from the cover of an alley, looking up to see the sea, and ships of all sizes moored at the docks. And among them—

Emma felt relief flood her. 

The Jolly Roger. 

She smiled despite herself, picking up her pace. As she got closer, she could see the crew retracting the anchor—

They were leaving. 

Her heart pounding, Emma began to sprint. 

With grunts of heaving, two members of the Jolly’s crew were lifting the gangplank.

It was halfway up when Emma got to it, flinging herself off the dock and onto it, barely making the jump. She slid down the wood, landing in a heap on the deck. 

“What in the blazes—?!”

The two men nearly dropped the gangplank, but managed to finish shutting it, faster, as if worrying that someone else was going to attempt Emma’s jump. 

Her entire body throbbing from the mistreatment, Emma slowly picked herself up from the deck. She quickly noticed at least a dozen pirates were staring at her in shock. 

But a voice broke through the din, and Emma would recognize it anywhere. 

“Well, you don’t bloody see something like that every day.”

-.-.-.

Despite her protests, Emma had been manhandled by two of the crew members and dragged into the Captain’s Quarters a moment after she’d seen him. He’d witnessed her reckless jump onto his ship, but hadn’t said a word to her yet. 

She was currently in the chair opposite his desk, two burly hands on her shoulders keeping her pinned down, and Hook was in his chair behind the desk, staring at her in silence. 

“What are you doing aboard my ship?” he said finally. 

Emma flicked her eyes to the pirate holding her down, then back to Hook. “I’ll tell you, but only you.”

Hook sighed, then flicked his eyes to the man behind her, giving a minute nod and a slight roll of his eyes. Then, when the door clicked shut, he gave her a pointed look.

Emma let out a breath, her heart beating in a frenzy. This Hook was not half as drunk as he was when they last met. His gaze on her was cold and measured and there was no trace of the softness Killian had now. It unnerved her, this air of danger he held, sitting before her. Waiting. 

But Emma swallowed, trying to remember, this is still Killian. Just… buried under two hundred years of pain and resentment. 

It didn’t make her feel better. 

“I need your help.” said Emma at last, holding his gaze. 

His brow lifted, like that was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “My help?” he echoed, lips twisting a little in amusement. “I’m a pirate captain, lass. You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives. Pirates take.”

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the irony that all he’s done the past two years was give. 

Worry fluttered in her stomach, suddenly wondering if her Killian was all right.

And when did he start being ‘her’ Killian?

Emma let out another breath. “Yeah, that’s actually what brings me here. All I need to know,” said Emma slowly, “is who you stole from last night.” 

She’d thought it through; if she could just get the name or the place of the person who he’d stolen from, she could go find Killian without Hook ever needing to know she was from the future. 

Hook paused. 

Suspicion suddenly gleamed in his eyes. 

He stood, and rounded his desk until he was standing before her. 

The suspicion only deepened in his eyes.

Emma could feel the danger radiate off him like a cologne. 

She was trying not to shrink under his intense gaze when he leaned even closer, his face inches from hers. He searched her eyes.

“You,” he whispered. “I remember you.”

Emma’s heart skipped. “You do?” she breathed. 

She should have known it was irrational to think he meant he remembered knowing her. 

Because his eyes narrowed, coldness in the blue. “You owe me a nightcap, love.”

Emma froze. “Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “Didn’t blame the rum, huh?”

He leaned back slightly, but looked no less predatory. “I’m guessing this is from you as well,” he said, brushing the metal of his hook to his cheek where Killian had hit him. 

Emma winced. “Not exactly—“

He was suddenly in her face again, eyes narrowed, colder than ice. “You were trying to get me drunk. To get on my ship,” he muttered. “Why?”

Oops.

Emma tried to think fast. 

She did not like a version of Killian that scared her, and this one did exactly that. 

As if to prove the point, he raised his hook, tracing her jaw until the tip was underneath her chin, forcing her head up. Emma gasped reflexively, suddenly realizing how bad of an idea this had been. “Tell me,” he hissed, “or this will be rather unpleasant.”

Emma swallowed, trying to stem the rush of fear. To hell with the timeline. “I’m from the future.”

His brow rose sharply, surprise and a little confusion slipping into that cold expression. Clearly time travel was not one of the things he’d expected her to say. 

It was the second time she’d surprised him, and Emma knew he wasn’t an easily surprised man.

Before he could interrupt, she went on, wincing as the sharp tip of his hook stung. “I’m telling you the truth,” she said quickly, fear sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m from… about thirty years in the future. I think. It’s really hard to keep track with all the curses," she finished, which even to her ears sounded like she was crazy.

“Time travel is unheard of.” said Hook, dismissing her whole story.

"You spend two hundred years on an island where time doesn't even exist and this is too crazy for you to imagine?" snapped Emma exasperatedly.

He ignored her. “Now, what are you really doing on my ship? Clearly if you’d gotten what you wanted, you wouldn’t have been daft enough to return.” His eyes looked her up and down, his brow lifting when his eyes reached hers, and Emma glared at him. “And if I had gotten what I wanted, that night would not have ended with you injuring me.” A cold smile. “Well, not in the traditional way, anyway.”

Emma huffed out a breath, almost forgetting just how innuendo-clad he once was. “Look, I’m telling the truth . I need your help to—“ She gasped, the tip of his hook digging slightly deeper. 

“You will tell me what I want to know,” said Hook quietly. He removed his namesake, and Emma winced. “I’ll give you the night to think it over. Lie to me again," his voice lowering, dipping into the personification of danger as his gaze bored into hers, and she tried not to shrink under it, "you’ll be walking the plank in the morning.” He moved away from her, and Emma realized she'd forgotten how to breathe.

“Hook—“ began Emma, but Hook simply barked, “Jenkins!”

The door opened, and one of the men who had dragged her down here walked inside. 

“Take her to the brig.”

Emma’s heart pounded. “No— Hook,” she said quickly as he sat nonchalantly back at his desk. “I need—“

Emma was grabbed from behind and forced out. 

He didn’t look up as they took her. 

But when he thought she was out of sight, she saw him briefly touch his fingers to his lips, something unreadable stirring in his eyes.

-.-.-.-.

Emma waited until she was left alone, and the ship had quieted down enough to suggest the crew was asleep.

They’d bound her hands in front of her, which was their first mistake. 

Feeling a sense of deja vu, Emma felt along the ground until she found something useful. Finding something sharp and thin enough to work, she quickly got to work on the lock to the cage. 

The trouble was opening the door without it creaking, which took her plenty of precious minutes. 

Once free, she left the brig, and quietly made her way to the armory.

It was good that she was familiar with the ship after Neverland. Plenty of hours on the water had her nervous energy getting the better of herself and she’d done some extensive exploring. She’d paced the ship enough to know where its creaky boards were, so she was inside the armory in silence quickly. 

Emma grabbed the first blade she could find—a knife—and freed her hands, then took the gag from her mouth. 

Gripping the knife in her shaking hands, Emma left the armory, walking down the hallway to the door at the very end. 

The Captain’s Quarters. 

Feeling plenty of uncertainty, but needing to know where Killian was, Emma slowly reached for the door handle, glad the ridiculously loud chorus of snoring from the crew covered much of the noise she made. 

Slowly and without breathing, she opened his door. 

Emma shut it just as quietly, and the noise of the snoring was muted. 

Emma turned. 

The cabin was dark. 

And there, lying on his bed, was Hook. Asleep.

She could see him breathe beneath the blanket. 

Carefully, and avoiding every creak in the floor she knew of, Emma crept up to his bed. 

Then, she held the knife an inch from his throat, opening her mouth to wake him.

“Do I need to explain what a nightcap is to you?”

Emma jumped a mile in her skin.

Hook’s eyes were open, and he looked from the knife at his throat to Emma. A raised brow, he deadpanned, “You escaped.”

“You underestimated me.” she countered. He lifted his brow as Emma continued firmly, “I need you to help me.”

“Help me?” he echoed. His eyes flicked from the knife to her eyes. “You’re taking your life in your hands threatening me, lass.” he said dangerously.

“I’m trying to save your life!” snapped Emma.

His brow hitched higher, again flicking his eyes pointedly to the blade, then back at her. 

Emma sighed, removing the knife from his throat. 

He still didn’t move, eyeing her still suspiciously. “How is it you think you’re saving me?” he asked. 

Emma sighed shortly. “Look. I told you I was from the future. I am. I’m from your future. And I didn’t get sent to the past alone.” She took a breath, hoping telling him wouldn’t implode the timeline. But she was scared, she was alone, and without his information, she would never be able to find Killian. She could only hope that after she saved Killian, he’d still exist when they returned to their time. 

Emma sighed. “When I got sent here, you came with me.” she said finally.

Confusion kneaded his brows with honest puzzlement, and for the first time he looked almost like her Killian. “I… what?” he managed.

Emma sighed shortly. “You— future you,” clarified Emma. “You’re here, in the past, too.”

Hook looked lost in thought for a second. Then— “That was bloody real?”

“What was?” asked Emma.

He sat up, regarding her with both suspicion and shock. “The dream I thought I had of you, up until you foolishly returned.” Emma glared at him flatly as he went on, “I saw…”

“Yourself,” finished Emma impatiently. “Yeah. You punched yourself.” At his very perplexed expression, she went on, “I told him—you—it was a bad idea. So, blame yourself.” He blinked in utter confusion. But, at least, he seemed to believe her story. “Look,” said Emma, “we were on our way back to the future when some huge guys kidnapped him because they said he stole something and he needed to ‘pay for it’.” she finished in a bad facsimile of Killian’s abductor’s voice. Her eyes burning into Hook’s, she said, “What did you steal? Who are they and where did they take him?”

“You’re telling me,” said Hook slowly, “that there is a future version of me out here?”

“Yes,” said Emma through gritted teeth. “Now what did you—“

“Tell me, love,” said Hook casually enough, though the coldness in his words was back. “What is my future?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said exasperatedly. “Already I need to get you a Forgetting Potion to make sure you get to that future.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a million things happening behind guarded eyes. But finally, his brow lifted a fraction. “And I’m just supposed to believe this?" 

Emma groaned. “What proof do you want?” she said impatiently. “Your father abandoned you and Liam; you used to be in the Royal Navy; you became a pirate after what happened to Liam in Neverland; you’re currently on a suicidal mission to kill Rumplestiltskin for taking your hand and Mila—“

“Stop!” 

Emma froze, having been angrily ticking off the trivia on her fingers, to see Hook’s eyes with more emotion than she’s seen from this version of him yet. 

“How do you know all that?” he breathed. For once, his voice lost Hook’s edge, and he sounded like Killian. The danger evaporated from him in seconds, replaced with something almost... lost. “It’s—it's been centuries since—"

“You told me.” said Emma simply. 

“I… told you,” repeated Hook flatly, words rolling off his tongue like something foreign. The edge in his voice swiftly returned as he demanded angrily, “And why the bloody hell would I do that?” 

“How should I know?” snapped Emma, her anxiety getting to her and sharpening her own tone.

He rose to his feet, and Emma did not like the feeling that he was attempting to use his height over hers to intimidate her. He leveled a look at her, with something different in his eyes, something dangerous in a new way. “Tell me one thing, lass," he began, voice casual-sounding, but underlined with something that sent a shiver down her spine, "and maybe I help you.”

“Why wouldn’t you help me?” exclaimed Emma, standing her ground. “You’d be helping you!”

“That remains to be seen.” He stepped toward her, and damn it he didn’t even need the hook to be imposing. “Tell me, lass.” Another step, and Emma felt her back hit the wall, not even realizing she’d been retreating. His gaze bored into hers. “Do I get my revenge?”

Emma swallowed, suddenly feeling a familiar sense of dread as to when the past version of Rumplestiltskin had asked about whether or not he found Neal.

When the silence spread a little too long, she whispered, “Hook—”

“Do I, or not?” he demanded, voice clipped. Cold.

Dangerous.

Emma felt paralyzed.

The Hook—the Killian —standing before her was completely hellbent on getting his revenge. He’s been at it for centuries, and the anger and pain in his eyes overpowered the blue in them, so much so it was hard to remember that Killian and Hook were the same person.

And here, Hook was his vengeance right now.

There was hardly a spark of him.

If she told him the truth, that he not only doesn’t kill his crocodile, but chooses to live peacefully in the same town as the monster? Gives up not only his quest for vengeance, but turns into a hero?

And worse yet, that he lets go of Milah?

For her?

From the amount of anger she’s eliciting from him right now, she doubted he’d be happy to know that information in particular.

So, she decided to tell him the truth.

Or…

Part of it.

“No,” she said finally, watching his brow shift dangerously. “Not yet.”

He searched her eyes, his face like stone. “Not yet?” he repeated, voice low, almost threatening.

Emma swallowed the fear slipping down her spine, hoping she was still as good of a liar as she once was. “Not yet,” she confirmed, which, still, wasn’t a complete lie. She took a breath, holding his gaze, preparing herself. 

And she lied.

“I’m helping you get your revenge in the future,” she said smoothly. “The Dark One is currently living in a realm without magic. He’s vulnerable. I’m helping you get there.” She swallowed, her entire body rigid. Hook was pin-silent as Emma finished, “We accidentally got sent to the past on our way there. That’s why I need you to help me. If you don’t, you will never get your revenge.”

Emma fell quiet, holding her head high, clinging onto confidence she didn’t feel in the slightest.

Killian could read her like an open book.

If this version of him was as perceptive as he comes to be…

If he found her lying to him…

Again …

Emma tried to ignore the fear prickling in her veins.

He held her gaze, pinning her to the spot with his eyes alone. Watching her eyes carefully, his narrowed. 

Finally, he said, “Why are you helping me?”

Emma tried not to flinch at the obvious distaste in his voice. She thought fast, and found something that held nothing but truth. “Because,” she said, “you did me a favor. I’m repaying a debt.”

His brow lifted. “Quite the debt.”

Emma felt something stir in her chest, thinking of all that Killian has done for her. “It was quite the favor,” she said quietly.

His brows kneaded with question, like he wasn’t sure why he would bother to do her a favor.

Emma was quickly becoming irritated with this version of Hook.

“How are you helping me?” he asked then, gaze boring into hers, almost as if he was trying to poke holes into her story to see if it would leak. “Why do I need you?”

It was spoken so carelessly.

And it hurt.

Emma was surprised at the sudden burn behind her eyes.

She’d brushed off Killian’s affections, his obvious devotion to her, more times than she could count. 

And here he was, looking at her like he couldn’t have cared about her less.

How could she have wasted all the time she had with him?

Getting him back now was the longest of long shots, for—and it made sharp fear race down her spine— he could already be dead.

Blinking away the emotion, Emma huffed out a breath, trying not to appear as hurt by his words as she was. “I’ve got Light Magic,” she snapped, making surprise lift his brow. “You’re trying to kill the Dark One. Do the math.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, danger rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he spoke.

“I help you, and, him,” he muttered, uneasily over what to call his future self, “get back to your time,” he said slowly, “and then I will get what I want most?”

Emma felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips, for she didn’t have to lie for this one. “Yes.” 

He most definitely will. 

-.-.-.-. TBC

@belovedcreation-kitr-headcanon @cssecretsanta2020 @belovedcreation

[myfearless-love]

Too Well Tangled (Chapter 21/21 - "Untangling the Last Knot")

Chapters: 21/21 — "Untangling the Last Knot"

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Arthur (Once Upon a Time), Knave of Hearts | Will Scarlet, Robin Hood (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Emma Swan, Angst and Romance, Banter

Summary: Determined and tough-minded Emma Nolan is on a singular mission: to rescue her dim-witted brother from the clutches of Killian Jones, the infamously rakish Marquess of Hookstone. Little did she anticipate her own burgeoning desire for the audacious, unscrupulous scoundrel she intended to despise. Killian Jones, the enigmatic Marquess of Hookstone, has more than earned his sinister sobriquet, the "Prince of Darkness." His past, a stormy mosaic of rejection and rebellion, has forged a man both feared and revered. Yet, the indomitable Miss Nolan proves an unexpectedly formidable opponent for his infamous charm. But when Killian's reciprocated passion lands them in a scandalously compromising, and very public, predicament, Emma is left with no recourse but to demand satisfaction...

Previous chapters: ch. 1 II ch. 2 II ch. 3 II ch. 4 II ch. 5 II ch. 6 II ch. 7 II ch. 8 II ch. 9 II ch. 10 II ch. 11 II ch.12 II ch. 13 II ch. 14 II ch.15 II ch. 16 II ch. 17 II ch. 18 II ch. 19 II ch. 20

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

BIG shout out to my amazing beta @xarandomdreamx for always catching my mistakes and leaving me smiling with her comments!!❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair 9/?

Yes, it's true. You aren't dreaming. I am finally updating this long-neglected fic! Not only that, but I will be finishing it. As a matter of fact, you will have an update every day this week. If anyone still cares, that is, lol. I know the fandom isn't what it once was. However, I suddenly got inspired again to finish this. So whether or not anyone reads it, it's getting the resolution it deserves. Why did I neglect it for so long? Writer's block. I just haven't written hardly a thing in at least a year, probably longer. So when I laid awake, unable to sleep because I was finishing this fic in my head, I was ecstatic. That's why I'm finishing it whether anyone reads it or not. Of course, if you are still reading it, may I politely suggest commenting? It definitely feeds the muse!

Rest assured, there will be an update tomorrow. I don't have much going on tomorrow, and I actually planned more in this chapter originally. So be looking out for that!

Much thanks to the two biggest fans of this fic, Krystal @kmomof4 and Marta @snowbellewells - re-reading your reblogs of this fic helped kick me back into high gear!

And as an extra treat, here is a picture of Emma's wedding dress in this chapter:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 1k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Also on Ao3

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Liam and Ingrid, unsurprisingly, had concerns when they came home to Emma and Killian announcing their engagement. Anna, unsurprisingly, was bouncing up and down with joy. 

“Are you sure you’re proposing for the right reasons?” Was their main question for Killian.

“Well, the main reason is I love her,” he told them with conviction, “but it’s also the timing. She needs me. I know deep in my bones I was always meant to be her husband, so if she needs me now, why wait?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just accepting out of fear? Because it’s safe?” Was their main question for Emma.

Emma’s answer was delivered with just as much conviction. “It isn’t just that I feel safe with Killian; I love him. Shouldn’t love feel safe, anyway? And I feel the same way he does. If we waited five more years, or ten, or twenty, nothing would change. We’re meant to be together.”

Liam and Ingrid couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Both of them had noticed a soulmate type of connection between Emma and Killian for a long time. They also couldn’t deny the logic of the decision when it came to Emma’s security and the baby’s. There was only one other concern.

“What about school?”

“I can finish high school married just as well as I can single,” Emma told them with a shrug, and Killian vowed he wouldn’t get in the way of her education. 

“But Boston College, Killian?”

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother dead in the eyes. “I won’t be returning. I’ve already told my boss he can count on me full time with the construction company. He’s promoting me to a foreman position, so I can easily support Emma. When the baby’s a little older, I can enroll at Red Oak and get my degree there.” 

Liam wanted to argue, but there really wasn’t anything wrong with Killian’s plan. Lots of people worked a year or two, or longer, before getting a degree. He wanted to say that Boston College was a lot more prestigious than Red Oak, but he knew full well it was a pretty weak argument. Killian would save a lot of money by transferring to Red Oak, not to mention gaining job experience. He let out a long breath and shared a meaningful look with his wife. 

“Well okay, then,” she said, her signature grin filling her face, “let’s plan a wedding!”

*******************************************************

A date was set for mid-August, giving Emma two weeks between the wedding and the first day of her senior year. Unfortunately, Elsa wouldn’t be back from her study abroad program in time for the ceremony. It also gave them only three weeks to throw a wedding together. Thankfully, neither Emma nor Killian were big on grand ceremonies. 

The first item on Ingrid’s checklist was the venue. The bride and groom solved that easily: their own living room. Anna and Ingrid - and Elsa via Zoom - tried to protest that it was too small, but Emma just shrugged them off. 

“We can just pull out all the furniture and line up folding chairs. It’s not like we’re inviting that many people.”

Ingrid was concerned that the second item, the dress, would be impossible. Fate, however, seemed to be in their favor. Emma found a vintage dress that suited her personality perfectly at a thrift store downtown. She hadn’t even been dress shopping that day. Ingrid had taken her for ice cream after one of her prenatal appointments, and they had decided to stroll around the square with their ice cream cones. They were simply walking along the sidewalk, licking scoops of chocolate ice cream, and suddenly, there it was, displayed in a window. 

Emma wasn’t even sure it was meant to be a wedding dress, but it didn’t really matter. It was a cream colored, empire-wasted, sleeveless dress with one tier on the bottom of the long skirt. The fabric had a delicate floral pattern in light gold that shimmered when Emma moved. The top was a halter, which flattered Emma’s fuller bust due to her pregnancy. The empire waist also masked her growing baby bump and provided plenty of room in case she gained more in the next few weeks. When she tried it on, Ingrid started to cry. 

An employee stopped to admire Emma. “We just got that in yesterday,” she told her. “A woman told us it was her mother’s prom dress in 1976.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she locked eyes with Ingrid. Her foster mother pressed her hands to her mouth and let out a happy squeak. 

“It’s fate, Emma,” she told her, and the two embraced. 

They left the store with the dress lovingly wrapped in its original box, having paid a whopping thirty-five dollars and seventy-five cents. 

 Every single item on Ingrid’s list was checked off with simple solutions by the bride and groom:

Killian’s tux? Well, if Emma was wearing a 70s prom dress from a thrift shop, Killian would find a thrift store suit, too.

The food? A potluck lunch would do just fine. 

The cake? The ones at the grocery store would do. As George Banks said in Father of the Bride, a cake is just flour, eggs, and sugar, right? Or something. 

The only thing Killian was concerned about was a place to live. Sure, he knew his brother and Ingrid would never kick them out, and there was at least a modicum of privacy in his attic suite. Still, it would be a little awkward, for one. More than that, however, was Killian’s pride. If he was really providing for Emma and the baby, he should be able to put a roof over their heads. 

His pride wouldn’t even allow him to go to his own brother with his concerns. Yet, Liam somehow knew anyway. Which was why he greeted Killian at the door one evening, a week and a half before the wedding, with a huge grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand with an address on it. 

After hearing what Liam had to say, Killian raced eagerly up the stairs to Emma’s room with the good news. He came to a sudden stop in Emma’s open doorway, the smile falling from his face. She was sitting atop her bed, hugging a pillow, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. Her mother’s journal rested atop the quilt beside her. 

“Hey,” Killian said softly as he entered the room, “what’s wrong?”

Emma slid over to make space for him on the bed, still trying to wipe the traces of tears from her cheeks. Killian picked up her mother’s journal as he made himself comfortable against the throw pillows along the headboard. Emma lifted his arm, put it around her shoulders, and tucked herself against him. 

“Is it the curse?”

She shook her head. “It’s my mom,” she told him softly.

He waited, rubbing her arm gently, and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Emma let out a shaky sigh before continuing.

“I wish I knew where she was. I’m getting married, and she doesn’t even know.”

Killian nodded but said nothing. Emma lifted her head just enough to look up at him. 

“Is it crazy that I wish she could be there?”

“Of course not. She’s your mother.”

“My insane, homeless, unpredictable mother who threw glass bottles at my head.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m also worried that we haven’t heard from her in so long.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to ease her worries, so he cupped her face in his hand, tipped her chin up, and covered her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, intended simply to comfort, but then she responded so fervently and eagerly, that he lost himself. He shifted so she was beneath him, which caused a mewling sound to pass her lips that drove him wild. Emma slid her hand beneath his t-shirt, sending shivers up his spine as her fingers caressed his lower back. His hand grasped her waist, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. At the simple contact, Emma arched into him, and he began to trail kisses along her jawline. With one hand still on his back, her other hand threaded through his hair. She gasped when his lips trailed to the sensitive skin behind her ear, and something about the sound snapped him out of his haze of desire.

Killian pulled away abruptly and sat up, putting some distance between them. Emma still lay there on the bed, her face flushed, her hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, a look of confusion marring her brow. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said thickly, fixing his own mussed hair with shaking hands. 

“What for?” Emma asked indignantly, sitting up beside him. “We’re engaged.”

He turned to her and took her face gently in both hands. “I know. I love you, Emma, and I plan to cherish you. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take you like this, hurried and frantic, thinking in the back of our minds that someone could interrupt us at any moment.”

Emma glanced sheepishly at the still open door and giggled. “Then close the door next time.”

He laughed with her and pulled her to him, holding her gently. He ran his fingers through her slightly tangled hair. 

“I want to make love to you. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

Emma shivered in his arms. “Are you trying to torture me on purpose?”

He laughed again. “I feel a bit tortured, myself, truth be told. But we only have a week and a half. Then we’ll have the time and the privacy we deserve.”

“Time maybe. But privacy?”

Killian pulled the forgotten slip of paper from his pocket. “Yes, privacy.”

Emma snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously as she settled in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. “An address?”

“Our address,” he told her, grinning broadly.

“For real?” Emma’s eyes widened.

“For real.”

Emma squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed as she peppered kisses all over his face. 

“How?” she finally asked. 

“There’s a professor of archaeology taking a sabbatical to do a dig in Greece. He told Liam he was looking for someone to take care of his house while he’s gone. So it’s ours. For free.”

“For free?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, there are also some maintenance things on the house I’m agreeing to do for him free of charge, but basically.”

Emma gazed in shock and happiness at the paper in her hands. “It’s too good to be true.”

“It’s fate.”

Emma’s eyes shone with happy tears as she looked back up at him. “It really is.”

Killian was ready to throw caution to the wind and press Emma back down into the pillows when Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He was worried what she would say, seeing him on Emma’s bed, but Ingrid seemed too ecstatic to notice. 

“We’ve found her!” she told them. 

“Who?” Emma asked. 

“Your mom!”

[exhaustedpirate]

call disconnected

my first entry for CS Autumn/Spooky Bingo created by the lovely @hollyethecurious - the prompt was "ghost stories", i got a little carried away and made it into a bit of a crime solving thing! all my love and devotion goes to @belovedcreation for betaing!

rated T | 7849 words

also on AO3

summary: Sheriff Emma Swan gets a call about an accident in the woods, a man begging her for help. An hour later, Killian Jones is on his way to the hospital. Funny thing is, the call for help doesn't match the voice of the victim.

The call arrives just after 2 o’clock, which is lucky because there would be a whole other emergency if someone stopped Emma Swan from getting her grilled cheese. 

Ruby is supposed to be on phone duty but there is an anniversary dinner to plan and she doesn’t want to be responsible for Mulan having an underwhelming night due to her wife’s rushed planning. So Emma is covering the phones when it rings.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static greets her on the other side of the line, tensing her body unconsciously before a voice rings out. “Help, I-I fell-” It’s a strange panicked voice she’s never heard before, an accent not common to their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. She feels a tingle in her spine all the way to her hands. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir,” Emma takes a deep steadying breath. “Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” His guttural grunt of pain weighs on her chest and she feels like she’s having difficulty breathing. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she feels his panic in her veins. “I can barely hear you, sir,” Her knuckles are white as she tightens her hold on the phone, pressing it harder against her ear as if it will make it easier to hear. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River,” His breathing becomes panicked and she knows she should keep him calm, urging him to take shorter breaths but she’d feel like a hypocrite. “I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

The call cuts off and she is left with the sounds of her fast breathing. “Sir? Sir?” 

Emma tries to redial, grateful for the old technology to allow her to do so. An automated voice informs her the number is not in service and she frowns in confusion.

Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe some of the local teenagers were trying to send her on a wild goose chase so they can vandalise another section of their lovely neighbourhood. 

But the panic was real. The fear in that voice was real. The hairs on her arms are still raised as she remembers the voice, as she remembers all the alarms her body gave her.

Graham pokes his head into her office a second after. “Emma?” Her hand hurts from where she’s still holding onto the phone as if her life depends on it. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it is a prank.

The tight feeling on her chest tells her to go check it out nonetheless.

She drops the phone, with maybe too much strength, before she faces her deputy. “Are you up for a hike?”

---

It really is lucky that Graham practically lives in the woods. Emma was made for concrete roads and windows to keep the insects away. She wouldn’t last an hour alone in these woods.

The Toll Bridge crosses through the edge of the forest. The Misthaven Trail parallels the Shepherd River that flows under the bridge. It’s common to see vehicles on the side of the road - hikers leaving the last piece of civilization before venturing into the forest.

Emma parks the cruiser alongside a Chevrolet Chevelle and she’s almost sad to see it left to the whims of nature. But it probably belongs to their injured hiker. She places her hand on the hood of the car. She can still feel some warmth.

“This must be his.” She points the car out to Graham. “It’s probably been like an hour since he left. Call the hospital, ask them to get an ambulance here.”

Graham nods and grabs his phone. She lets his voice become background noise as she inspects the car. The door is unlocked, the hiker probably wasn’t expecting to be long. There’s a satchel in the back seat. She opens the door and looks inside. There’s an ID in the wallet and a buzzing in her ears when she looks at the picture on it. Killian Jones.

“They’re on their way,” Graham breaks through her inspection and everything becomes clearer. “I told them to keep their radio on.”

She nods. “We’re looking for Killian Jones,” Emma turns the ID towards him before tossing it inside the car. “Assuming he’s our hiker.”

Graham has his tracking face on as she closes the door. There’s something on the driver side floor that causes that tugging in her gut that guides her to flare up.

“It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained,” Graham points out from the other side of the car. “There are some recent footprints leading west. They’re probably his.”

“The Misthaven Trail,” Emma nods, any investigating paused in lieu of finding the injured hiker. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me.”

“Go get him, Fido.” Emma presses her lips together attempting to hide the smile at her terrible joke, but fails at the sight of his unimpressed look.

They follow the trail in familiar silence. Graham’s experience allows them to travel at a fast speed through the trees. They pay close attention to any sounds out of the ordinary - which is to say, anything that isn’t birds, animals or the rushing river below them.

“Emma.” 

Graham stops and she manages to stop before she runs into him. He gestures to the ground where a blanket is crumpled underneath a tree, still warm. 

“Still warm,” Emma confirms before dropping the blanket. “He must be close. Maybe he fell.”

“After all the warnings the Mayor released, there’s still people who forget to respect the forest.”

“I thought those had only been around for the past year,” Emma frowns, looking around. “I mean, you both gave me an hour-long lecture about it when I started.”

“Everyone in town knows to be cautious of these woods but there was a, uhm,” And it is the first time she’s ever seen Graham sound uncertain, his voice trembling with emotion. He clears his throat before he continues. “There was a death in these woods.”

She sees the way he looks guarded now, in pain. “Oh.”

A flash catches the corner of her eye. With a hand to cover her eyes from the sun, she turns towards it. The sunlight has caught on a metal flask within throwing distance from the blanket, she assumes. Close to it is a pile of rocks. A strange pile, each rock deliberately placed on top of the other. It must have been a while since it’s been built there according to the moss growing on them.

Emma turns towards her deputy to point that to him but sees him a few steps away looking at the ground. “Drag marks,” he points out as if he could feel her eyes on him. “He must have fallen down-”

“Help!” A weak yell cuts him off and they whip their heads to the right. 

“And ended up down by the river,” Emma finishes for him in a quiet voice, her heart beating faster at the sound of pain, as she stands next to the deputy.

Using caution, Emma follows Graham’s lead as he gets them to the river bank following the sounds of pain. Halfway down, they locate the hiker and for the first time, Graham’s confidence falters and so do his steps. A man is slumped on the side of the river, covered in dirt and blood. She can see tendrils of red flowing down the river.

“Don’t move,” Graham orders, recovering quickly, as he stands next to the victim who seems to slump at their arrival, the fight leaving his body in his relief. “We’re here to help.”

Emma kneels on one side of him and is instantly on alert at the sight of the gash in his head and the bone protruding from his leg. She looks up at Graham and he seems to read her thoughts.

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” Graham says, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Keep him still and awake.”

She nods before he returns to the trail to guide the others to where they are. Emma places her hand on the man’s shoulder, careful to avoid hurting him further. His big blue eyes turn to her, pain and fear side by side with hope and creating a tug in her gut.

She clears her throat. “Are you Killian Jones?”

“Aye, I fell, broke my leg,” he explains in a hoarse voice. She frowns at the sound, a whole other type of tingle running up her spine. “The ground caved under me.”

There’s static in her radio before Graham’s voice rings out. “ETA is three minutes, is he conscious?”

“Yeah, conscious and lucid,” Emma answers through the radio. “Broken leg and head injury.”

“I thought I was going to die here,” Killian groans as she puts away the device. “How did you find me?”

“The Misthaven Trail is long and you weren’t exactly specific.” Emma breathes out a chuckle, her nerves slightly calmed at knowing help is coming. “But we found where you fell down. We would have been here faster but service in this area is crap. I don’t know how you called us in the first place.” She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous.

Killian’s eyebrows furrow together, confusion taking over the pain. “I called you?”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s how we knew to come find you.” She answers as if it’s obvious, even as a pull in her gut tries to tell her otherwise.

“I left my phone in the car,” he explains and she feels that tingle up her spine once more. “I didn’t call anyone.”

Careful footsteps and cautious voices approach them and she lets the paramedics do their job as they put Killian Jones in the stretcher and cover his wounds. Their eyes remain locked until the last possible moment before Emma follows behind the stretcher being led by Graham. 

A light flashes in her eyes once more and she looks up at it, the pile of rocks still standing proudly in the forest, a bird perched on the top stone, its deep blue wings fluttering. The hairs at the back of her neck stand in attention and she tries to make sense of what happened. 

They found the hiker exactly where he told her he’d be. His leg was broken, just like the call said - she wouldn’t soon forget the sight of the bone piercing his flesh. The voice was different, Emma noticed it right away, but there were no signs of other hikers in the area.

But if the call wasn’t made by Killian Jones, then who called them for help?

---

Loud laughter rings out from the open kitchen window. An unconscious smile stretches Emma’s lips as she looks out at the dark heads illuminated by the fire pit she borrowed from Graham. Despite being disappointed at the cancelled camping trip, Henry seemed to have forgotten all about it when she reminded him of the comforts of home camping and the awesome backyard that came with their house. 

After the day they had, Emma just couldn’t think of Henry in the woods.

“Emma?” 

Speaking of, her deputy’s voice from the phone in her ear brings her back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry.” She turns her back to the window, leaning on the counter. “I got distracted.”

“I was saying that Mr. Jones should be going into his MRI scan right now and after that, they are preparing him for surgery on his leg. The doctors said that despite the trauma his body has been through, he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Emma breathes out in relief. Against her best interests, she hadn’t been able to put this strange rescue away from her mind. There was just something about the call, his voice, his eyes, that just didn’t seem right.

She feels Graham’s patient silence on the other side and she nods to herself to gather up courage. “Doesn’t all of this seem strange to you? The whole situation.”

“Emma-”

“He didn’t call the station, Graham, it was someone else, I swear,” she interrupts, her hackles raised. “He didn’t have a phone on him either, this is all just-”

“Weird,” Graham interrupts this time and he sighs. “I should have told you earlier, but I know Killian Jones, we a- were friends.”

“What?”

“He used to live here until last year. His brother, he-” Emma waits in suspense as Graham takes a deep steadying breath. “He died while on a hike in that trail a year ago, I assume Killian went there to pay his respects. I didn’t even know he was in town until we found him.”

“Y-You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it was him and then, when we found him, I knew I had to stay focused. I needed to do my job.”

“Right,” Emma scratches her forehead, her brain full of conflicting thoughts. This was a lot to consider. “So who called the station? A ghost?” She asks her question sarcastically to disguise how the possibility doesn’t sound too ridiculous to her.

“All I know is that we had a long day, Emma,” Graham evades, his tone placating and calm. “We should get our rest and look at this whole thing again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”

“You’re right,” she exhales. “Goodnight, Graham. Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma ends the call and throws the phone at the dinner table. She’s going to push those doubts away even if she needs to force them away. She’s got some happy campers to focus on. Emma pulls the popcorn from the microwave and picks up the platter she made with the components for s’mores before pushing the back door open carefully.

“Does anyone know any ghost stories?” Ava Zimmer is almost vibrating in her seat as she grabs a handful of chips Emma brought earlier. Camping is not synonymous with healthy food.

“Ghosts? Aren’t we too old for that?” Nicholas Zimmer, on the other hand, is trying to hide his fear with bravado.

“Come on, Nick, it’s almost Halloween.” Henry knocks shoulders with his friend’s and she can hear the grin in his voice. “And that means ghost stories. Besides, they’re not real.”

“Yeah,” Ava agrees. “It’s just spooky and Halloween is the time for spooky.”

“Just not too spooky,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the way Nicholas startles at the sound of her voice - no need to embarrass the boy. “Otherwise you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Have you heard the story of the Misthaven Ghost?” Henry leans close to his friends on the bench with a grin.

Emma is glad for her steady grip on the platter or there would be no s’mores tonight. “Misthaven Ghost? Where did you hear that sort of story?” She tries to keep her voice cool but even she can hear the edge in it - was she the last one to hear about this? -, focusing instead on placing the food down on the small camping table she opened.

���Mr. Booth is having us write a ghost story for class and he gave us that one as an example,” Henry answers and he must misinterpret her questioning as innocent curiosity but she’s not going to correct him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, please join us!” Nicholas grabs her thankfully empty hands to pull her to sit between him and his twin after Henry stands up to stand on the other side of the fire.

“You’re such a scaredy cat.” Ava teases, looking at him around Emma.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Kids.” Emma warns, holding their arms to keep them from hitting each other.

“Listen up! For I am about to tell you the story of the Misthaven Ghost,” Henry calls from the other side of the fire before popping another popcorn in his mouth. Emma finds herself smiling at her kid’s dramatics. “It was a cold night in October, the 30th of October to be exact. An innocent man is walking the Misthaven Trail, determined to beat all odds and finish the hike. He is alone, nothing but his thoughts and the animals around him,” Nicholas plasters himself to Emma’s side. “He carries only a phone that won’t work this far into the woods and his bravery. He hears a presence to his right, to his left, all around, feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand in attention and a voice whispers in the wind,” Ava holds her right arm now as Henry lowers his voice. “‘Get out of the woods’, it says, ‘get out’, but the hiker is too fearless to heed their warning. Suddenly, a boom lights the sky and the ground gives out from under him, and then he’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t ask for help,” Emma feels the shiver running up her spine and, distantly, she thinks maybe Henry should focus on this storytelling ability he has. “He is floating on the river then, his body weak and leaving him, his last thought on the family he leaves behind, a last goodbye sent to the stars he loved so much.”

Henry finishes with a fluttering gesture towards the night sky. Ava and Nicholas on either side of her are gripping her arm, not willing to break the silence. 

“He had a family?” Emma asks and even her quiet tone manages to startle the twins. 

“Were you scared, Ava?” Nicholas asks as he looks at his sister, a victorious grin winning over his fear.

Ava huffs and crosses her arms. “No, you’re the scared one.”

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Henry asks, a bright smile on his face and a proud stance to his shoulders.

“Mr. Booth told you this story?” Emma tries again.

“Yeah,” Henry grabs another handful of popcorn, now that his story is done, eating one at a time. “He wanted us to have an example of what to write but he was probably also showing off.” 

The kids laugh, everyone in town knowing of August’s designs of being a published author and his constant promises of finishing his novel soon. But there was still something niggling at Emma’s brain.

“Did he make up the story himself? Or did he hear it from someone?”

“He says he made it up inspired by a real event,” Henry shrugs. “I told Mrs. Nolan about it and she said that, about a year ago, someone did die in those woods and that’s when the Mayor put out the announcement.” He grabs the marshmallow sticks and passes them along to his friends who are still visibly spooked. “Apparently there had been lots of reports of injuries and lost hikers on that trail before that.”

“So it took someone dying for them to actually do something about it? Figures.” Emma scoffs and Henry shrugs, unaware of the turmoil in his mother’s brain.

“Okay, can we tell less spooky stories now?” Nicholas asks, begs almost, bringing Emma back to the present. The fact that Ava doesn’t tease her brother is telling.

“Why don’t I grab my laptop and put on a movie for you?” Emma suggests, standing up from the bench.

“Nightmare before Christmas?” Nicholas turns pleading eyes towards his friends.

Ava nods and then seems to remember herself. “Only if we watch ‘Monster House’ after.” 

Her twin seems to think about it before nodding resolutely. “Deal! Is that okay, Henry?”

Henry smiles, seemingly just happy to have a fun night with his friends. “As long as it’s Halloween themed, I’m in.”

Emma grins, despite everything. “Double feature it is,” she chuckles. “I’ll set it up.”

‘This is Halloween’ drifts through the open kitchen window as the kids settle down making s’mores in the yard while Emma sits at the kitchen table. She finds Killian Jones’ social media easily enough - she wouldn’t have become one of the best bail bondsperson in the business without being able to find someone’s internet footprint with only a name and a date of birth. It might be slightly illegal to have taken a picture of the man’s ID but what is she gonna do? Arrest herself?

Maybe Emma needed to take a long look within herself if she was negotiating committing illegal acts to herself… After she got to the bottom of this mystery.

Killian Jones is even more handsome than she had previously thought. Considering the only times she’d been able to actually look at him were either a small grainy ID photo or him caked in dirt and blood, it wasn’t a high bar. 

Seeing him on the deck of a small boat, a colourful shirt open to show his chest underneath, his eyes crinkled in laughter as he holds out a beer bottle in cheers to the person behind the camera is a welcome alternative. She has to force herself to scroll past the picture. 

She notices belatedly that the last post - the Hawaiian shirt distraction - is from a year ago, September to be exact. In the middle of all the thirsty comments, she finds something interesting. ‘Don’t shut me out, Killian, I’m here for you’, was posted by one bookworm33 and it would have looked weird if it didn’t speak of desperation and worry.

Emma continues to scroll down and doesn’t have to swipe too long before she pauses at a picture of Killian Jones and a man that shares the same eyes and facial features. Her gut tugs at her and she taps on the picture once, a tag covering the man’s eyes. Bejewelled40 - whose real name is Liam Jones - aside from being a Taylor Swift fan, is also Killian Jones’ brother.

There are pictures of them in boats, hiking, and visiting foreign countries, even some that include Graham. His posts also end a year ago and the ‘remembering’ on the top of his profile is an easy explanation. Clicking on the first photo - different angles to the September boat trip, focusing more on Liam Jones than his brother - she finds another comment hidden between thirsty comments and boat enthusiasts. ‘I miss you’, written simply and it’s the lack of emojis that catch Emma’s attention. Bookworm33 was clearly important to the siblings. 

It doesn’t take her long to get a better picture of the situation. Belle French, the brother’s friend, has been a librarian at Storybrooke High for the past 4 years after a troublesome divorce made her move cities. Pictures and references to the Jones brothers start a few months after that, before there’s a significant lack of Killian Jones in her pictures a year later. 

An article in the local newsletter, an announcement in the paper and a remembrance post on Facebook spells out the rest of the story. The Jones Brothers move to Storybrooke 5 years ago and join the community, Liam as the Sheriff and Killian as the Harbormaster; Belle and Liam start their romance and become engaged two years ago. A year ago, Belle’s father passes away and she travels back home and Liam is found dead on the Misthaven Trail three days later. Killian Jones isn’t seen in Storybrooke for a whole year after the funeral until Emma finds him almost dead by the river bank.

A message notification puts an end to her research. ‘Jones is out of surgery and we should be able to visit him tomorrow’, Graham texts and she looks at the clock. Emma sighs. Two hours researching and she still has so many questions.

‘Take the day off tomorrow, Humbert, I’ll follow up with Jones’, she messages back. ‘Don’t argue with me, I’m your boss, you deserve some rest’, she sends right after, expecting the argument.

‘Alright, Sheriff, I leave it to your capable hands.’ The reminder causes her to massage her temples. She has Liam Jones’ job; could this whole situation feel more like a horror movie?

Going back to Liam Jones’ instagram, Emma finds a picture of him with Graham in a nature setting. With a squint and a zoom, she recognises the setting. She swipes to find a video with Graham’s voice from behind the camera and Liam Jones struggling but determined to take his next step.

“We’re currently on mile 5 of the Misthaven Trail,” Graham explains, a very faint hint of tiredness in his tone as he sweeps the camera over their surroundings and Emma can’t help the eerie feeling at the setting sun behind the trees. “As you can see, this area is beautiful and peaceful, a great place to be at one with yourself and your thoughts.” There’s a scoff from the right and Graham laughs, turning the camera to his friend. “Liam here is having some trouble.” He earns himself a glare from his companion. “There've been a lot of accidents in this area so this is your friendly reminder to be careful where you step and to respect the forest.”

“You’ve lectured every single lost or injured hiker we pulled out of these woods. Friendly, my arse.” Emma sucks in a breath at the sound of Liam Jones’ voice. Graham’s responding laughter and voice seems to sound from underwater as he defends himself. 

Please, help me, plea-

It’s the same voice. She feels the tingle in her spine and the raised hairs on her arms she had before. How could it be possible?

Sounds of yelps outside have her jumping from her seat, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Subsequent cheering reminds her of her whereabouts. It’s the kids reacting to the anthropomorphic house finally meeting its demise on the small screen. Emma grips onto the kitchen counter, taking deep steadying breaths. 

She needs to have a chat with Killian Jones.

---

It’s rainy and gloomy the next day when Emma arrives at the hospital. 

Maybe the weather’s a sign. It’s not like she was ever a superstitious person but it’s hard to remain sceptical after the day she’s had. The nurse tells her he’s in room 13. Of course.

In the corridor, she sees a familiar figure. 

“I thought I told you to take the day off, Humbert.” 

Emma almost grins when he startles. Almost. She simply crosses her arms as she stares him down. Graham looks away, as if he just got caught in the proverbial cookie jar, it’s a cute look.

“I am taking my day off, Emma,” Graham defends and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t ask him anything that could be related to the case. I just-”

“Wanted to see how your friend was,” she finishes for him.

Graham stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and nods. “I just needed to make sure he was okay.”

“Because Liam would have wanted you to do the same.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. This might have been the first time she’s shocked her deputy in the year they’ve worked together.

“H-how…?”

“I did some research last night.” She uncrosses her arms to stuff her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I found Killian Jones’ social media, which led me to Liam’s, to Belle’s and then to yours. You were his deputy.”

“The four of us bonded over being away from home.” He shrugs, trying to hide the heartache over the loss. “After Liam passed, it all fell apart.”

“I’d never seen Killian Jones in Storybrooke before today, or Belle French.”

“Killian left after the funeral, said something about a family member in Boston even though I’m sure they didn’t have any family in the States. He rejected all my calls, I had no way to find him.” Graham sighs, scratching his forehead. “Belle isolated herself the first few months. After that she would go from home to work and back. She’s been trying to go out more, determined to live her life the way Liam would have wanted her to. It’s still a slow process but at least she’s trying.”

“And here you are in the middle of everything trying to be there for everyone.”

“I didn’t lose a brother or a fiance, Emma, I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and she recognises the look on his face.

“Right, if you want me to be ‘bad cop’, I will,” she threatens.

“Seriously, Emma, I’m fine, it’s been a year and-”

“Graham,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “Go see Dr. Hopper or I’m suspending you.”

He groans and yet, it feels like a victory. “Yes, boss.” He mockingly salutes and yet it still shows his respect.

“Go home and enjoy the rest of the day off while I go and talk to Mr. Jones.” Emma pats his arm and he nods. 

“I told him to tell you everything he could remember,” Graham informs her. “I know you can do your job but he can be very stubborn so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles amusedly and watches as he walks past her. “Hey, Graham?” He stops in the corridor and she can’t hold back her curiosity. “Liam was the sheriff before me,” Graham shifts in his feet, uncomfortable. “Did you apply for the job? I’d think you’d be a shoe-in to be the next Sheriff as opposed to an outsider.”

“Nah,” He shrugs and she can actually see the weight on his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have felt right.” His lips curl up in a small smile, a grieving smile. “Besides, you are a great boss.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but her smile is wide. “Get some rest and go see Dr. Hopper.” 

“Yes, boss,” he repeats before he leaves the hospital wing all together.

With a deep steadying breath, Emma knocks at the door of room 13.

“Come in.”

She nods to herself before opening the door. “Mr. Jones, I’m-”

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” Killian Jones nods at her. “Graham told me you were coming. Didn’t expect you here so fast though.”

“As it happens, you’re my only open case.”

She stands a few feet from his bed, arms crossed as she finally takes a look at the man they saved the day before, now no-longer covered in blood and dirt. There is a bandage on his forehead all the way down to the temple, his face, neck and hands - the only things visible - filled with small scratches, and his leg is in a thick cast. He looks tired but okay.

He looks handsome too and she’s trying not to remember his boat pictures. It helps that the hospital gown and robe cover his chest and what she knows is underneath. She’s really trying. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to the chair next to his bed, where she assumes Graham had been seated minutes prior. “We’re probably in for a long chat.”

She should refuse, keep him at a distance. She sits down but not before pulling the chair back a few inches. Emma catches an amused smile on his lips and she wonders what else Graham told him about her. She clears her throat focusing on being professional.

“Alright, Mr. Jones-”

“Please, call me Killian.” 

Emma nods, trying to look away from the soft smile he directed at her. “Killian.” His smile grows. Professional, Emma. “Do you remember what happened before we found you?”

“Aye,” It’s his turn to clear his throat at the wavering tone of his voice. “The ground slid out from under me and I fell, hit my head and broke my leg.”

His tone was distant, factual, and it sounded wrong in his voice. “What were you doing in that part of the woods?”

“I-uh, I went there to drink.”

“We didn’t find any evidence of alcoholic beverages and your blood alcohol levels were very low.” She raises her eyebrow at his half-truth. “Let me tell you a little secret.” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I-”

“Have a thing with lies.” There is a small smile on his lips at Emma’s surprised expression. “Graham told me about that.”

“Right.” It takes her a second to recover from the surprise. “If you know, why don’t we avoid lying or, in this case, omitting part of the story and you tell me the truth.”

“Commanding, I like it.” He smirks weakly and at the roll of her eyes, he nods in preparation, his expression turning serious. “I was there to mourn my brother, Liam.” 

“Why not go to the cemetery? I’m sure you’ve heard how dangerous that part of the woods is.”

“That’s where he died,” His voice is low and she can only just hear it over the beeping of the machines. “Graham and the others found his body wrapped around on a rock in the river the next morning. He’d bled out during the night.” 

“So he got injured the day before? How did no one notice he was gone for so long?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound accusing but from the guilty self-punishing look in Killian’s face, that’s how he would describe it.

“A few weeks before he passed, I went through a break-up,” he sighs, settling carefully on the pillows at his back and Emma does the same on the cushioned chair. “I had fallen in love with a married woman.” She tries to contain her surprise and apprehension but it’s like he can see everything she tries to hide. “I know, I got an earful from my brother when we started dating. But she promised that she was going to divorce her husband as soon as she could find a good lawyer so she could guarantee a joint custody deal.”

“She has a child?”

He nods and his frown is enough for her to understand his conflict. “We kept it a secret. We didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise her relationship with her son. Liam kept telling me how reckless I was being, how naive, but I kept shutting him down. I was in love.” He shrugs. “After a while he stopped trying and I was happy.”

“Her husband found out.” It wasn’t a question.

“I got greedy, selfish,” Killian’s tone turns hard, self-loathing. “We went to a cafe in town and she was nervous but I was happy, I was out in public with the love of my life.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “Her husband walked in with her son right behind him and I considered it luck that the cafe was almost empty. The boy came up to us first, asking his mom why she was there and who I was. I didn’t know what to say and her husband was looking at me like he wanted to kill me.” Killian sighs. “She asked me to leave and that she would talk to me later.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well.”

He actually laughs, a sharp, terrible sound. “I had gotten myself into a state when she finally met me. We yelled at each other, she accused me of pushing, I accused her of playing with my feelings. When she finally told me that she almost lost her son because of me, I shut up. She told me she was going to go back to her husband, that he was willing to take her back after the stupid mistake she made and then she left.” He finishes with a sigh and Emma leans back on her chair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t take it well.”

“Who would?” 

His chuckle brings her eyes back to his and despite the pain behind them, there’s an amused glint in the blue eyes that definitely do not get captured well in pictures. “For the next few weeks, I started drinking. A lot. I didn’t want to see Liam’s disappointment or self-righteousness so I distanced myself. That day, he barged into my house, took one look at the half-empty bottle in my hand and went off on me.” He shifts in his bed, hissing when his leg moves wrong. “I can see now that he was scared but at that moment I was angry. We argued and I told him that I never wanted to see him again and he left my house.”

“Is that why no one filed a missing persons report?”

He nods and his eyes water. “I drank the whole night after he left and the next day, I woke up to someone banging on my door. It was Belle.” His breath shudders. “She had been trying to call him all morning. Liam had told her that he would be coming to my place so she thought he’d stayed the night, when he didn’t text her or call her the next morning, she started to get worried. That fear, the feeling that someone had gone wrong to someone you love, was the sharpest cure for a hangover I ever had.” They both shared a mirthless chuckle. “We called Graham right away and when he didn’t know where Liam was, it became a town wide search.” He takes a deep breath. “Graham found his car parked at Toll Bridge and searched through Misthaven Trail.”

“He fell.” Emma wrings her fingers as she watches the emotions in Killian’s face.

“He left his phone in the car so when he fell into the river, he couldn’t call for help.” He sniffs, staring at the wall in front of him. “So imagine my surprise when you and Graham showed up to my rescue despite the fact that I also left my phone in my car and no one knew I was even in town.” Killian turns to her, his eyes still full of pain but a curious small smile gracing his lips.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous move and leans back on the chair. “It’s like I told you yesterday, we received a call that helped us find you.”

“Right,” he frowns. “And as I just said, I left my phone in the car, so it’s impossible.” 

She sighs. “I’m aware of that and, trust me, I’ve spent the whole night trying to figure it out and the only explanation I have is impossible.”

“Try me.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth a few times while Killian looks on patiently. “All our calls are recorded,” she says instead, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Before I came here, I went by the station to download the recording, so I’m just gonna play it for you.” Killian raises an eyebrow while Emma brings up the file.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static rings out from the speaker and she tenses up all over again. “Help, I-I fell-” Killian gasps and she gives in to his silent request and hands him the phone. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir. Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” Killian’s eyes shine with tears at his brother’s voice, at his sounds of pain and Emma feels her chest tighten. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she is dreading the end of the call. “I can barely hear you, sir.” His knuckles turn white from where he is gripping the phone and a tear falls down his cheek. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River. I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

Killian takes a shuddering breath when the recording ends and the phone drops on the bed. She should grab the phone and give him space. She should ask him questions about it. And yet, Emma finds herself grabbing his trembling hand with hers, her whole skin tingling at the touch. He grips her hand back tighter, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“H-How-,” he whispers in a broken tone. “That’s my brother’s voice but-but how is it possible?”

Killian looks at her, pleading for an answer, for an explanation. But she can’t give him one. Emma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” Her thumb moves unconsciously over his knuckles. “But if it wasn’t for this call, we wouldn’t have found you.”

To her surprise, Killian starts to laugh even as tears fall down his face, a disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe this.” He covers his face with his free hand and Emma squeezes his hand, silently asking for clarification. He sighs and looks at her, his eyes bluer than they’d been before. “I ran away after the funeral, they had barely finished covering the casket and I was crossing the town line. I knew Belle needed me to stay, Graham too, we should have mourned together, helped each other during this but I-I-”

“You blamed yourself.”

He exhales a laugh. “Aye, stupidly tried to find answers at the bottom of a bottle once again. I just kept replaying our last argument, kept seeing him bleeding out in the river and I knew I couldn’t grieve when I knew it was my fault.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Killian raises his hand, stilling the words she still wasn’t sure she would say. “After a night where I was almost inducted into this woman’s witchy cult,” and she really wishes she had the chance to ask about that, “I looked for help. Found a therapist, grieved. A week ago, I told him about the anniversary of Liam’s death coming up and he suggested I visit his grave, talk to him, ask for forgiveness.” He sighs. “I was on my way to the cemetery when I found myself on the Toll Bridge. I thought it was a sign when I found the marker Graham made to honour Liam. I sat there and talked to him, I didn’t realise how much anger I still felt towards him dying, abandoning me.” He laughed sarcastically. “Ridiculous, I know. I threw my flask and I felt the ground slide from under me and I thought ‘there it is, your revenge, Liam, you’re finally punishing your killer’.”

“And then we showed up.”

“And I thought that maybe you had appeared for a reason and now hearing that?” He looks at her embarrassed, shaking his head. “I sound like a crazy person but-”

“I thought I was crazy,” Emma interrupts him with a reassuring smile. “Common sense would have you think the call was a prank. But from the moment I got the call, my instincts told me something wasn’t right, that there was more to the story.”

“I’m really glad you decided to go with your instinct, then,” he smiles softly. “If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“But you did.” She squeezes his hand and they both seem to remember that their hands are still clasped together. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. “And if we are to believe in ghost stories, your brother is adamant that you get a second chance.” 

They lock eyes, share a soft smile and she figures professionalism has been thrown out the window from the moment she took his hand. He nods and his smile widens. She kinda wishes they could hold hands forever.  

Wait, what?

“You may be right.” His voice is soft and it feels like he’s trying to look inside her, searching. “He’d probably beat up the side of the head that it took me this long to get my head out of my own arse.”

Emma chuckles and his smile widens. “I don’t think he expected you to break your leg and your head to get the message across.”

“Well,” his lips curve into a side smirk and she’s not ready for it, “I’m guessing that the service in the afterlife is a little spotty.” She laughs, surprised at his joke, and he laughs with her. Nope, she was not ready. “My brother always gave me good advice, maybe I should follow this last one too and take that second chance he gave me.”

“Oh?”

Her heart hammers against her chest at the way he looks at her. He opens his mouth to answer when the room door bursts open.

“Killian Jones!”

Emma jumps from her seat, refusing to acknowledge how empty her hand feels now that it’s no longer holding his, to make space for the shorter brunette storming up to Killian’s bed. 

Belle French.

“I haven’t heard from you in a whole year and then I have Graham calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital?!”

But Killian only smiles, clearly happy to see his would-be sister-in-law despite the guilt beginning to take root in his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Belle.” And it’s clear that the simple sentence breaks something in the librarian’s being. With two quick strides, she embraces him tightly. “Careful, love, I’m an invalid now,” he complains, even as his arms hold her closer, willing to ignore any pain it might be causing him. 

“You’re in a world of trouble, Killian.”

His smile only widens and he turns to look at Emma, likely amused at the overwhelmed look on her face. Belle seems to realise that there’s someone else in the room - not that Emma blames her - and turns to her.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I-”

“No need to apologise,” Emma raises her hand to stop the apology. “I just needed to take Mr. Jones’ testimony.” He raises an eyebrow at her use of his last name, clearly unimpressed by her choice to be professional. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” she introduces herself before holding out her hand.

“Belle French.” Belle takes her hand, still somewhat surprised as she looks between Killian and her. “Is he in some kind of trouble then?” Her expression seems ready for a fight and Killian’s smile seems to grow.

“No, no,” Emma is quick to appease. “I just needed the full story, that’s all.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I actually should go write up the report.” She takes a few steps back towards the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss French. Get better soon, Mr. Jones.”

She starts to walk out the door. “Emma,” Killian calls and she really should not have turned around so fast. “Maybe we can grab a coffee when I get discharged? You can tell me all about safety measures when hiking.”

Emma tries to ignore Belle’s curious expression. “I think Graham might be the better man for the job.”

“He’s been trying for years, it never stuck,” He grins and there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

She bites her lip and focuses on the hopeful look in his eyes. The last time she trusted someone, that she gave someone a chance, she ended up in prison. She should say no. 

Maybe she can justify this leap on supernatural activity too?

“It’s a date.”

The way his grin lights up a whole room does feel otherworldly. 

Just as the door closes behind her, she hears Belle’s stupefied voice.

“Killian Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Emma laughs. Maybe not all ghost stories have to have bad endings.

[cssecretsanta2020]

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[elizabeethan]

Not With Haste

An Overboard Conclusion

Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.

I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.

I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)

Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.

Rated T I think

~2300 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head. 

  The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father. 

  In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested. 

  He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.

  All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later. 

  And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time. 

  He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: What are you doing?

  He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*

  Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!

  Killian: That’s also where we live.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing. 

  Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother. 

  Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought. 

  Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips. 

  Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.

  Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”

  Killian: Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.

  It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video

  Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again. 

  Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters. 

  Killian: I do. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????

  Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent. 

  Killian: And for how that just sounded. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days. 

  Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex… 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes. 

  ~~~~

  Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. 

  Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child. 

  “Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose. 

  The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved. 

  “I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma. 

  “The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange. 

  She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”

  “Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”

  “Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them. 

  “It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”

  Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited. 

  “I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his. 

  It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner. 

  Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her. 

  But then, she speaks. 

  “Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears. 

  “Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after. 

  “About the oarfish…”

  He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”

  “I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”

  He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”

  “Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”

  His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly. 

  “If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”

  Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs. 

  “I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times. 

  “I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”  

  “And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”

  He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy. 

  “You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after. 

  “Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”

  To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family. 

~~~~

I'm using my old tag list from 2 years ago. If you don't want to be tagged, I'm real sorry and let me know if I should remove you

@kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones-blog @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @winterbaby89 ​@ultraluckycatnd @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @pirateprincessofpizza @killianslefthook

[killyspinacoladas]

Currently reading the most incredible, well-written Captain Swan fic where they get stuck in the past (during the CS movie storyline) and it's everything I've ever wanted. I'm dreading finishing it.

Anyone got any recommendations for CS stuck in the past fics that I can read after this one?

For this interested, this is the one I'm currently reading.

[swanslieutenant]

a place in time - chapter xv

Available now on AO3 (catch up on the rest of the story here)

Fic Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen. Wordcount (this chapter): roughly 8K

Due to the current atmosphere of potential AI theft, this chapter is only available on AO3 to registered users.

Read Chapter 15 here

[everything-person]

Captain Swan SuperNatural Summer

I was looking so forward to this event. I had so many ideas and concepts. But real life happened and my muse ran away so i was unable to write any of my ideas no matter how hard. But with this being the last event I will not turn up empty handed so I made art for all the ideas. @cssns

TRIGGER WARNING under cut has 9 art pieces they are numbered the 9th piece contains images of blood

1.) Sands of time based on the movie/video game Prince of Persia. King Nemo ruled with his brother and right hand Jafar. The King already had sons but one day while wandering the market he found two orphan boys that showed grant potential and took them in. After invading the sacred oasis of MistHaven Killian is framed for the murder of his adoptive father. With the help of Princess Emma he escapes and finds there is more to the dagger and plot behind his fathers death then he thought.

2.) Phoenix Diamond Based off of Onward. Henry never knew his father Graham. ON his 16th birthday his mother gave him a gift from his father it was a magic wand powered by a phoenix diamond to bring Graham back for one day. He tried the spell himself but it didn't work. But when his mother touched the wand it began to glow. The spell went a miss and now they are in a race against time to find another phoenix diamond to bring him back unbeknownst to them the dangers that lie in their quest.

3.) Living in the Dark inspired by Being Human. Killian is a vampire that has stopped drinking from fresh blood. Graham is a werewolf. They get an apartment together and be roommates. They wind up renting from Emma but there's something strange about her son who randomly pops in on the guys. Everyone trying to get a sense of normal life but how can they living in the dark.

4.) Wrong Ship inspired by Doctor Who episode. Jolly Roger magically tranforms into a human woman and goes to find Killian. Confusion and misunderstanding puts a rift into Emma and Killians relationship.

5.) Sandcastles and Riptides Liam and Killian are mermen raised under their grandfather King Triton brother to King Poseidon. Emma is the princess of misthaven raised under her well meaning but over protective parents. Each of their worlds forbidden from each other but fate demands them together.

6.) The Swan and the Hook is a pirated themed story with lots of twists and turns. I know doesn't appear supernatural but trust me there was/is supernatural undertones.

7.) Witches of Storybrooke loosely based on Hocus Pocus. After Henrys mother dies he goes to live in the sleepy town in Maine. He learns the legend of three witches that used to live there and of a candle that was to bring them back to life. Hoping maybe he could find some magic to bring his mother back he ventures into the woods. But he finds there is are two sides of every story when the witches do come back.

8.) Dance with the Devil Killian succeeded in his revenge against Rumplestiltskin and turned into the Dark One as a result. For centuries he stayed in the dark ones castle until one night he heard of princesses coming of age ball. Unable to turn away the temptation he slipped into the ball and had a hypnotizing dance with a beautiful blonde before barricading himself back into his castle. What happens when he finds the same blonde battered and abused in his forest years later?

9.) How a got a pet vampire was a supernatural comedy that came about from a discord discussion of a prompt.

Those were my ideas and maybe some day I can actually write them the titles might change if I do these were just the best I could come up with.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Being Ghosted (2/4?)

Summary: Killian and Liam Jones are called in to help with the haunting of an old carriage house where a skeleton was recently found walled up within the cellar. This is no ordinary ghost hunt for the supernatural fighting brothers, however. This job will require Killian to face the person who has been haunting him for nearly a year. Emma Swan. The woman he ghosted.

A/N: Yeah, yeah. I know the holiday season is in full swing and we ought to be done with the spooky stuff, but I love a Victorian/Dickensian Christmas aesthetic that leaves room for good old ghost stories. This addition gives me a BINGO for my Fall/Spooky card (better late than never) and will likely have two additional parts to come.

Shout out to @kmomof4 for her exceptional beta skills!

Rated T / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

Leaves rustled overhead, clinging to branches that were ready to be freed of them as the crisp autumn breeze coaxed them from their perch and gently swirled them to the ground below. Those with the misfortune of landing on the pavement were crunched beneath the tires of Killian Jones’ Chevelle, pulling up in front of an old carriage house that was being renovated into a home.

A home for Emma Swan. A home she recently began to share with her boyfriend. A home where the two resided, sharing all of the intimacies he desperately wished he could have shared with her. Intimacies and quiet moments and heated arguments and passionate make up sessions and mundane chores and yes… even their current plight.

A haunting.

Killian would have willingly faced it all with her had circumstances been different, which, he supposed, was why he was here now.

“You ready for this, little brother?” Liam questioned after Killian had put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“Younger,” Killian reminded him in his usual exasperated tone, pushing open the driver’s side door and climbing out while side-stepping his well-meaning brother’s inquiry.

The front door of the carriage house opened and a man exited, greeting them hesitantly, “You must be the Jones brothers?”

“We are,” Liam said, approaching the man with an outstretched hand. “I’m Liam. This is my brother, Killian. Are you the owner?”

“Uh, no,” the man said, shaking Liam’s hand then stuffing his hands in his pocket with an acknowledging nod towards Killian. “I’m Neal Cassidy. My girlfriend’s the one who called you. She technically owns the place, but we both live here.”

Something in Killian’s gut twisted, the ache intensifying when Emma emerged from the carriage house, looking as stunning as he remembered but without the warmth and affection he’d last received from her.

“You guys must be exhausted,” she said after introducing herself to his brother and barely giving him her notice. “We’ve made up the guest room and there’s a pullout in the office.” Turning to her beau, she placed a loving hand on his arm and sweetly suggested, “Why don’t you show Killian to the office and I’ll take Liam up to the guest room.” Addressing Liam - and only Liam - once more, she said, “After you two get settled, we can take you down to the cellar where this all started.”

“That sounds grand,” Liam said, gesturing towards the carriage house. “Lead the way, lass.”

As they filed in, Liam looked back at Killian over his shoulder. His expression echoed that which Killian was already telling himself.

He had fucked up.

Badly.

“So,” Cassidy began, showing Killian into the office where the pull out couch had already been made up for him. “How do you know Emma? She wasn’t really clear on the details.”

Dropping his duffle on the bed, Killian busied himself with rifling through his supplies, attempting to keep a neutral tone. “What details did she share?”

“Something about a dare and the cemetery and not wanting to talk about the experience because it had been too intense.”

Killian let out a commiserating hum. “Intense is certainly one word for it,” he murmured, the memory of Emma laid out beneath him, kissing the holy hell out him while making sounds that haunted him to this day flashed through his mind and tightened the fit of his jeans.

Unwilling to betray Emma’s confidence, and not exactly eager to share the details of their acquaintance with her current paramour either, Killian shifted the conversation to the matter at hand. “As I understand it, the paranormal activity began after the two of you uncovered skeletal remains in the cellar. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Emma was crazy at first when she insisted we had a ghost. I mean… you know how irrational women can be.”

Killian chafed at the man’s derisive tone. “If there’s one thing I know about Emma, mate,” Killian informed him with a slight edge to his words, “it’s that her instincts should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cassidy back pedaled. “I believe her now. Kind of hard not to when a ghost appears over your bed while you’re trying to convince your girl she’s not too tired to fulfill her duties. You know what I mean?”

Fists balled, Killian took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He was saved from doing anything rash by the sounds of his brother’s voice.

“Ready to check out the cellar?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, following after Liam and resisting the urge to shoulder check the repulsive man who had somehow fallen into Swan’s good graces - and her bed (not that he wished to dwell on that fact) - as he passed.

Emma led them down a steep flight of steps into the cold, dark, and dank space below. The atmosphere had an immediate effect on Killian, raising the hair along the back of his neck and giving him the eerie feeling of being watched.

“This was part of the original structure, yes?” Liam asked, shining his flashlight into the inky black corners the dim bulb at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, lingering by the stairs with Cassidy as the Jones men looked around. “From what I understand, it was cold storage for oats and hay and other food stuffs for the horses lodged here when it was a carriage house.” Gesturing towards an opening, she continued, “I noticed that space had been bricked up and I wanted to open it back up. That’s when I found…”

“The body,” Killian supplied, casting a glance towards her and meeting her eye for the first time since he’d arrived. His heart clenched, the look on her face making him wish he could have spared her such a discovery. Perhaps if it had been he who had been there… No. There was nothing to be gained in thinking that way now. The past was the past and there was no changing it.

“And you called the police?” Liam confirmed, searching the area where the skeleton had been found.

“Of course we did,” Cassidy scoffed. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Killian and Liam exchanged a look. Neither of them could fault their decision, but they both knew, had it been them, they would have handled it much differently.

“And how soon after the body was removed did the occurrences begin?”

“Almost immediately,” Emma answered. “It started with noises on these steps.” She gestured at the stairs they’d used to access the cellar, the tension in her demeanor evident in the stiff, closed-off way she stood in the unsettling space.

“Noises?” Liam questioned. “Like footsteps?”

“No,” she replied. “More like… something falling down them. Then things actually started crashing down them.”

“What do you mean?” Killian pressed, his concern heightening as she continued.

“If we leave anything sitting in the hallway outside the cellar door, it will eventually make its way down here. Clearly having taken a tumble down the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, backing her up. “I thought it was the authorities being careless, because we had a parade of crime scene personnel traipsing through here for weeks after we reported the body.”

“But you knew it was more than that, didn’t you, Swan?”

Emma locked eyes with Killian. He could tell his question had brought back the memory of her first ghostly encounter. She swallowed hard and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people there.

“Rooms would get cold,” she told him in a quiet voice; her words conveying all the nuance and unspoken truths she knew he would understand in a way her boyfriend had not. “I would hear things. Smell things. Things I hadn’t experienced in all the months I spent renovating the upper levels.”

“What sort of smells?”

His brother broke the reverie that had momentarily linked them, snapping the connection that reminded Killian of what they had once shared.

“Um,” Emma began, shaking herself and focusing on the question. “Leather? Hay? Like a barn, but without the pungent animal smells. More how I’d imagine this place was when it was an active carriage house, I guess.”

“So, he could have been killed here during that time,” Killian said to his brother

“Agreed. We’ll need to learn more about the building’s history.” Addressing Emma once more, Liam inquired, “You told Killian the authorities had yet to identify the remains, is that correct?”

“Yeah. But they did issue a cause of death. Blunt force trauma and a broken neck.”

“Injuries one might sustain from falling or being pushed down a flight of stairs,” Killian remarked. “It would certainly explain the occurrences surrounding the cellar steps.”

“My friend Belle is the town librarian and she has access to city records,” Emma informed them. “When you agreed to come, I asked her to pull anything that might tell us the history of the carriage house. Who owned it. Who may have worked here. Things like that. She said she’d try and have a file ready for when you got here.”

“Good thinking, love,” Killian praised, unaware of the endearment he’d let slip until Cassidy shot him an affronted glare then suspiciously flicked his gaze to Emma’s pinked cheeks before sending another hard look Killian’s way.

Clearing his throat, Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, turning his attention towards Liam and suggesting, “Before we go any further, we should ascertain what sort of spirit we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Killian couldn’t help the smug feeling that went through him at the sight of her pulling away from Cassidy’s attempt to wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She took a step towards the center of the room where Liam was already pulling supplies out of the bag he’d brought with him.

“There are generally two kinds of spirits who refuse to move on,” Liam told her. “Malevolent ones who were equally nasty while alive, and those who simply have unfinished business they feel compelled to resolve before they can find peace.”

“Malevolent spirits refuse to leave,” Killian added. “Hell bent on punishing or exacting revenge against the living. The only way to be rid of them is to--”

“Salt and burn their bones,” Emma said, causing Cassidy to balk behind her.

“How did you know--”

“Aye,” Killian said, cutting Cassidy off. “Which will be somewhat difficult to accomplish, seeing as they are still in the medical examiner’s possession.”

“So…” Emma drawled, joining he and Liam as they continued to set up the space for the task they would need to perform. “Best case scenario would be this spirit just having unfinished business?”

“That won’t necessarily make matters any easier,” Liam informed her. “Figuring out a spirit’s unfinished business isn’t usually as straightforward as salting and burning bones.”

“So, how do we determine which kind of spirit it is?”

“Ems, the thing attacked us while we were making love,” Cassidy said, being sure to emphasize the making love part as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The thing is obviously bad news.”

“We weren’t--” Emma began, mortification giving way to irritation as she looked back at him then shook her head and said, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Looking down at the two brothers as they finished lighting the circle of candles they’d set out, she said, “As I told Liam upstairs, when he manifested he didn’t look threatening. He had his hands over his mouth--” she raised hers to mimic what the spectre had looked like, “--but was clearly trying to tell us something when he vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.”

“Well,” Liam said, pulling the last piece of the equipment from his bag, “This will hopefully allow him to tell us what he tried to communicate with you.”

A belittling snort escaped Cassidy. “A ouija board? Be serious.”

“I assure you, mate. We are quite serious,” Killian informed him as he took a seat upon the cold, cellar floor alongside his brother. “But if the idea of communing with the dead is too much for you, then feel free to sit outside while we conduct our investigation.”

Clearly catching the challenge to his courage, Cassidy grit his teeth and grumbled in Emma’s ear. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Neal,” Emma sighed with a tone of censure. “Shut up and sit down.”

Entering into the circle, Emma lowered herself onto the stone floor and crossed her legs beneath her. Reluctantly, Cassidy followed, a disgruntled look passing over his features in response to the sitting arrangement that had placed him between Emma and Liam instead of separating her from Killian.

“A few ground rules before we get started,” Liam began, holding the planchette in his hands.

“I think we’ve all played with ouija boards before,” Cassidy interrupted rudely, earning him a stern stare from the elder Jones.

“Aye,” Liam responded with a cutting edge to his words. “You may well have, but what we are preparing to do is not child’s play. We are opening a portal to the spirit realm, and for all our safety, precautions must be taken and adhered to.”

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing more.

“Go on,” Emma urged. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to.”

“Right,” Liam began again. “Once we’ve placed our hands on the planchette, they must remain there until the session is concluded. I shall be the only one addressing the spirits, so you must refrain from talking or reacting. And when it becomes clear that the spirits are finished communicating, we must all close the session together by moving the planchette to goodbye. This is the only time we intentionally guide it. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. The seriousness of their endeavor hung heavily around them as Liam continued.

“I’m going to set the planchette on the board, but before anyone touches it, we need to attune the space.” Setting the planchette down, Liam extended his hands to Killian and Cassidy, saying, “Everyone needs to join hands and focus on the spirit we wish to call forth.”

Killian took his brother’s hand then opened the other to receive Emma’s. When she tentatively placed her hand in his, Killian glanced up at her face. They locked eyes for a brief moment before she flicked hers away, but Killian knew his touch was having the same effect on her that her touch was having on him. There was no mistaking the familiar physical tension they’d once shared under similar circumstances.

“Focus on the person we seek,” Liam instructed. “We know him to be a man. We know there is something he wishes to communicate. We know this space was his final resting place until a few weeks ago. However you choose to manifest him within your mind, hold that image there and focus on him.”

Difficult as it was, Killian tried to push aside thoughts of Swan and the feel of her hand in his. Even still, she remained a fixture in his attempt to concentrate. She was there when he thought of the man’s body being discovered. She was there when he imagined how he may have looked when he’d manifested himself to her. She was there with every noise, every scent, every strange occurrence that had led her to reaching out to the one person she knew could help her. Despite the tragic circumstances that led the man to being walled up within the cellar, Killian could not help but feel gratitude to the spirit who had brought Emma Swan back into his life.

“Right,” Liam said a moment later. “With the man still centered in everyone’s mind, place your hands on the planchette.”

Killian sucked in a breath at the loss of her hand, but quickly schooled his emotions and joined the others, placing his hands upon the planchette and readying himself for what was to come.

“We call forth the spirit of the man found concealed behind the wall in this cellar,” Liam called out. “We ask that he come forth and tell us his name. What is your name, spirit?”

The temperature dropped and several of the candle’s flames flickered. Killian could hear Emma’s rapid breaths over the pounding of his own heart.

“Spirit!” Liam called out again. “We invite you to tell us your name!”

A gasp fell from Emma’s lips when the planchette jerked beneath their fingers. With wide, green eyes, she cast her gaze towards Killian as the planchette slid across the board. He gave her a look of encouragement, hoping his own gaze conveyed that there was nothing to fear - that he would not let any harm come to her - before her eyes fell back to the board and the word being spelled out beneath their fingers.

“D-A-N-I-E-L,” Liam read out as the planchette roamed across the board. “Daniel? Your name is Daniel?”

Yes

“What is it you want, Daniel?”

H-E-L-P

“You need help? That’s why we’re here. How can we help you to move on?”

H-E-L-P

“We understand. How can we help? What do you need us to do?”

T-E-L-L-H-E-R

“Tell her? Her who? You want us to deliver a message to someone?

Yes

“You need to tell us who. Who is her?”

L-O-V-E

“Someone you loved?”

Yes

“What’s her name?”

R-R-R-R-R-R-R … No

“No? No, what?”

No

“We don’t understand. No, you don’t want to tell us her name?”

C-A-N-T

“You can’t?”

C-A-N-T

“Why can’t you?”

C-C-C-C-C-C

Killian leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Another spirit maybe? Interference from another entity?”

“Is there another spirit with us? Someone who does not want you to communicate with us?”

Yes

Killian removed his hands from the planchette, earning him a startled gasp from Swan and a scathing reprimand from his brother.

“Killian!” Liam hissed. “What the devil are you--”

“Use my energy, Daniel,” Killian offered, opening his arms, and himself, up in surrender. “Take my energy and manifest yourself. Tell us who’s trying to silence you.”

“Brother, have you lost all sense?”

“It’s alright, Daniel,” Killian encouraged, ignoring his brother. “You can take my energy and--”

Killian’s words fell away when the fine hairs began to lift over his entire body. His arms began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to keep them lifted, especially when his breathing also became laboured.

“Killian, put your damn hands back on the--”

Liam’s admonishment was cut short by a startled, expletive falling from Emma’s lips. Manifesting above the board, in the center of their circle, was the ghostly image of a young man.

“Is that… Daniel?”

“That’s the man we saw!” Emma confirmed, her eyes wide as saucers and brimming with equal amounts of fear and awe. Forgetting herself, and the rules, she tentatively asked, “Are you…? Are you Daniel?”

The spectre nodded. He couldn’t have been more than early to mid twenties when he died, and though it was difficult to ascertain certain physical identifiers like height or hair or eye color, given his current metaphysical state, his clothing could serve as a clue that would narrow down the timeframe of his passing.

“Tell us how we can help you?” Liam said.

Killian, relieved that his brother was willing to capitalize on the moment, knew that he’d get an earful later, especially if Daniel managed to draw energy off him to the point of him passing out. Though woozy, Killian focused his efforts on the questions his brother continued to repeat and the spirit’s attempted replies.

“Who is the woman you want us to contact? Who else is here with us?”

Daniel tried again and again to speak, but the sound of his voice could not pass from his plane to theirs. Reaching down with ghostly hands, Daniel nudged the planchette and guided it once more to the R. Before he could maneuver it to the next letter, a second pair of hands appeared from behind Daniel’s head and wrapped around his lower face, obscuring his mouth.

Emma screamed and Neal jolted back, nearly knocking over the candles behind him.

“Nope!” Cassidy exclaimed, scrambling off the floor and sprinting towards the stairs.

“Neal!” Swan called after him, though she remained rooted where she was with her hands still affixed to the planchette.

Daniel struggled against the phantom hands, clawing at them with his own while Liam tried to wrestle back control of the seance.

“Reveal yourself, spirit! Tell us who you are and why you wish to silence Daniel! What unfinished business does Daniel--”

The planchette began to spin, making it impossible for Liam and Emma’s hands to remain there. An impossible gust of cold wind swept through the cellar, extinguishing the candles and ruffling both Killian’s and Emma’s hair. The light bulb at the bottom of the stairs shattered, sending down a shower of sparks. The only illumination remaining was Daniel’s ghostly form, but it too was quickly snuffed out, leaving the three of them in darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Liam cursed, the sound of him rummaging through his duffle preceding the beam of his flashlight. Reaching over, he grasped Killian’s shoulder and questioned, “Are you alright, little brother?”

“Younger,” Killian muttered, earning him a relieved clap on the back from his brother; his petulant response the only proof Liam needed as to his brother’s condition.

“You two stay still,” Liam instructed. “I’ll relight the candles and clean up the glass. Is there a broom down here?”

“Y-Yeah,” Emma responded, shakily. “In that cabinet.” She gestured towards the corner, then offered, “But I can do that.”

“No,” Liam said, waving her off as he finished lighting the candles. “You stay with Killian. He’s going to need a minute to recover from his tomfoolery.”

“It got us answers, didn’t it?” Killian shot back, heavily. Drained of energy, it was all he could do to remain sitting upright, but he’d be damned if he let Liam know just how much the encounter had affected him.

“Aye. I suppose it did,” Liam conceded, procuring the broom and dustpan so he could begin sweeping up the broken bulb.

“What answers?” Emma asked. “All I have is more questions.”

“We know there’s indeed another spirit here,” Killian told her. “A woman, if the ringed fingers and manicured nails give any indication. We also have a name to work with - Daniel. Based on his manifestation, I’d wager he was in his mid 20s when he died and by the looks of his clothing, I would guess he worked as a stablehand at some point. That gives us a frame of reference to work with as we investigate his identity further.”

“Speaking of which,” Liam said, disposing of the broken glass and tucking the broom back into the cabinet. “You said you had a friend assisting with research?”

“Yes!” Emma replied, plucking her phone from her back pocket. “Belle. I’ll text her now and see if she’s ready to share her findings with us.”

“Perhaps you would like to check on Mr. Cassidy as well?” Liam suggested, reminding them both of the forgotten man.

“Um, right. Yeah.” Swan stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. Her phone vibrated in her hand, capturing her attention. “Belle says she has everything ready and we can come by the library any time.”

“Terrific,” Killian responded, attempting to pick himself up off the floor… and flailing. “Um, Swan? Would you mind, uh…”

Emma glanced down at him and must have perceived his predicament. Her eyes widened, a startled expression crossing her features, as she reached down and helped him up.

With a steadying hand pressed against his chest, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just a bit… unsteady.”

“Here,” she said, leading him towards the stairs where he could rest against the banister. “Better?”

“Aye. Thank you, love.”

Her posture stiffened in response to the endearment and she turned away, intent on climbing the steps out of the cellar. Killian reached out and lightly grasped her elbow, stalling her steps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… are you alright? I should have asked how you’re handling the ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. Her position on the steps had brought her to eye level and though there was still only candlelight illuminating their surroundings, Killian could see the truth of her words in her eyes. “This isn’t my first haunted rodeo. Remember?”

Killian let out an amused huff. “Aye. How could I forget.”

They stood there a moment longer, Killian’s hand still resting against the crook of her elbow. He could feel the raised flesh of her arm through the thin fabric of her sleeve and wondered if it was a remnant of the ghostly encounter or perhaps an involuntary response to his touch.

Was he wrong to hope for the latter?

“I, uh… I should go check on Neal,” she said, dragging her tongue across her lip before her teeth scraped over the tender flesh in its wake.

The sound of something heavy scraping the floor above them pulled Killian from thoughts of capturing her mouth with his own, and almost too late he noticed an object about to hurl itself down the cellar steps.

“Swan! Look out!”

With all the strength he could muster, he managed to force her against the wall, shielding her as something crashed down the stairs. Their bodies pressed together, chests heaving against the other’s, it took them both several moments to process what had just happened.

“Emma!” Neal cried out, sprinting through the floors above and coming to a stop at the top of the cellar stairs. Staring down at his girlfriend who was currently being blanketed by another man, Neal’s face grew thunderous as he exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?!”

“It appears to be some sort of statue,” Liam commented. Killian wasn’t sure if it was genuine ignorance as to the man’s meaning or if his brother simply wished to avoid a scene. Crouched down, Liam inspected the object and added, “Lucky the two of you managed to get out of the way. This could have done serious harm.”

Swan pushed against Killian’s chest, forcing him to step back from her so she could turn and take the man still fuming at the top of the stairs to task.

“It was that stupid garden statue of Pan you insisted on bringing inside!” she shouted. “I told you not to leave it in the hall!”

“How was I supposed to know a ghost could move it?” Neal shot back. “The thing weighs like fifty pounds!”

Stomping up the stairs, Swan grabbed Neal by the arm and hauled him away from the cellar entrance. Although Killian could not discern what was being said between them, there was no mistaking the tone of argument in their voices. He probably ought to feel guilty for having a hand in their current discord, but all he could focus on at the moment was the way his body was still reacting to having been pressed against Emma’s. The way she’d felt beneath his weight, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the feel of her hands clutching the back of his shirt, the way their eyes had connected after the danger had passed, the moment their gazes flicked down in unison to the other’s lips, the impulse he’d nearly given in to kiss her, the certainty he felt that the same desire had run through her mind as well.

“Brother,” Liam said, his tone making Killian groan internally.

He knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” he replied. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was rash and foolish in the way I invited the spirit to use my energy, and I need to get my head on straight. No more distractions.”

“Actually,” Liam said, hoisting his duffle, which he’d repacked, up onto his shoulder before crossing the cellar and joining Killian on the stairs. “I was going to say… A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Slapping his brother on the shoulder he continued up the steps, leaving Killian utterly gobsmacked.

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!

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[donteattheappleshook]

(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.” 

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great. 

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers. 

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement. 

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic. 

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside. 

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him. 

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.” 

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -” 

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open. 

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?” 

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong… 

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” 

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door. 

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum. 

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.” 

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’ 

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch. 

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her. 

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.” 

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end. 

He’s missed her so bloody much. 

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally. 

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.” 

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.” 

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.” 

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions. 

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’ 

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.” 

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning. 

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all. 

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’. 

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist. 

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height. 

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.” 

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’ 

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything. 

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.” 

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try. 

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’ 

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It’ll never hold up in court.” 

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.” 

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.” 

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’ 

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart. 

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea. 

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?” 

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most. 

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.” 

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again. 

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm. 

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.” 

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.” 

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand. 

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.” 

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers. 

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.” 

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade. 

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.” 

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time. 

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner. 

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar. 

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away. 

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?” 

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.” 

She walks away. Beyond repair then. 

***

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else.”

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard. 

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.” 

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did. 

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.” 

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.” 

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station. 

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment. 

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.” 

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss. 

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves. 

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack  ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories. 

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window. 

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her. 

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To - 

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.” 

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up. 

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation. 

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.” 

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.” 

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?” 

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.” 

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her. 

“How much of last night do you actually remember?” 

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.” 

“I know.” 

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.” 

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much. 

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.” 

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him. 

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear. 

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.” 

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.” 

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.” 

“What rules?” 

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now. 

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were. 

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them. 

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him. 

“Milah?” 

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion. 

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.” 

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.” 

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times. 

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned. 

“You’re right.” 

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure. 

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to. 

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough. 

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before. 

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch. 

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.” 

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust. 

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.” 

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away. 

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’  

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult. 

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.” 

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.” 

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off. 

“Here.” 

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.” 

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -” 

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -” 

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his. 

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.  

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that. 

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.” 

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.” 

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone. 

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck. 

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader. 

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.” 

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer. 

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.” 

“My arm’s asleep.” 

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.” 

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him. 

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -” 

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.” 

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him. 

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt. 

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.” 

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck. 

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4​​ @elizabeethan​​ @the-darkdragonfly​  @undercaffinatednightmare​ @jennjenn615​ @dramioneswan​ @gingerchangeling​ @gingerpolyglot​ @kazoo5480​ @lfh1226-linda​ @csalltheway​ @xsajx​ @xarandomdreamx​ @onceratheart18​ @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook​ @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway​ @zaharadessert​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @spartanguard​ @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche​ @jrob64​ @klynn-stormz​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @tiganasummertree​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian @snowbellewells​ @xellewoods​ @sals86​ @karlyfr13s​  @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru​ @lonelyspectator12​   @anmylica​   @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust​ @marcella2727 @paradiselady19​​ @koryandr​ @killiansprincss​ @goforlaunchcee​​ @motherkatereloyshipper

[deckerstarblanche]

CSSNS 2024 Entry!!!!!

Hello, friends! After a year and some change, I’m finally back with the conclusion to “An Offer She Can’t Refuse.”

I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 3

As soon as he cracked his eyes open the next morning, Killian knew she was gone. With a frustrated groan, he glared up at the stucco ceiling and flipped over onto his stomach, pressing his face into her pillow and feeling like a fool.

Really, he should have expected this from the beginning. Knowing Emma, her heat had probably finished sometime in the early hours that morning, she took a look at where she was, and who she was with, and bolted.

It’s not like she would go to me as a first choice, he thought to himself. And so Killian closed his eyes, allowing him to feel the hurt and the anguish and the pain, until he stuffed them back down into the part of his brain, where he’d stored all of his worst thoughts about himself for so many years.

And it did hurt, a lot. He knew, deep in his gut, that they were supposed to be together. Her shell of self-protection might be too tough to crack, though. For him, Emma Swan – her laugh, the intoxicating sweet scent that he would be able to pick out blindfolded – would always be his ideal. Now that he had had the chance to actually be with her physically, Killian felt like he’d been granted access to heaven for three glorious days. How could any other woman compare?

Pathetically, he hoped that one day they could still be friends.

When he finally set foot back inside the dorms, the clean, familiarly blank scent in the air confirmed that the filtration system was running smoothly. It was almost as if the past three days had been neutralized as well, leaving only a possibly ruined friendship in its wake.

“Jones? Where the hell have you been?” David asked, concerned etched on his face as Killian entered their room, aggressively tossing his backpack onto his bed.

He narrowed his eyes at David’s suspicious tone, hackles raised. The other man clearly knew something, probably from Emma herself.

“Did you not get the update from your girlfriend?” Killian sneered, unable to resist recklessly channeling all of his pain and anger toward his roommate. “After she got what she wanted, Emma chewed me up and spat me out! Well, I don’t want to talk about it, and I’ll know that you're lying if you tell me otherwise…”

David’s surprise quickly morphed into hostility, and he rose from his computer desk. “What exactly are you accusing me of? Are you gonna cry because a woman finally rejected you? That’s why you don’t fuck around with your friends!” he roared back, forcefully pushing Killian in the chest.

“She needed it– she begged for it, Dave. What kind of a self-respecting Alpha would I be if I said no? It doesn’t matter if it’s your best friend or a complete stranger, right? You’ve got some experience with that yourself, don’t you, eh?” he said crudely, shoving David back as soon as he regained his footing.

“What the hell does that mean? If you want me to kick your ass, say one more thing about Mary Margaret…” David replied in a growl, putting his fists up.

Killian laughed, ready to hit something, preferably David’s face. “Listen, I’m done with every Omega at this school, especially Emma Swan. I’m not the simpering asshole she seems to think I am, and she can come apologize to me if she wants to go back to being ‘just friends.’” he sneered, building a wall of his own ego around his fragile heart.

David put his fists down, hands angrily balled at his sides.

“Fuck you, Jones. If you don’t have enough sense to fight for Emma, then you don’t deserve her!” David thundered, hurling the door open and slamming it shut behind him so hard that the wood nearly cracked off the hinges.

———-

About an hour later, after he had cooled down from his argument with David, Killian heard a hesitant knock on the door. Hoping it was Emma, but unsure, he got up to open it. There she was, standing awkwardly in front of him, shoving her hands in and out of her pockets.

“Killian, I came by to apologize. My leaving wasn’t your fault. I was a coward, so I’ll understand if—” Emma began, but he cut her off, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t get to do that— slink off like everything has been said. I was hurt that you’d left without a trace, and I let that morph into anger. A man’s ego is a fragile thing, Swan…but I want to be a better person than that,” he told her, his blue eyes locked on hers with a penetrating gaze.

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

“Emma. The truth is, I care deeply for you. I have since the first day we met, so when you said that friendship was all you desired, I made my peace with that. But after what we shared last week, I knew that watching from the sidelines would never be enough.”

Killian looked away as soon as Emma did, color rushing to his cheeks. He readied himself for rejection: that speech, no matter how inauthentic it would sound about another woman, would definitely have anyone else melting in my arms, he thought to himself, barely suppressing a chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” he heard a small voice say, and he looked back at Emma, whose eyes were glittering with what looked like tears.

“Nothing, love. I’ve said my piece, and now I’ll give you your space. Hold on, why are you crying?” he asked her cautiously, furrowing his brow.

“I’m not crying, you idiot, I’m just emotional over what you said– there’s a difference!” Emma replied with a watery chuckle, raking her fingers through her hair.

Killian decided to throw caution to the wind.

“And what was it that I said? I want to know so that I can say it again,” he told her, summoning up his most rakish grin.

Emma rolled her eyes, but he knew from the way she blushed that things would be ok for them— maybe even better than ok. She hadn’t spurned him, and she hadn’t stormed out.

“Killian, I care about you too. I cared so much after our…um, time together last week that I freaked out. Big emotions are tough for me, you know that,” Emma admitted, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets.

“I do know that, Swan. I think that’s why we’ve worked so well as friends— we’re both godawful at expressing our feelings,” he began, drawing a few steps closer to her. Emma looked at him with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights, but he wasn’t going to be put off by that anymore.

“Emma, I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never shared with anyone else before,” he murmured, close enough now that he could tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She was so attuned to him that she gasped at the innocent contact, making him smile.

“Being with you was the most intimate I’ve ever been, with anybody. I don’t want to go back to the way things were before, and I don’t want anyone else in my bed but you.”

Terrifyingly, Emma was silent, her gaze dropping away from his and going to the floor. Killian felt like his heart was pounding loud enough for her to hear, and that humiliation was imminent.

“Emma, I’m—” he began, but she looked back up, a huge smile lighting up her face. She flung herself forward into his arms, pressing her lips to his, kissing him with what felt like years of pent-up emotion. Then, she pulled away, almost reluctantly.

“I don’t wanna talk. I mean, I know we have a lot to say to each other, but not right now. Just kiss me, ok?” she said breathlessly, tearing off her jacket. Killian barely had time to agree before she nearly jumped into his arms, the force of her excitement knocking them over onto his bed. Clothes were shed quickly, and soon enough he was hovering over her, admiring her golden hair as it spilled out over his pillow.

After one more searing kiss, he rose up, sitting back on his heels as he stroked his hands down her thighs. Emma shivered violently under his touch, as a rush of slick coated her inner thighs from the fairly innocent gesture.

“Oh Killian, please do that again,” Emma sighed, opening her knees wider. Surprised, he let his hands glide from the tops of her thighs all the way down to her knees, watching rapturously as she thrashed beneath him. Every attempt she made to raise her pelvis, to seek him out, was caught by Killian’s firm but gentle grip as he grounded her to the mattress.

“Do you think you could come just from this, love?” he asked, breathing harshly, as it was taking every ounce of his self control not to sheath himself inside her pulsing cunt.

“I…I’m not sure,” she admitted, opening her eyes as she reached up, grabbing the hair on the back of his head to smash her lips against his.

Emma’s kiss was electric and confident, and it made him thank whatever higher power existed in the universe that she’d given him another chance. When she finally tore her lips away, he felt dizzy with anticipation.

“Fuck me, Alpha,” she commanded, grabbing the nearest pillow and shoving it under her ass. Killian’s eyes lit up with amusement at her take-charge attitude, but he was soon distracted by a small warm hand shooting out to stroke his rock-hard length.

“As you wish, Emma, always,” he purred, and without another thought, he plunged in, savoring the feeling of being inside of her again.

They matched each other stroke for stroke, and as the room filled with the sounds of their frantic coupling, Killian realized that it was her first time fucking him with a clear head. She was choosing him, and not out of any desperation.

He was determined to make it last as long as possible, so after a few more thrusts, he rolled them so that Emma was on top, her long hair surrounding them like a curtain. She yelped in surprise, but quickly gained control, setting her own rhythm as she clutched at his chest.

“I seem to remember liking this view of you in particular,” he teased, reaching up to gather her hair with one hand while kissing up the long column of her neck.

“Is that so?” Emma asked breathlessly, moaning as he hit a spot deep inside of her, pinpointing it so he could press up into her as many times as he could. “Fuck, yes… keep going right there, please!”

From the way her inner muscles fluttered against him, he could tell that it wouldn’t be too much longer before she came, so he kept his pace brisk, giving her exactly what she needed. Moments later, Emma exploded, shouting his name as she clamped down like a vise, spasming multiple times. He’d felt it during her heat too, but never with anyone else.

“So fucking tight you are, Emma…so gorgeous when you come,” he praised, murmuring in her ear as she came back to herself, dazed and sated.

“You’re the gorgeous one,” she mumbled, “all of the girls on my floor talk about you like a sex god.”

“And what, pray tell, would you tell them after all of this time we’ve spent together?” Killian asked her playfully, nudging his erection against her inner thigh.

“Hmm…well, I’d definitely mention your impressive stamina,” she quipped, pumping her hand up and down his shaft.

“And then I’d tell them that they’d never find out for themselves because you’re MY Alpha,”

The sound of those words coming out of her mouth set Killian’s libido on fire. Quicker than lightning, he flipped her over on the mattress.

“If I’m your Alpha, that makes you my Omega, does it not?” Killian thundered, using a tone that their kind referred to as uniquely Alpha. While it may have been used in the past to force Omegas to submit, contemporary couples used it to spice up bedroom play.

“Yes!” she squeaked with delight, lifting herself up to hands and knees.

“Then present for your Alpha,” he ordered, slapping her on the ass. Immediately, she knelt, pressing her chest down as she sank further back onto her heels.

“Is this what you wanted, Alpha?” she asked sweetly, playing along with the game, which was about mutual consent rather than domination.

“Bloody perfect,” he growled, easing himself into her channel inch by inch, trying to prolong the moment they gave themselves to each other.

They were both so keyed up, emotionally and physically, from the events of the day that Emma cried out almost immediately, unable to stave off a powerful orgasm. Killian held on, pumping into her with determination to satisfy her as much as he could.

“I want your knot, and if you’re really an Alpha, you’ll give it to me,” Emma faux-jeered from below, all a part of the game.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Killian bit out, watching as drops of his sweat beaded on her back.

“You fucking know it!” she shouted, clenching down on him as encouragement. It was an almost primal moment, the two of them acting on instinct instead of emotions; and moments later, he was coming, locking their bodies together as streams of cum filled her womb.

It took awhile for them both to come back to Earth, floating in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss. Killian felt her sigh contentedly, burrowing a bit closer as he covered them in his downy comforter.

“I’m so glad it’s you, Killian,” Emma told him sleepily, looking back so she could kiss him one last time. He smiled into her neck, gathering her into his arms with a feeling of completeness and affection.

“I couldn’t agree more, love.”

[myfearless-love]

Too Well Tangled - Epilogue

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Emma Swan, Angst and Romance, Banter

Summary: England's most notorious rake has traded debauchery for daddy duty—and surprisingly loves it. Between his newborn daughter, his always-active son, and his quick-witted wife, Killian Jones discovers that domestic chaos might just be his most thrilling adventure yet. An epilogue to "Too Well Tangled"

READ HERE: AO3

BIG shout out to my amazing beta @xarandomdreamx for always catching my mistakes and leaving me smiling with her comments!!❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 11/?

I'm so excited, ya'll! This is it - the wedding chapter! And the wedding night, which means sexy times. I don't write smut, so it's super steamy and then fades to black. Buuut this may just be the steamiest thing I've ever written. So, enjoy!

And a reminder of Emma's wedding dress:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells@teamhook@kmomof4@jrob64@xhookswenchx-reads-blog@thisonesatellite@welllpthisishappening@spartanguard@ohmakemeahercules@tiganasummertree@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jamif@undercaffinatednightmare@onceratheart18@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jonesfandomfanatic​ @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda

Chapter Eleven

“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” Ingrid slammed her palm against the steering wheel as they drove back home.

“It isn’t your fault Ingrid,” Killian assured her. “I think it was that amulet he wears. When he touched it, something happened to me. My thoughts got muddied, and I was drawn towards him.”

Ingrid shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line. “You withstood him better than I did,” she looked over at Emma, “you both did.”

Emma’s brow creased. “You’re right. Maybe it has something to do with what my mom and Belle both said about true love.”

“What did they say?” Ingrid asked. 

Killian cleared his throat. “Just that the love Emma and I have for each other can be protection against Rumplestiltskin.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughed, looking back at Killian with pride sparkling in her eyes. “My mom seemed very relieved that I had Killian, and Belle said that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t counting on Killian being in the picture.”

“She said he hated me,” Killian clarified.

“Don’t listen to him,” Emma told Ingrid, “he’s basically my hero.”

Killian scoffed even as his cheeks pinked, and Emma laughed.

“Emma,” Ingrid scolded, “how can you be so flippant about this? I told that horrible man things about our family. I invited him to the wedding! He could ruin it somehow.”

Emma shook her head. “He won’t. I don’t think he even can. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”

Ingrid glanced at Killian’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He shrugged back at her. Emma was humming the tune of “Scarborough Fair,” of all things, looking contentedly out of the window. How their visit to the mental hospital could possibly have encouraged her was beyond him, but he loved her all the more for her sudden optimism. 

Ingrid’s phone started to ring, and she answered via her bluetooth.

“Hey babe,” she told Liam.

“Hello, love. I’ve got great news!”

“We can use as much of that as we can get. What is it?”

“That professor of agriculture got back to me. According to him, we can take a kernel of corn and grind it down. Then we add that corn ‘powder’ to something fine, like flaxseed, and sow that.”

“Will that count?” Emma piped up.

“He thinks so,” Liam said. “Apparently there’s some legend in . . . Wales? Scotland? I can’t remember, but anyways, in the legend a father won’t let his daughter marry the man she loves unless he can sow an entire field with just one kernel of corn. This was how he accomplished it.”

“You didn’t tell him about our situation, did you?” Ingrid asked with concern.

“Of course not! I told him I was thinking of publishing a second book about the song ‘Scarborough Fair,’ that’s all.”

“Okay, well, at least that’s one thing.”

“Elsa is doing some data analysis to figure out how fast Emma needs to plow before the tide comes in.”

“Now we just have to find this town no one knows.”

That was what worried Killian the most. None of them had any idea how to go about the second riddle. And after their visit to the mental hospital, it was more clear than ever that the future of many people, not just Emma’s, was in the balance. 

*******************************************************************

The next week and a half flew by, and before Emma knew it, she was sitting in front of Ingrid’s vanity mirror in her wedding dress. Ingrid was applying her makeup, and Anna was using a curling iron on her hair. They all yelped when the door flew open, but it was only Liam. 

“What’s with all the people downstairs?” he demanded.

Ingrid straightened up to look at him, a stick of eyeliner gripped between her fingers. “We’re having a wedding, dear, the living room is filled with guests.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that. But I counted two priests, a rabbi, a baptist minister, a Buddhist monk, and some woman waving a gourd around.”

“The gourd is part of a Cherokee ritual to ward off evil spirits,” Ingrid explained as she leaned down to apply eyeliner to Emma’s eyelids, “and there’s only one priest. The other is an Episcopalian minister.”

“Ingrid, what’s with all the holy people, that’s what I’m asking!”

Ingrid sighed as she straightened once again from her task. “I invited an evil imp to this wedding by accident, okay? So I’m trying to counter that with anything and everything I possibly can!” 

Liam sighed. “That’s sweet of you, darling. Eccentric, but sweet.”

He stepped forward and placed a kiss against his wife’s cheek as Emma and Anna laughed. He left after promising for the fifth time that day to keep Killian downstairs. 

“Do you think he noticed the crystals you lined up on the fireplace mantel?” Emma asked when he was gone.

Ingrid chuckled. “Probably not.”

Anna let out a frustrated groan as she released another limp curl from the curling iron. “I’m not good at this!”

“I told you to use hot rollers,” said Ingrid. 

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want my hair too overdone.”

Anna gave Ingrid a weighted look. “If only Elsa were here. She’s the only one who can do that loose side braid you love.”

Suddenly, Ingrid’s walk-in closet burst open. “Did someone say they needed my help?”

Emma squealed with joy at the sight of Elsa stepping out of the closet. She jumped up and threw herself into her older sister’s arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re here!”

“And I’m glad to finally get out of the closet.” Elsa looked over Emma’s shoulder and scowled at her sister and her aunt. “I thought you two would never say the code word!”

“We didn’t know Liam was going to interrupt!” Anna retorted. 

Ingrid just laughed. “Sorry we hid this from you, Emma, but we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it, either,” Elsa explained, “so we didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Emma shook her head, dabbing carefully at tears that threatened her makeup. “I don’t care, I’m just so happy to see you! Will you be my second bridesmaid? You can wear the dress you have on - this wedding is very informal.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Elsa assured her. “Now, are we going to do something about your hair or not?”

*************************************************************

Killian stood in front of the fireplace in the Jones family living room, his brother standing at his side. He kept fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Nervous?” Liam asked him.

“No,” he answered without hesitation. He barely noticed all the people, most of whom he swore were strangers, crowded into their home. He didn’t feel he was giving up his freedom or being burdened, or any of the other cliches people used for grooms. He just wanted to see Emma descend the stairs. He wanted to pledge his life to her, slip the ring in Liam’s pocket onto her finger, kiss her, and then begin their life together. 

Liam’s friend and colleague, shoved into a tiny corner with his keyboard, began to play the processional, and Ingrid was the first to descend the stairs as Emma’s matron of honor, a tiny bouquet of white daisies clutched in her hands. Elsa, then Anna. followed Ingrid down the stairs. Killian strained his eyes for Emma. She wouldn’t be escorted. She had said it was unnecessary, and she wanted Liam to be Killian’s best man. 

Then, suddenly, there she was, and the music changed. She seemed to float down the stairs like a vision, her dress trailing the ground, her bare shoulders glowing under the lights, and her golden hair in a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. Her hair was threaded with baby’s breath and Queen Anne’s lace, and she clutched a simple bouquet of white roses tied with a white satin ribbon. Her eyes were searching the crowded room, but she didn’t seem to be able to see him. 

Then, suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs, she faltered. She reached out one hand to grip the banister tightly. Her skin went suddenly pale. She seemed to be staring at something no one could see. 

What Killian couldn’t see, what no one could see, was the man at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on his cane. Only Emma could see him. Her breaths became shallow, and she suddenly felt dizzy. Panic gripped her heart. 

“You want to run,” Rumplestiltskin told her, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “You don’t want to get married at 17. You don’t have to. Just turn around and go back upstairs.”

Emma began to shake. What was she doing? He was right! She was too young to get married! Why was she getting married again? Who was she marrying? Something wasn’t right. This man made sense - she should just run back upstairs. 

“Emma?” 

Rumplestiltskin jerked his head towards the sound of the young man’s voice. The boy didn’t see him, of course. His spell had seen to that. But why was there such strong magic emanating from the lad? Rumple recoiled, feeling a sudden, sharp, physical pain. The shirt! The stupid boy was wearing the shirt Emma had made with no needle or seam. The wretched shirt that solved the first riddle. No one could see it; he wore it beneath his shirt and tie. The boy must be sweating in the heavy felt, too. What had possessed him to don the thing? Curse him! Rumple stumbled backwards, the magic of true love overpowering him. He turned and ran, his glamor spell starting to wane, and his skin burning. He almost fell down the steps, but when he reached the sidewalk he turned and steadied himself, smoothing down the front of his suit coat. 

“No matter,” he snarled up at the house and the people inside. “I may not be able to touch you yet, but I will, mark my words, I will, and soon!”

Inside, the sound of Killian’s voice had broken the spell that had held Emma frozen at the bottom of the stairs. She looked down into Killian’s gentle smile and sparkling blue eyes, and every doubt and bit of confusion fled. He held out his hand.

“Don’t be afraid, Emma,” he told her softly, “we’ll walk the aisle together.”

She took his hand and descended the last few steps. She tucked her arm into his and beamed up at him. 

“Why would I be afraid?” she asked him, and she would never remember the strange man at the bottom of the stairs. 

***************************************************************

Emma giggled as Killian carried her over the threshold of the house they would share, at least as long as the professor who owned it was on sabbatical. Killian set her down, brushed her lips with a kiss, then stepped forward, his arms spread wide.

“So, what do you think?”

Emma stepped slowly into the room, taking in the small foyer and the modest living room to the left. To the right was a stairwell, and down a short hall in front of her was a small eat-in kitchen. It was a narrow, two story Victorian, even older than the home she grew up in with Ingrid. Emma wrapped her arms around the post of the stairway banister and looked up at the decorative stain glass panel above the front door which was so common in Victorian homes. It cast shafts of colored light onto the flowered wallpaper. 

“It’s not very big, I know,” Killian told her, “but the man who owns it is a bachelor, after all. The upstairs is better, though. He renovated it to just one huge master suite with a really modern bathroom. It’s got a double shower!”

Emma caught his gaze at that, and a teasing smile lifted her lips. “Really?”

Killian swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He’d never heard that one word sound so laden with sensual promise. Emma bit her lower lip as she regarded him, still draped across the banister. 

“I could . . .” he stuttered, “give you a tour. Of the house, I mean.”

Emma grinned slyly, then gazed up the stairs. “I only want to see the bedroom.”

Killian swallowed again, “Oh - okay.”

Emma stepped closer and took his hand. She said nothing, just gazed at him in a way that took his breath away. He took the stairs, leading her by the hand, every nerve in his body on high alert. 

The stairs led them straight into the master suite, with no door separating the two. At the back of the room was a sitting area surrounded by built-in bookshelves. A TV was mounted on the wall so it could be seen from either the sofa, rocking chair, or bed. 

The bed. It was a queen size, four-poster bed situated in front of a beautiful round window of colored glass. It dominated the room, or at least it seemed to right now. Emma walked to it slowly, running her hands along the quilt that lay across it. When Ingrid had seen the house, she said the quilt was another sign that fate meant them to be together. The pattern of interlocking circles was called a wedding ring quilt. 

Emma wrapped her arms around one of the bedposts, just like she had the banister downstairs, and looked at him shyly. Two spots of color tinted her cheeks. Killian scratched behind his ear and gestured to the door to his left. 

“Do you, uh, want to see the bathroom?”

“Killian,” Emma said gently, “why are you so nervous?”

He was able to laugh, just a bit, at her words, but he didn’t know what to say. Emma took one step forward, took him by the hand and pulled him closer. To her and to the bed. She ran both hands up the front of his shirt and began to undo the buttons. His heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. 

Suddenly, Emma paused. “What’s under your shirt?”

“The one you made. To solve the first riddle.”

Emma laughed as she worked off his tie and undid the rest of his buttons. “Oh my God, you must have been burning up!”

“You have no idea!” He laughed too and peeled the scratchy, insanely hot shirt up and over his head. He sighed in relief as he tossed it aside, then ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He caught Emma staring at him, her cheeks now bright red. He wondered if she would get nervous now, but instead, she turned her back to him. 

“Unzip me?”

Her back was almost completely bare already in her halter dress. The zipper didn’t start until her lower back. He could scarcely breathe as he slid it down, revealing her lacy underwear. 

“And untie the halter?” Emma’s voice was thick, and he was thankful he wasn’t the only one obviously shaken by desire.

Killian did as she asked, letting his fingers dance along her spine after he finished. Emma sucked in a sudden breath at his touch. He stepped closer, encircling her waist and pressing his chest to her back. Still holding the front of her dress to her chest, Emma leaned back into him, and he trailed kisses along her neck. 

“Are you even wearing a bra?” he asked against her skin.

Emma turned to face him, still holding her dress up. “It’s hard to wear a bra when it’s a halter,” she said, then she let go of the dress, and it fell with a soft rustling sound at her feet. 

For a few heated moments, he took her in, glorious in nothing but a pair of white lace panties. Then he surged forward, pressing her bare breasts against him and devouring her mouth with deep kisses. Emma moaned as he maneuvered her to the bed, and her hands fumbled with the zipper of his pants. 

After kicking aside his pants, he covered Emma with his body, nothing between them but that tiny scrap of lace. His hands roamed, as he sucked on her neck, and Emma panted as she grasped his back. He pulled back for a moment, tenderly cupping her cheek. 

“You asked why I was so nervous.”

“Mhm,” Emma replied, her lips pressed together, and her eyes wide.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his hand drifting down to caress her breasts. 

“A little,” she whispered. 

“Me too,” he confessed, “because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Emma pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I know you would never hurt me.”

He ran his thumb along the waistband of her panties, and she shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut. 

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes opened and held his as she lifted her hips and guided his hands.

“Do I look scared to you?”

**************************************************************

The window above the bed scattered beams of light in various shades across the quilt that covered Emma and Killian. They were both still naked, and Emma was tucked against him, running her hands through his chest hair. He ran his hands along her bare arm and kept brushing kisses to her forehead. 

Emma let out a contented sight, “That was amazing. I want to do it again and again and again.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I was so worried, I even asked Liam for advice.”

Emma twisted so she could look into his face. “You talked to Liam about us having sex?” she yelped. 

“Not like that, just . . . I wanted to be sure I was sensitive to what you’ve been through. He understood that and was really helpful. I read that some guys are really rushed and insensitive without meaning to be when it’s their first time, and I didn’t want to do anything stupid.”

Emma nodded, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Well, whatever he told you, I need to send him a thank you card, because . . . wow!”

Killian laughed. “Now, that would be awkward.”

Emma suddenly grew quiet, and her hand stilled in its exploration of his chest. 

“Emma?” he asked tentatively.

She sighed and rolled over next to him on her back. For her to lie there next to him, her breasts uncovered, made him feel so honored to receive that vulnerability. Still, something told him she was insecure about something.

“Did I disappoint you, though?” she asked.

Killian rolled closer to her as he exclaimed, “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, I doubt you imagined a woman with this kind of figure for your first time.” She ran her hand over her baby bump, which still wasn’t incredibly noticeable, to be honest. 

“Emma,” he said softly, turning her chin to face him, “you are the most beautiful, exquisite thing I have ever seen in my life. I thought I was going to internally combust for a moment when your dress hit the floor.”

Emma chuckled at that, but he could still see the insecurity in her eyes. He decided to show her instead. He gently ran his hand down the length of her body, stopping at her rounded abdomen. He caressed it gently, then leaned down and placed a lingering kiss right beside her belly button. To his surprise, he felt a small thump in response. 

Emma gasped, and Killian’s head snapped up. “Did he just -”

“Yes,” Emma laughed, “he just kicked you.”

Killian lowered his lips again to Emma’s belly. “Hello, little one,” he said, “it’s me, your daddy.”

He kissed Emma’s belly button again, and Emma dug her fingers into his hair. When he looked back up at her, tears were shining in her eyes. He pushed himself up and kissed her, gently at first, and then with more passion. Emma broke the kiss, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Didn’t you say something about a double shower?”

Before he knew it, she was out of the bed and darting to the bathroom door. With a growl, he jumped up and chased after her.