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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years

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To Serve and Protect - Chapter 2

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

hey, did you guys realize today is Monday? because I totally didn’t. again, I’m absolutely INSPIRED by your responses to this. as a warning, next week’s chapter isn’t quite ready yet, and next week is finals week,

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump coming a bit later. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. -- rated teen for later chapters

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 on AO3

“Oh, this is too good,” he says out loud, the lit end of his cigarette bobbing with the movement of his lips. And then he smiles, for what feels like the first time in years, watching as the dark-haired detective wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Everything is starting to come together nicely.”

He takes a long drag of the cigarette, watching it light up in his reflection in the window, and flicks the ashes onto the floor beside him. It’s something the boss would yell at him about in his own quarters, he knows, but the empty apartment is far from the lavish house perched at the top of the hill. But he’ll only be here for as long as it takes to complete the Master Plan, which — he huffs out a laugh, an eerie, emotionless sound — is taking shape much faster than he anticipated.

———

What the hell kind of mess did you get yourself into this time? she asks herself, and she knows that she should be more worried about the damn stalker that she apparently has, but that’s not even what she finds herself focusing on. Instead, somewhere far beyond the blank lines of the legal pad on her desk, Emma sees Killian — Detective Jones — his leather jacket and his unnervingly blue eyes and his damn desire to be with her, to protect her. Part of her wishes, almost, that she hadn’t met him at the bar that night, that she hadn’t connected with him so emphatically, or at least that she hadn’t invited him back to her apartment. That she hadn’t learned about the stalker. She almost wishes she could go back to two days ago — less than, really — her life was much simpler, and the biggest problem she had was Mayor Mills requesting files from her office.

“Emma?” Ariel calls, walking up to the open door of their shared office and peering around the corner, finding Emma staring intently at an empty page of a legal pad with her head propped up on her fist. When Emma still doesn’t answer — just as she didn’t the first two times she tried to call her name from down the hall — Ariel turns the corner completely, propping herself against the doorframe, and tries again, cupping her hands around her mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Earth to Emma Swan, is anybody home?”

Finally, Emma looks up from the blank page, meeting the eyes of her office mate. “What? Do you need something?”

Ariel half-laughs, though still worried about her friend, and walks into the office. “Emma, I’ve called your name, like, six times,” she says, a slight exaggeration, though those are a normal part of her personality. But, leaning on the edge of Emma’s desk, the smile that usually graces her face disappears. “Are you alright? You just seem really out of it today.”

Emma sighs, dropping her pen on the legal pad so she can hold her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head, but refusing to look up at her friend. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Ariel asks, her voice soft.

Yes, Emma’s inner voice screams, There’s so much. But instead, she shakes her head again, then crosses her arms on the desk and rests her forehead against them. “No, I’m just— I just need to find something to distract myself from it, to be honest.”

“Well,” Ariel says, and Emma can hear the smile in her voice before she picks her head up off the desk. “I have some good news for you, then, because Zelena just gave us a whole list of things to do for this new case.”

------

“For the record, Jones, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Graham, the sheriff, is sitting on the edge of his desk, the office door closing the two of them from the rest of the small precinct building.

“Noted,” he comments, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the edge of Graham’s desk. The sheriff glares down at them, but makes no move to remove them himself, nor does he ask Killian to do it.

A beat passes between them. Graham cards his fingers through his hair. Killian throws a rubber band ball in the air and catches it in his prosthetic.

“Tell me again what happened,” he asks, and Killian rolls his eyes, but tells the story again.

“I met her at the bar last night. I bought her a drink, we started talking, you know how that all works.” Graham hums in agreement. “I went to walk her home, and I noticed him standing across the street from her apartment. She invited me up, and I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to tell her what I thought she needed to know.”

Graham hops off the edge of his desk and begins pacing in the space between it and the chairs, but with Killian’s feet still propped up on the desk, he can only take three steps in each direction.

“And you think the best thing to do about this is continue to spend time with her so you can catch this bastard before he has a chance to do anything?”

“Yes,” Killian responds simply, his eyebrows accentuating the word.

He throws the ball up in the air and catches it again.

“Can’t we just… I don’t know, post a car outside her place? Send someone to watch him? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

“Graham, this man has only killed his victims after they noticed him and came to us, remember? If he sees someone patrolling her apartment, or even waiting around it, he might get spooked and act faster. Emma works at the law firm across the street from here, so I can pick her up after work and spend nights with her without anything seeming off, especially since he saw me go home with her last night.”

“Wait.” When Graham turns on his heel to face Killian, his eyebrows make a sharp ‘v’ across his forehead. “Emma… Swan? David Nolan’s foster sister?”

“Foster sister,” he says, mostly to himself as he runs his thumb against his bottom lip, since it answers quite a few questions that had come to him since he left her apartment earlier that morning. “That explains the different last names.” Now it is his turn to snap his eyes to Graham. “I always forget that you know David.”

“Yes, he and I were deployed together, but you know that. However, you may not know that I dated Swan briefly a few years back."

Killian tosses the ball up in the air, but it falls to the floor and bounces a few times before Graham stops it beneath his boot.

If Graham had to describe the emotion that crosses Killian's face, he would name no less than six: surprise, embarrassment, confusion, discomfort, worry, shock.

“You… what?”

Nodding, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, staring at the floor again. “Yeah, when I— not long after David and I got back from our tour and I moved to Storybrooke, she and I went on a few dates. Nothing big came of it, obviously, but…” He knocks his fists together in front of him, then leans down to pick up the rubber band ball, turning to Killian to hand it to him. “Yeah.”

A beat passes between them.

Killian throws the rubber band ball in the air, catches it.

“And you can keep them separate? Business and pleasure?” Graham turns to him, but his eyes are fixed on the rubber band ball in his hand, and he watches as he grinds his jaw together.

“This isn’t about my pleasure, this is about Miss Swan’s safety.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Jones.”

His eyes snap to Graham’s, somehow more grey than blue, and when he replies, Graham is almost entirely sure he has never heard more venom in his voice. “Whether you believe me or not, sheriff, I am completely capable of doing my job.”

Not for the first time, Graham is amazed by his insubordination. But the thing that Graham has learned about Killian Jones over the years is though he might have an attitude, a smart mouth, and a need to speak his mind when he shouldn't, you can't deny his track record.

The man is a damned good detective, whether Graham wants to accept it or not.

And, worse than that, he knows it.

Moreso, Killian is the lead detective on the stalker case and no one knows more about the man they're looking for. There's no reason to turn down his request, Graham realizes, except that he wants to.

Killian tosses the ball in the air, catches it.

“Fine,” Graham says finally. “But this is still an open investigation, so you can't tell her more than she needs to know.”

When Killian pulls his boots off the desk and lets them fall to the floor, Graham can feel his desk rattling from the impact. Running his fingers through his hair, he tugs on the end of it, making some of the strands stick straight up, and that muscle in his jaw ticks again.

“If this man is after her, then she deserves to know as much as she can to keep herself safe from him.”

“Jones,” he tries, but the detective sitting next to him does not respond, just continues talking.

“She deserves to know what he looks like, and what he did—”

“Jones.”

“—to those girls, because if she doesn't, then he might just—”

“Killian!” he yells, and his bright blue eyes snap up towards him as his words stop abruptly. “Don't let yourself go down that path. We'll do all we can to protect her, okay?”

Killian lets out a shaky sigh and covers his face with his hands, but Graham can still tell when he nods.

“Aye,” he whispers, just loud enough for Graham to hear him before turning his eyes back towards Graham. “That's— of course, yeah.” His shoulders rise and fall with his deep, slow breath. “Any other ideas? Things I can do to try to keep her safe?”

After a moment’s thinking, Graham nods, pushing away from his desk, heading towards the door to his office.

“Yeah, there are a couple more things. I don't want you to do this alone.”

Killian sighs, and Graham can feel the argument coming before he even opens his mouth, even with his back to the detective. “I really don’t think—”

“Honestly, Jones, I don’t really care what you think,” he bites back, opening the door and sticking his head out into the bullpen. “Mills!” he calls, startling his youngest detective from the paperwork that he’s intently focused on.

“Yes, sir?” he replies, practically jumping out of his seat, and Graham just motions for him to relax.

“Can you come in here for a minute, please?”

At this, he really does jump out of his desk chair, straightening the front of his dress shirt as he crosses the bullpen. “What’s going on, sir?” he asks, and Graham motions for him to go into his office. When he sees Killian in one of the chairs, he practically stops in his tracks, and when he raises his startling blue eyes from the ground to glare at Henry, he does stop, pressing back against the wall behind him as Graham closes the door to the office.

“Really, mate?” he growls, his glare still pinning Henry against the wall. “The rookie? You’re giving me the rookie?”

“Killian,” Graham sighs, rolling his eyes, but he’s useless against the force of Killian’s anger.

“I tell you that I have a lead on the stalker, on a serial killer, and you sic the rookie on me?”

“If you don’t want me, I’ll just—” Henry starts, turning back towards the office door as he tries to hide the embarrassment on his face. Killian has voiced his disinterest in working with him before, most of it stemming from his royal bitch of a mother, he thinks were the exact words he growled from the very same seat he’s in now, though there were quite a lot more people in the office. Sure, yes, his mother is the mayor, and she may have pulled a few strings to get him the job when he came back to Storybrooke, but that’s not to say his academy training in Boston and his time with the Seattle Police couldn’t have just as easily done the same. He’s just as qualified to be here as anyone else, maybe even more, but all Killian can see is who he is, blinded by some kind of vendetta against his mother from way back when he first came to Storybrooke.

“Stop,” Graham says, reaching out his hand to stop Henry from trying to leave the office. “And you can stop, too, Jones.”

Killian snaps his mouth closed. Henry leans back against the wall behind him.

“I know you have something against young Mills here, but he is a highly qualified detective, and you’re going to fill him in on the case over lunch and discuss how you can include him in this whole charade.”

The muscles of Killian’s jaw jump under the stress of his grinding teeth. Henry bites back a smile. But when neither of them answer, Graham crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you understand, Jones?”

“Aye.”

“Mills?” he asks, and both of them snap their attention towards him.

He still has to bite back a smile, but he manages to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“So, I do have a few orders of business to get through first, if you don't mind?” he asks, leaning closer to her as he drapes his arm across the back of her chair at the bar.

“Orders of business,” she repeats, mimicking his accent with her eyebrows high, but the smile that covers her face shows she is more humored than upset. “Such technical terms to be using on our second date.”

Now it's Killian's turn to smile, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Second date? Did I miss the first? Surely I would remember a thing like that.”

Emma laughs softly, setting her hand on his arm. “Fine, then it's our first date,” she corrects, but that just makes his smile grow wider, turning down towards his outfit.

“Well, damn, if I would have known that, I would have dressed for the occasion, brought a bottle of champagne.”

“Killian, get to the point,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry, darling.” He tenses, leaning away from her. “I just — Graham doesn’t want me working on this alone, so over the next few days, we have to figure out how to work Detective Mills into this whole plan of ours,” he says, much more serious than just moments before. "If you have any brilliant ideas, I'm all ears, because neither of us could come up with anything when we talked earlier. But, as long as it's okay with you, you'll be under my protection for a while. I'll pick you up from work, drop you off in the morning, and we'll spend some time at my apartment and some at yours to make sure that the man we're searching for is actually after you.”

Somehow, hearing these words from him makes this whole scenario scarier, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible after the constant spine-chilling fear that has been washing over her since Killian revealed the big news to her last night: she’s possibly being stalked. “Do I— do I need to do anything? Should I tell David, or my boss, or…?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Keep doing everything just as you normally do. If there's a normal time that you go to the grocery store, to the gym, to David's, then keep doing it, we'll talk more about your schedule tomorrow when we meet with Mills. We want him to think that we have no idea he's watching you, give him no reason to think we're on to him, because that's when he gets dangerous.”

“Okay,” she says, but fails to hide the shakiness of her breath. “That's…” She really doesn’t even know what she was going to say, her words — hell, her thoughts half formed for practically the entire last 24 hours.

But when she says nothing else for a few seconds, Killian reaches up and rests his hand against her cheek.

“Hey,” he says softly, turning her face until she is looking at him, and she doesn’t know exactly what he sees when he looks into her eyes, but something in his makes her sure, somehow, that he wants to do everything he can to keep her safe. “Emma, I promise you that you will be okay. I am going to protect you, Detective Mills and Sheriff Humbert will protect you, and if we need to, then we will get James and David involved and I am damned sure that they will protect you, too.”

She attempts to smile, but it is barely fully formed before it disappears.

“Why?”

He blinks once, then again, his soft eyes searching for meaning in her expression. “What do you mean, love?”

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

“To be honest, I've been chasing this bastard for six months, have watched as he's killed women that have come to me for help, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you're not next.”

Her only reaction is to pull her bottom lip up between her teeth, chewing gently on it, but her face is still covered with worry.

She’s been worried before. Hell, she grew up in the foster system, her childhood was drowning in fear. Both of her older brothers, the only family she ever had, went off to war. She was left, alone, terrified, in a Boston jail by the only person she ever gave her heart to. Sure, she’s known fear. But this… is something else entirely, apparently. This is a fear that somehow even cuts deeper than the fear that overtook her in those few weeks she spent in jail before her lawyer was able to find proof that she was telling the truth.

He must notice her lost in thought (though there’s really no way for him to miss it, her unfocused eyes, the way her pointer finger moves silently around the rim of her water glass), and he leans closer to her, the tips of his fingers wrapping softly against her shoulder as his lips almost brush the shell of her ear.

“And believe it or not,” he whispers. “I have come to grow quite fond of you.”

Slowly, the corners of her lips turn up in the beginnings of a smile, and seeing the change in her, he lets his own grow bigger, leaning slightly away from her to better see her face.

“Now you've intrigued me, Jones,” she mumbles, just loud enough for him to hear over the noise of the bar, thankful for the change of subject even though, moments ago, she would have begged him to tell her more about this case. “Do go on.”

“Why wouldn't I be fond of you? You're funny, strong, adorable.” He leans back towards her, and this time, he lets his lips touch the shell of her ear. “And so god damned attractive that I can't stand it.”

With his breath hot on her cheek, she feels a wave of attraction roll through her, settling beneath her stomach as she turns to him, his pale blue eyes wide and fixed on her face.

“We need to talk about this,” she whispers, and she can swear that they're the hardest words she's ever had to say.

He pulls away a few inches, his eyebrows knitting across his forehead. “What do you mean, love?”

“If you're going to be protecting me, spending time with me, pseudo-dating me, then we should talk about… about us. About what we are.”

He leans back farther, his back finding the wooden back of the chair, but he tightens his arm around Emma's shoulders. “Of course,” he says, trying to hide the pang of guilt that snaps in his chest. He should never have assumed that what Emma wanted aligned with what he wanted— he's been taught to be better than that. Just because he was going to protect her by no means obligated her to return his affection for her. And her actions tonight, looking back over them at this moment, said the same thing. “Tell me your thoughts, love. I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just because I saw him while I was taking you back to your apartment by no means means that I didn't want to be there myself, but I also understand that not everyone wants to have to see their one night stand every day for the foreseeable future.”

“No, no,” she says softly, and he definitely doesn't miss the way she leans into his side, smiling up at him.

“Good thing you're not a one-night stand, then,” she says, almost a whisper, and a smile grows across her face. He returns it, and they sit there like that for a few moments, stupidly smiling at the other, until his begins to falter.

“Maybe that should be something on your laundry list of business that needs to be discussed.”

“What?”

“We slept together, Emma. That's not something that should be overlooked when you're assessing our situation.”

Suddenly, her head turns to face him, almost snapping into place, and her eyes are wide. “Please tell me that you didn't tell Graham we slept together.”

Killian can't help but laugh. “Of course I didn't, especially after he told me that the two of you dated a while back.” Though he wouldn't have thought it possible before that moment, her eyes widen further, her cheeks beginning to darken with embarrassment. Killian chooses to ignore it, as much as he wants to press the subject farther. “All he knows is that I went to walk you home when I saw our suspect outside your apartment, so I followed you up and informed you that you might be in danger.”

Her hand finds his on the bar before them. She runs her thumb across the back of his before looking up at him, her green eyes shining bright with excitement and affection and something that Killian can’t quite name.

“Okay. Don't take this the wrong way, Killian. Please. I— I like you. And I don't know about you, but that's sort of a big deal for me. I want to take a shot at whatever this is, a shot at us, but I know that we didn't meet under the best circumstances, so if what you want is different, then I'll just deal with having to be near you—”

“Emma,” he says softly, repressing the urge to lean forward and press a soft kiss against her cheek. “Of course I want to be with you. I would be an idiot not to, and anyone that looks at you and doesn't realize that is a git."

“Thank God,” she finally breathes, letting out an actual sigh of relief, smiling up at him for a moment before the bartender appears in front of them with their plates.

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tags: @shireness-says @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @stahlop @teamhook @snowbellewells @carpedzem @pepperspotts@imlaxdris71 @gingerchangeling @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @scientificapricot @resident-of-storybrooke @ultraluckycatnd @itsfabianadocarmo @galadriel26 @jennjenn615 @therealstartraveller776 @nightskylover @xarandomdreamx @kristi555 @nikkiemms @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove - if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know

#my writing #cs ff #captain swan fics #fanfiction #wordsbymeganmichael #the detective fic #detective! killian #I'm hoping to have next week's done in time #but we'll see #if I make a lot of progress today then maybe I'll work on it some #I also moved some scenes around so I hope things still make sense #funny #I took out the one to make it shorter #then put another one in anyway #have fun with this #also please never stop leaving feedback #I love you all so much

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mystical-flute · 4 years

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Black Coffee & Pumpkin Pie Ch. 6

Ao3 || Ko-fi

"I don't want too much information to get out," his father said, having pulled Sheriff Nolan to the side. "He does not want my ex to find him. And frankly, if I see her again, I don't guarantee I won't do something rash."

David nodded slowly, a look on his face that said he expected Aiden Gold to say that. "I understand, Aiden. Do you want to make any sort of announcement here?"

His father frowned slightly. "I think it may be necessary. You know how some of the reporters and, ah, private investigators can be in this town. Robin can do it… he’s due to make one soon anyway.”

"I'll speak to Robin then, and get back to you."

"Thank you, David. I appreciate it."

"Of course, and congratulations. I'm glad your son is finally home."

As David walked off, Neal rose to his feet. "I… should probably tell Emma the truth before the speech. She's probably wondering where I've been."

"Of course, son. You enjoy your night. We can talk tomorrow…?"

Neal nodded slowly. "Yeah, I don't have a shift tomorrow, so I'll meet you at your shop. Thanks… papa."

And with that, he made his way back to where Emma was sitting with a small plate of appetizers.

"There you are, Neal. Is everything okay?" Emma asked with a frown. "You looked a little shaky when you left."

"Emma… there's something I need to tell you. I'm Baelfire Gold… the missing kid you were talking about earlier."

"You wh – "

"I'm Baelfire. I've known I was Baelfire my entire life. I came here to find out the truth. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but – "

"Hey, it's okay. I get it. I mean, I don't know all of the details, but I get why you wouldn't want to just tell a waitress that you were essentially undercover," Emma said, taking his hand gently and smiling. "But, uh – just tell me what name you like better. Just so I know what to call you."

He laughed, squeezing her hand with a grin as his heart pounded against his ribs nervously. "Honestly, I've been living this life as Neal for only a few years now, but… honestly, I think I like it better than Baelfire. No offense to my dad."

"I'm sure he won't be offended, I'd bet he's just happy to know you're okay."

"Yeah. He's not nearly the monster I was told he was. I knew they had to be lying, but I just… needed time to see it for myself."

She nodded. "Yeah, I mean, Mr. Gold is intimidating, but he's always been kind to my family and I. He said he understood my father's reasons for wanting to keep the old farm in the family. Understood what it really meant to come from nothing and claw your way into being successful."

"Really? What happened to him?"

Emma shrugged. "Whatever he's told my dad, my dad's kept secret."

"Fair enough," he said with a soft chuckle. "So, uh… do you maybe want to go on a date with me?"

Emma's brow furrowed. "You mean this isn't a date?"

Neal blanched. "I – uh – I wasn't sure – "

She laughed. "Hey, don't worry, I'm just kidding. But yes, I would love to go on a date with you, Neal Cassidy."

A relieved laugh escaped him. "Okay! Great! Uh… how about dinner at Tony's?"

"I think that sounds like fun. But, I have a question for you now."

"Hm?"

"Are you sure you don't want to come to New Oreleans with us? I really do think it'd be fun to have you there."

Neal smiled. "I'll think about it. Thanks. Your friend kind of caught me off guard with the question before."

Emma laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. "She was trying to set us up. She's been on me about you since you came to town. Just ignore her. She's mostly harmless."

"Takes more than an overzealous friend to scare me away," he grinned.

“If I could have everyone’s attention for a moment? I have a quick announcement. First of all, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming and supporting the Fireman’s Ball. Your donations will help us order better equipment and keep ourselves safe. But this night is also a night to celebrate!” Robin’s voice rang out in the ballroom, to a wave of cheers. “The harvest, the first responders of Storybrooke, this Fireman’s Ball has meant a lot to this town for many years. However, tonight, we have one more reason to celebrate. Sheriff Nolan informed me moments ago that the case of Baelfire Gold has been solved.”

Stunned murmurs broke out among the crowd, and Neal noticed Zelena Mills looked a little incredulous at the thought.

“Baelfire has found his way back to Storybrooke himself… and is now going by the name Neal Cassidy.”

Somehow, all pairs of eyes in the room found him in an instant, and it took all of Neal’s courage to not immediately hide under a table, managing instead to wave weakly at the shocked crowd.

The rest of the night was a blur as people welcomed him home, offered help, expressed anger at his mother and stepfather, and all he could muster were words of thanks and a shrug when asked about what Milah could possibly have been thinking.

But despite the attention on him, he had his father. He had his new friends. He… had Emma.

“Neal…” she hummed as she dropped into a chair next to him. “Thanks for inviting me. I’ve really had a great time tonight.”

He grinned, glad to get a break from talking to random townspeople as the ball began to wind down. “No problem Emma. I’ve had a great time too. And… thanks for inviting me to crash your New Orleans trip.”

She giggled again. “It’s not crashing if you’re invited, is it? But… I should get going. My dad needs me to help him on the farm in the morning. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, of course. Just let me know what time is good for you for our date,” he replied with a grin.

“Of course. I’ll text you and let you know,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, both of them blushing a bright red when she pulled away and walked off toward her family.

Neal’s hand pressed against his cheek, almost in a daze.

“Had a good time tonight, son?” his father’s voice suddenly cut into his hazy mind.

“Oh - uh - Papa. Yes, this was a lot of fun. I’m sorry to blindside you with this in public.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Bae. You made this dull event much important to me.”

Neal smiled softly, rising to his feet. “Thanks, Papa. It’s getting late, I should probably head back to the inn.”

"The inn? You don't have a place to live yet?" his father asked, sounding almost offended at the notion.

"I've been looking, but it isn't like Storybrooke is an urban sprawl. The old woman at the inn's been nice enough. Free breakfast in the morning, a comfortable bed, a view of the forest..." he shrugged. "It's not the worst place I've ever slept in."

Aiden huffed. "Well, now that I know you're my son, you'll be moving in with us as soon as possible."

Neal glanced at Belle, who was simply smiling in support of his father’s idea.

"Aiden's right. We're family, we should be together. And besides, we, you two especially, have a lot to catch up on. It'll be easier to do it under the same roof," she said.

"Okay…" Neal sighed, biting his lip. "I can move in tonight, if that's okay. I don't have a lot of furniture or anything like that. Or at least get some clothes and finish moving in tomorrow.”

His father and Belle exchanged a quick glance, then nodded in agreement.

His father’s house wasn’t what he expected. It wasn’t the size - no, he expected it to be one of the largest houses in town - it was the color. The inside was surprisingly modern, although it still had a classic feeling with some of the decor. Family photos and bookshelves took up most of the room in the family room, and it was clear by some of them that his family were seasoned travelers, Neal’s heart aching with the realization that he’d missed out on all of this.

In the guest room, Neal sighed and undid his tie, dropping it on his bed as he stared at his open suitcase. He was already dreading unpacking. Maybe he could just -

"Dad's talked about you a lot, you know."

He jumped, looking over at the younger brother that had suddenly appeared in the room. "Oh. Uh. Has he?"

"Yeah. He always celebrated your birthday. Even with mom and I. I always thought it was kinda weird having a birthday for a kid that wasn't there. No offense."

"None taken. I imagine it's a bit weird to have a brother that you've never met," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Especially one who was supposedly a sort of unwitting celebrity."

Gideon shrugged. "Yeah, but you've actually turned out to be a pretty cool person. It's really badass that you saved Bobby and Adam from the mines. I got lucky enough to escape the mines without calling you guys."

Neal raised a brow, giving Gideon a stern look. "You aren't going to go back into that mine after everything that's happened, are you?"

“Well not now that I know you’re a firefighter!”

“C’mon kid, you shouldn’t be down there at all. Those mines are closed for a reason,” Neal said gently. He didn’t want to step on his papa’s and Belle’s toes about the mines, but he didn’t want to see his brother get hurt.

Gideon rolled his eyes. “You don’t understand how dull this town is, you’ve only been here a couple of months!”

“Sure, but there’s gotta be something better than going into a closed off mine. Isn’t there a sport or something you could play? Band? Mathletes? Anything after school?”

“I like science. My friend and I got into a really hard after-school program with one of the local professors. I’ve been doing that since the school year started,” Gideon explained. “But that’s why I wanted to go down into the mines… to see if there were any cool rock formations down there. I thought if I found something I’d get into the program.”

“But you got into the program on your own anyway,” Neal said. “So I don’t see a need for you to head into the mine anymore.”

Gideon scuffed his toe against the carpet, before nodding reluctantly. “Alright, fine. You’re right. I shouldn’t go into the mine after what happened to Bobby.”

Neal gave him a weak smile. “Just know I’m not trying to be boring, it’s just, I’ve never had a brother before, and I’d rather not lose you so soon.”

Gideon laughed a little. “Yeah yeah. I’ve never had one either.”

“Tell you what. I don’t have work tomorrow, so we can hang out all day if you want.”

“Actually, I have plans tomorrow. But uh, thanks for not being so boring,” Gideon replied with a grin and running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it won’t be so bad to have a brother around here.”

Neal chuckled. “I guess it’s better now that you know I’m not lame, huh?”

“Gideon, come on, it’s getting late. Let your brother breathe for a moment, won’t you?” Belle chuckled as she entered the room, changed out of the golden dress she’d been wearing and opted for a set of pajamas. “Come on. Get changed and get ready for bed.”

Gideon slumped from the room, but Belle stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a kind smile on her face. “Are you settling in okay?”

“Uh - yeah. I was just looking for my pajamas myself. Thanks again, by the way. Where’s my papa?”

“He’s using his spinning wheel in the basement. He just needs a bit of time to adjust to having you back. He’d been so worried about you for so many years, to have you home… it’s just as overwhelming for him as it is for you so, don’t take it personally,” Belle said with a smile on her face, before she looked over at a photo on the bedside table. “Oh! Is this your family from New Orleans?”

“Yeah, that’s my mama Eudora and my sister Tiana and I when I graduated from the fire academy.”

Belle smiled. “They look lovely. Bae, your father and I were talking, and we thought it would be nice to have them up this way for Thanksgiving.”

He blinked in surprise. “Really? I was planning to fly back there but… I can talk to them and see if they’d be willing to come up.”

He didn’t doubt for a second that they would.

“Of course. Well, I’ll leave you to finish unpacking, shall I? You should get some rest yourself. There’s a bathroom just down the hall on the left if you need it.”

“Thank you, Belle. I really appreciate this.”

She gave him another smile and left the room.

Neal exhaled heavily and grabbed his pajamas from the bottom of his suitcase, intent on getting his nightly routine finished. Once he changed into the grey checkered pants and grey top he wore, he made his way to where he thought Belle had mentioned the bathroom was, and paused.

This was not the bathroom. It was a nursery.

His nursery, judging from his name he could just make out thanks to the light of the moon, written in pretty calligraphy on the wall above the crib.

“Get lost on your way to the bathroom, dearie?”

Neal turned to his father, who had suddenly appeared beside him. “Oh - Papa… uh - yeah, sorry… I didn’t mean to - ”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. This was your room, after all. Come on, come inside. I’ll show you what your mother left for me to remember you by,” Aiden said, flicking the light on and illuminating the light blue room.

Neal tried not to wince at the jab at Milah as he took in the surroundings.

Aiden leaned into the crib, pulling out two hand-knit stuffed toys, one a rabbit, the other, a wolf.

“My mothers made these for you. You loved them, and were fussy whenever you didn’t have them beside you... especially at night.”

Neal’s eyes widened, recalling Killian jokingly saying Neal had been the fussiest baby he’d ever met. If he’d loved these toys so much, it was no wonder.

Aiden then moved over to the bookshelf, gesturing at what was left. “Most of these were given to us by Mary-Margaret and Colette, Belle’s mother. Mary-Margaret was pregnant with Emma at the same time Milah was pregnant with you.”

“Did - did Milah give Mrs. Nolan anything in return?”

“Not that I recall, but that was Milah. Selfish and cold to anyone who couldn’t help her with her own goals.”

Neal rubbed the back of his neck. “Right…”

Aiden went quiet for a moment. “Bae…”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where your mother is? I’m not asking for myself but… David has been working with the FBI for many years on your case… if you tell them where she is, we can end this whole ordeal.”

“I don’t know, Papa. I was raised on a houseboat, going up and down between the Carolinas. It’s been almost seven years since I left. They could be in Seattle by now for all I know. I’m sorry.”

Aiden sighed. “No, of course. I should have expected underhanded tactics from someone who is on the run.”

“Belle says you were interested in inviting Mama and Tiana to Thanksgiving,” Neal said, desperate to turn the conversation to something light.

“Oh - yes, I am. You spoke so highly of them, I thought I should meet the women who actually cared for my son and gave him the tools to find me. You don’t mind, do you?”

Neal grinned. “Of course I don’t mind, Papa. Mama said before I left that she was really interested in meeting you, too. She had a hunch that you weren’t as bad a guy as Milah said you were. I’m just sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Never blame yourself for what your mother did. What matters now is that you’re home, and that we have time to get to know each other without her poisoning our relationship.”

“I’d like that a lot, Papa.”

Aiden and Neal sat in the nursery, talking until the early birds began to chirp outside. When Belle found them the next morning, Aiden was asleep in the rocking chair, Neal’s head on his knees, both looking more peaceful than they had since their long ordeal began.

#swanfire #ouat #fanfiction #black coffee and pumpkin pie #emma swan #neal cassidy

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ineffablecolors · 6 years

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The Wife [1/?]

The Wife || Ch 1 ~ 5.2 k || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: This story was born from this little idea. As you can tell from the summary, it has evolved a lot since then. I’m really excited about this and I want you to have a great experience with me so a couple of things: 1) this is a period piece of sorts in style but I want to be free to make my own rules so don’t expect any historical accuracy. 2) this is very much a CS story and will only become more so but it also has a dose of Knight Rook in it. The Killian Jones here is a nice mix of Hook and Wish!Hook so if that’s your thing - enjoy, if not - no hard feelings. 3) Neal, Regina and Gothel will be the assholes they are. 4) age difference between CS is at about 13 years in case that’s a deal breaker for anyone. This story will require some trigger warnings later on though nothing graphic - revealing them will be a bit spoilery but if you wish to be warned in advance, drop me a message and I’ll give you the gist of anything triggery coming. 5) Enjoy! :*

“This is unacceptable!”

Emma’s shoulders move up and down lightly – lace rustling for a second and then settling back into the serene stillness with which she entered and intends to depart the Nolan residence – not a very lady-like gesture but she supposes – now that she is safely engaged – she needn’t worry quite so much about her every small movement and expression.

“I shall go and talk to her first thing tomorrow.”

She looks up into Mary Margaret Nolan’s fierce eyes – narrowed and flashing like the tips of cocked arrows under her furrowed dark brows. Mary Margaret who never takes anything lying down. Mary Margaret who is the picture of grace and good breeding but the paint for said picture is all potent determination.

Emma slowly cocks her head to the side and marvels at the glow of Mary Margaret. It is not simply the glow of a woman early in her much wanted pregnancy, it is that of a woman who, despite everything she has had to face, seems miraculously, almost magically, protected from disaster. They have both had their fair share of troubles and tribulations but Mary has come out rightfully victorious every time.

Emma, on the other hand, feels like each storm has chipped away a little more of her – dousing her fire bit by painful bit until there is something embarrassingly grey and listless about her now.

“There is no need.”

“Emma—“

“You know what she will say. She knows best. She always knows best.”

“Regina may know a lot, it does not signify that she knows best.”

“Well, then let us hope that she knows well enough.”

She can literally see the anguish on Mary’s face. It pains her. It is not the situation that is causing her friend so much heartache but Emma’s acceptance of it. But while anguish sits prettily on a face as exquisite as Mrs Nolan’s, it is not made to sit there long.

“I believe my cook might know his, I will—“

“Mary, no.”

“But—“

“No. Please. I will not spy on my husband.”

“He is not your husband yet,” Mary declares almost haughtily with that same stubbornness that drew Emma to her years ago.

“He will be.”

Her friend huffs and glares and Emma’s lips tick up at having so quickly demolished Mary’s composure.

“Besides, it is not spying, it is investigating.”

The smile drops and Emma gives her a droll look. Mary waves her hands around as if she is already collecting gossip from the streets and houses of Storybrooke.

“Just because all the gossip is bad doesn’t mean much. I mean—“ she falters. “It is monstrous of Regina to put you in that position no matter— but, well, who knows how much of it is true.”

“Oh, I’m sure some isn’t and plenty is,” Emma waves her own hand in a dismissive gesture. “I will soon find out for myself and until then I do not intend to care for it. Frankly, I don’t intend to care much afterwards either.”

Mary knows her well enough to recognize the truth in her statement. She is not deterred in the least.

“I should put his name to Tink.”

Emma’s eyes widen and narrow in quick succession despite herself. Now, she does not know this Captain Killian Jones that she is to marry in a week. She certainly does not care for him. And yet, even she cannot deny the pinprick of irritation at the association of her future husband with Madame Superior and her “fairies”. Even though it is probably a justified one.

“Oh, I did not mean…” Mary’s porcelain skin is only more becoming with a light rose tinge to it. “I just meant as a source of information. You know her… her girls know all.”

“And I will tell you again that I do not wish you to spend time and effort and money acquiring information that I will soon be privy to myself.”

“But don’t you wish to be prepared, Emma?”

“I am. Life has made sure of it.”

There is little Killian Jones can do that will shock Emma.

“I must go, Mary.”

“Of course. But know that I still very much intend to speak to your grandmother tomorrow.”

“Please don’t. It will only sour her mood and make matters worse.”

Emma admires the way Mary Margaret can appear shocked each time she encounters Regina Mill’s wide known animosity for her.

*****

“This is all that evil old viper’s doing.”

“Well, she couldn’t have rightly forced him into it.”

“Like hell she couldn’t.”

Ruby observes her grandmother’s thunderous profile for a few seconds before she returns her attention to the stove, shaking her head. There is probably a person strong headed enough to change Mrs Lucas’s opinion after it has been formed. Ruby just doesn’t know them.

“Would it be quite so bad?” she wonders to herself.

Years she has worked the kitchen beside the old woman, years she has tried to sneak boys and girls past her and sometimes she still forgets how scarily good her hearing is. Marvelous for gossip, horrible for muttering to yourself.

Or sneaking around for that matter.

“Of course it would be! Christ, girl! You were not so young as to have forgotten the last one.”

“Who says she has to be like the last one?”

“She hasn’t even met him – what ya think she is marrying him for?”

“Perhaps—“

“It don’t matter what she is like anyway. The missus left a mark deep enough to last him for the next three, if he wished to have them. Which he doesn’t. Heaven knows why he decided to buckle under Regina Mills now.”

“She is quite pretty. A bit wan and cold but—”

“I’ve seen her pretty. Girl looks like she will be blown off by the first gust of autumn. Infirm. Fragile. Mark my words, Ruby, this Miss Emma is exactly the kind of wife that man doesn’t need. And, God help us, everyone will know it at the first sign of trouble.”

*****

Emma rubs her finger over the blue stone, marveling at the transparent smudges left behind. She lays the earring beside its twin in her modest jewelry box.

“You can leave these with Zelena.”

She turns around to see her grandmother enter her room without ceremony. Privacy is not a thing Emma is used to – especially not in the last ten years, but it doesn’t stop the tingle of annoyance that travels down to her fingertips at the intrusion.

“The jewels. A married woman should expect to receive those from her husband, not her overindulgent grandmother.”

Emma swallows the scoff that wants to bubble out and wills away any sentimental attachment she might have felt for the jewels in the box. She was told some were her mother’s but she feels no compulsion to fight Regina over the belongings of a woman she never knew.

“Of course,” she slams the lid of the wooden box and ignores the displeased look Regina sends her way. “Anything else you wish me to leave behind?”

“Why, I expect you to leave all.”

She whirls around – eyes wide and disbelieving despite her desire to remain cool and collected in her grandmother’s presence. The cruel twist to Regina’s mouth – all wrinkles and spite, shows that her slip has been noticed and greatly appreciated. Emma curses in her mind and curls her hands into fists before she opens her mouth.

“All? You expect me to depart with nothing but the clothes on my back?”

“Your wedding gown should be arriving any day now so you won’t be needing those either.”

“My skirts will be a tad short for Zelena,” Emma spits out, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“And a fair bit tight at the bosom but I’m sure she will alter them accordingly.”

She would laugh, if she wasn’t so keenly aware of the humiliation of it all. Regina settles herself on the lone chair in the room with the regality that Emma has hated as long as she can remember.

“I suppose I should thank you for providing me with what comforts you did, while you saw fit,” Emma says sarcastically as she looks around the small and bare room, trying to regain the higher ground.

“You should,” Regina replies as if scorn and sarcasm were none-existent unless they were coming from her own painted lips. “And you should thank me for arranging it so that you will continue on with a roof over your head now that I am unable to carry the burden of you any longer.”

Emma looks at the grey clouds gathering outside her window and rubs her hands over her arms. To the world beyond that pane of glass her marriage to Captain Killian Jones is mostly a simple case of “widower takes on a young bride”.

At 27, Emma isn’t all that young but she is sufficient for Captain Jones’s 40 years of age. His inferior birth is compensated for by his adequate fortune, his disability by his label of a war hero, his cold manner and abstinence from society by the liberties he allowed his late wife. It has all been presented to Emma very matter-of-factly and, on the whole, the deal is perceived in his favour rather than hers. Some – like Mary Margaret – might even frown and shake their heads at Regina’s sacrificing her to a little known man of reported ill-temper and little value and virtue.

Emma expects to find no peace or comfort in her new home and yet, she feels genuine pity for the way the world has dissected Killian Jones and laid him on the cold slab even for his own future wife to observe and judge, if she so pleases. She doesn’t have much to thank Regina for but how little the world truly knows about her is genuinely among the few favours her grandmother has granted her.

Of course, it has been a favour to Regina herself but Emma is all too willing to benefit as well. Society – and the man himself – doesn’t know what Killian Jones is buying. Emma does. She looks Regina in the eye and marvels at how alive the old woman’s face is – with a vicious energy to trample and ascend but with an energy none the less. She wonders how washed out her own complexion must look in comparison.

“Thank you,” she says without scorn or sarcasm.

Regina’s lips twitch again.

“Of course I cannot do everything for you,” she says smoothly and Emma stiffens.

Stripping her of all her worldly possessions was just a precursor – the groundwork for the true blow Regina has come to deliver, and, even though she can conceive of little she fears anymore, Emma feels her heart double its efforts anxiously.

“I wanted you to know that Captain Jones is not aware of certain… limitations of yours.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I imagine it would make a fine topic for your wedding night.”

“Regina, no. You cannot— He must know before. He—“

“He knows enough,” her grandmother grits out. “He knows what will immediately concern him and you.”

“Knows…,” Emma shakes her head helplessly. “I cannot just—“

“You can do as you please after you have said your vows.”

“You should have told him.”

“But of course! Because you are not a hard enough sell as it is.”

Emma’s mouth shuts audibly.

“He barely sees his own daughter,” Regina says dismissively as she gets to her feet. “You might have no trouble at all.”

*****

“Granny is happy,” Alice whispers sarcastically in her ear before she links her arm through Ruby’s and tugs her away from the dirty plates.

Another servant might have a token protest for her. Ruby does not. Ruby has missed the nervous energy and youthful glow of Alice Jones.

“When isn’t she? My grandmother, the resident termagant.”

She has missed her laugh as well – loud and addictive as always.

“I know I should be all questions and confusion but I’m just too happy to be back,” Alice almost yells out the last part and lets go of Ruby to turn in a circle with her arms spread wide.

Ruby shakes her head fondly. She is glad as well, though she knows it cannot last, knows that – much as she loves her father – it won’t be long before Alice starts feeling homesick and heartsick. She steers them back toward the abandoned picnic.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he is getting married just to have you back for a bit.”

Alice’s smile turns a bit wistful and she shrugs, smoothing her hopelessly wrinkled skirts.

“I was here just this spring.”

“That was more than three months ago!”

“Well, I’m certain it would’ve cost papa less to take us all for a vacation in Europe than to marry some fabulous lady.”

“She is not all that. Her grandmother was – still likes to think she is, I hear – but this Miss Emma isn’t overly fond of society apparently. Granny says all the worse, she probably thinks herself too good for it but…”

“You think not?” the tentative hope in Alice’s voice mirrors the one in her own heart.

“I hope not.”

Alice drops on the picnic blanket and looks up for the source of the bird song above, her brows furrowed in thought. Ruby has learnt that one can never tell if she is pondering the mysteries of existence or daydreaming about the pudding this evening.

“Why wouldn’t he find someone who really—“

Ruby feels her heart crumble along with Alice’s face but tries to plaster a smile on her own.

“He has you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” the girl sighs dejectedly and Ruby hopelessly searches for a distraction, a way to—

“Miss Lucas, call for doctor Hopper, please!”

Both girls whirl around to see Killian Jones coming toward them with quick strides, the line between his brows as deep as when he pours over his papers. His hat and cravat are absent and the sun glints off the silver streaks in his hair and unkempt beard. They have to talk him into shaving that for the wedding.

“What’s the matter?” Ruby exclaims as Alice scrambles to her feet.

“My daughter,” Jones gestures at the girl in question with a concerned expression. “She has been here a full day now and has yet to get on the new horse I have procured for her.”

Ruby huffs and plants her hands on her hips while Alice unashamedly rolls her eyes at her father.

“I thought we were waiting for the lady of the house.”

Killian drops his faux concern and frowns with true feeling before levelling his girl with a firm look.

“You are the lady of the house and shall wait on no one.”

Alice’s blush is fierce and the way she fiddles with her long arms more befitting an eight-year-old than a young woman of nineteen. Ruby angles her head away so her grin isn’t terribly obvious.

“Come,” Killian extends his right hand to his daughter and she takes it eagerly. “Let us see if I have finally managed to find a beast that you can’t drive to exhaustion in an afternoon.”

*****

“Hmm, it’s quite nice.”

Emma smiles a little at her friend’s reluctant tone. The dress is beautiful, if a bit too ostentatious for Emma’s taste. Not that Emma has ever been given the chance to really find out what her own taste is like. She supposes she never will now. But if garments like this are what she has to content herself with, Emma thinks she hardly has a right to complain.

“So… would you like to hear it?”

“Hear what?” she looks at Mary over her shoulder as she carefully lays her wedding dress aside.

It’s not the dress that has made an impression on Emma but rather the note that accompanied it. She was expecting the former but the latter was a surprise. The fact that it made her smile even more so.

But it doesn’t feel quite right to show that to Mary Margaret. She knows most women – especially married women, especially when it concerns their husbands – have few secrets from their closest confidants but Emma has always been good at keeping secrets. Even from Mrs Nolan.

“What Tink had to say.”

“Mary, you didn’t! I explicitly told you—“

“I didn’t ask her about that. Well, I mean…”

Emma sighs, any impulse to confide in her friend now gone.

“Go on then,” she says tiredly as she sits on the edge of her bed across from Mary.

“Well… Tink said the late Mrs Jones used to come around to Madame Superior’s every month or so…”

Emma sighs again and looks at the white lace that awaits her. There is only one reason wives go to Madame Superior’s – to look for their husbands. What is more, they only do so when things are so bad that they do not care who knows they are there looking for their husbands.

“Yet she assured me she has never seen Captain Jones there.”

“What?”

“I know. I didn’t understand it either but Tink was adamant. She asked around. No one has.”

Why on earth would the wife be there, if the husband was not?

“Was she…” Emma purses her lips, unwilling to finish her thought in Mary Margaret’s presence.

“Hmmm? Oh!” her friend’s eyes widen almost comically. “Oh, no, no! Nothing like that. It seemed exactly like any other case – desperate wife looking for her wayward husband but… apparently she didn’t have any luck there.”

Emma frowns deeply, her thoughts starting to run away from her before she waves them off like pesky flies. This is exactly what she wished to avoid.

“Well, I hate to say it but with this information – I hardly think you got your money’s worth, Mary.”

“Tink wanted to avoid my thinking exactly that,” she replies with a glimmer in her eye that immediately makes Emma suspicious. “So she told me something else. Nothing terribly secret I’m sure just… ancient history as they say. That few people seem to know or remember today.”

Emma waits for a beat or two before she realizes that Mary desires to be prompted into revealing the intelligence she has bought. Frankly, she does not care for it, but the last thing she wants is to disappoint her friend.

“Go on then.”

“Well, it appears that Mrs Jones wasn’t supposed to be Mrs Jones at all.”

Emma frowns and feels herself lean slightly forward despite her best intensions. The silence stretches again.

“Are the dramatic pauses truly necessary?”

Mary has the decency to blush.

“Yes, I— Alright, sorry. Apparently, Captain Jones – coming back from the war a hero and all, got engaged to some famous beauty, a Milah something or other. But then, less than a month before the wedding, he called off the whole thing. And not a week later he was married to this Eloise Gardner. And— and a telling number of months later came the baby.”

“Oh,” Emma looks down at her hands in her lap. She hears Mary stand up and come to sit beside her but she doesn’t lift her eyes until her friend’s own delicate hands move to clasp her cold ones.

“Emma, don’t you see? This is wonderful!”

“Wonderful?”

“Of course. When we tell Regina, she will have no choice but to call off—“

“No.”

“I— I beg your pardon?”

“We’re not telling my grandmother or anyone else. She probably knows anyway. As you just said, this does not sound like a secret. Just gossip too old to matter.”

And like Killian Jones at least attempted to fix the mess he’d made.

“Too old to ma— Emma, this sounds like he was engaged to one woman and—“

“Yes, I can do the calculations, Mary.”

“And you do not care?”

“It does not matter, if I care or not.”

“How can—“

“Please, I— I need to prepare for tomorrow.”

Mary sits frozen for a long moment until Emma’s hard look seems to prompt her into action. She is at the door already before she looks back once more.

“When everyone is trying to do wrong by you, Emma, there is no need for you to join them.”

She sits for a few moments, staring at the door long after it has closed behind Mary Margaret’s back. Then her eyes flit over the white lace again and land on the note that had come with it. She leans to the side and reaches over, her fingers snagging the paper’s edge.

Dear Miss Emma,

Your grandmother has provided your measurements and insisted that you need not be consulted about the dress that you shall be married in. It seems a queer custom to me but I should not meddle in your affairs, nor fault you if you have no particular interest in either dress or ceremony.

Unfortunately, I am rather ignorant of the current fashions for young ladies and was thus forced to seek help. I believe my daughter’s tastes often run towards the unusual and somewhat extravagant but I did emphatically ask her to be as sensible as possible.

I sincerely hope the garment chosen is to your satisfaction. But were it not, please, do not hesitate to return it – I have been assured that the seamstress has many more to offer.

Sincerely,

Killian Jones

She taps her finger over the name. By tomorrow night she will be Emma Jones. The fact has brought her neither joy, nor pain since Regina presented it to her. It has hardly ignited her curiosity, even after Mary Margaret’s insistence on scrutinizing Captain Jones. This was always one of the possible outcomes for her – frankly, one of the better ones. She has been prepared.

But it is only now, with this note in her hand, that she feels almost calm.

It appears Killian Jones is simply human after all. She will do well to remember that most humans have shown her little kindness but she still feels better now that her future husband is not just some abstract and malignant force for her to face blindly.

*****

“I do not have any.”

Ruby frowns at the woman before her. She looks so out of place – her white dress and pale face making her appear like a snowflake among the sunshine and purple flowers around them.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am. Should we expect your luggage after the ceremony?”

“No, I— I’m not bringing anything. I have nothing to bring.”

Ruby opens her mouth to rephrase her question yet again but then she notes the way Miss Emma draws a carefully measured breath and tries to keep her back straight, her green eyes everywhere but on Ruby, her posture stiff, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

She is embarrassed.

“That’s... I see. Do you need anything at present, ma’am?”

The bride shakes her head but still refuses to look at her and Ruby can’t help but take the opportunity to make her escape.

And now what?

She has to tell someone or the lady of the house will be coming down to breakfast tomorrow in her wedding dress like some crazy, gothic horror bride. Granny is out of the question – she already hates her, learning that the woman’s dowry is nothing but the good weather they’ve been blessed with will certainly only make matters worse. The other servants will be of no help. The grandmother is probably well aware of the situation, if she is not its very maker.

It’s either Killian or Alice. And fate has obviously decided that it shall be both when she spots them as soon as she walks through the French doors.

“Your bride must be a real treasure, Captain Jones, seeing as she comes with none,” Ruby starts brusquely and less kindly than she intended.

Killian blinks at her in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The mistress has come with literally nothing but the dress on her back.”

“I do not understand,” Killian huffs and pulls on the cuffs of his left sleeve, fidgeting the way he has been every time someone mentioned his future wife. “What is the issue? I assured Regina she will be provided with all that she needs.”

“Splendid,” Ruby claps her hands together. “Shall I take her shopping right now or in two hours after you are quite finished with the ceremony?”

“I am sure tomorrow will be agreeable, Ruby.”

“And should I take her shopping in her wedding dress?”

Killian blinks at her a couple of times before he seems to grasp the full extent of the situation. Something dark and thunderous passes over his face and Ruby almost regrets telling him. The woman seemed embarrassed enough as it was, Ruby did not wish to get her into even more trouble.

But the cloud passes as quickly as it appeared and now Killian’s expression is one she is much more familiar with – cool and businesslike.

“I can give her a few things,” Alice chimes in before her father can open his mouth.

“Sweetheart—“

“No, truly, it’s no bother. The measurements for the wedding dress were similar enough. Similar enough for a nightgown and a dress to wear for a day.”

Ruby is already rocking on her heels, ready to go, as Killian mulls the suggestion over. His sigh is resignation and fondness all at once.

“Very well. Put some sleeping garments and a couple of Alice’s dresses in her room and take her to the shops first thing tomorrow, understood?”

*****

She is going to tell him before they get to that alter. That’s the single thought that Emma repeated to herself like a mantra on the ride to her future home. And now that they are here her determination is cold and heavy as lead where it sits in her stomach and Regina’s fingers are like claws where they clamp onto her arm.

“Now you listen to me. If you walk out of this place an unmarried woman – you are walking out on the street.”

Her breath is nauseatingly sweet but her threat is thankfully sharp and short as usual. In the next second Regina is making her way across the garden as if she owns every blade of grass and flower bloom and Emma heads inside the house to put as much distance between them as possible.

The sun is shining brightly for “her special day” and it takes her eyes a few seconds to blink away the white spots and adjust to the dimness inside. She lets them take in the home that she will soon bind herself to because simply stepping in has made it painfully clear to Emma that she is a coward and will not be seeking out her betrothed for an audience before the ceremony. She knows Regina makes no idle threats.

It is a moderately sized house and she is glad for it – a little bigger and it would’ve felt daunting, a little smaller and she would’ve felt trapped. The Jones’s home is well-kept even if it doesn’t look particularly lived in. The light seems to enter muted and subdued and aside from the powder white curtains, most of the interior is dark and somehow severe. She encounters at least half a dozen moaning floorboards on her walk around the ground floor. With all the guests out in the garden, the only other sound is her soft gasp when she peaks into the library.

Now, Emma isn’t inordinately fond of books but she is completely enamored with libraries – with the quietness and safety of them. A library in a house is little less than the eye in the middle of the storm, far as she is concerned. Unfortunately, it looks like it is also the room that sees the most of the family, if all the scattered books, writing implements and glasses left to ring the wooden surfaces are anything to go buy. She hums when she spots all the nautical touches – Killian Jones is a naval man on more than just paper.

But Emma does not care about furniture or decorations, about how light or dark the house is, she does not even care that the library probably won’t become her sanctuary. All she cares about is that unlike Regina’s imposing residence, there is scarcely any stone or marble to be seen, most of everything is made of dark, polished wood, covered in thick carpets and filled with deep settees. All she cares about is that it’s not freezing cold.

The first rumor about Killian Jones that falls apart in front of her eyes is that he does not care much for his daughter. Emma stands just behind the door through which she is supposed to enter the garden and watches Alice Jones adjust her father’s cravat. She never knew her own parents but if she had, the way Captain Jones is looking at his daughter is the way she would’ve dreamt of them looking at her at least once.

Soon – too soon – admiral Liam Jones strides toward them like he is about to gather his fleet and send them into battle. She knows he is slightly older than his brother but one would never be able to tell by looking at them. Liam Jones’s greying strands are just a soft accent in his lighter hair, he is clean-shaven and filling out his jacket just right. He stands tall and confident and seemingly ready for anything.

As he ushers his brother and niece toward the plain arch where the small ceremony will take place, Emma knows someone will soon come to collect her as well so she takes a shaky breath and prays it’s not Regina.

She gets her first proper look at Killian Jones when she comes to stand across from him at the altar and Killian Jones looks every bit his age and then some. She finds him much more handsome than his brother and infinitely sadder. His own broad shoulders exude exhaustion and the lines on his face speak of more agitation than laughter. His eyes are the bluest she has ever seen and for a moment Emma is afraid they will chill her even more. But Killian’s eyes are warm, if tired, impossibly deep, if carefully guarded. His voice sounds like a smoking room and the grey in his dark hair stands out like a shock to the body after a stiff drink. She supposes a lady should not know how that feels. Killian looks like he knows how that feels. He looks like he would like to be reminded right this second, in the middle of their proclamations to “love and cherish”.

Despite the bright sun and the soft breeze, Emma feels cold the way she always does. It could be her imagination or it could be that her fingernails are really tinged blue. When they are pronounced husband and wife, Killian’s lips feel scorching hot at the corner of her mouth. It is the briefest of touches and she feels the seed of gratitude within her as he pulls away.

Then she thinks what a ridiculous pair they make – a frigid cold bride and an already exhausted groom. This will go marvelously.

Tagging a bunch of cuties who were interested in the idea: @bmbbcs4evr@laschatzi @darkcolinodonorgasm @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff @courtorderedcake @passports-and-postagestamps @nikkiemms @winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @sherlockianwhovian @mayquita @cocohook38 @naiariddle @omgdgeorge @aloha-4-ever @idristardis @snotelek @mashipssm @yasbio2015 If you wanna be tagged in future updates (or if you want me to fuck off your mentions :D), just drop me a line ;)

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#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #knight rook #cs fanfic #the wife

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shireness-says · 6 years

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Playing the Part ch. 3: Closer to Her

Summary: Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2

A/N: Still with me after last week? Good. You’ve got some Captain Cobra to look forward to this chapter, as well as more Emma & Robin friendship moments (is there a name for that?), which is basically my new favorite thing. Chapter title taken from “Big Fish: the Musical”, which is a thing, if you didn’t know that.

Thanks as always to @snidgetsafan, the best beta ever, who manages to squeeze in time for me despite her very busy school schedule. Honestly, A Champ.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happened.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Killian couldn’t tell you when, or why, or how it happens - it just somehow does over the month of September. He hadn’t started helping Emma because he fancied her, or because he was looking for some reward or professional favor; he just happens to think Swan is a lovely, impressive woman who deserves to have her life made a little easier. There’s something about seeing an irritated woman at the bar that just does something to his heart, apparently, something that makes him gallant and gentlemanly. So he brings her cups of her favorite hot chocolate and does all he can to keep rehearsals moving so she can go home and see her son. Lately, this means distracting the ever-complaining and unpleasant Zelena Mills, the production’s Caroline Bingley. It’s the least Killian can do, especially if it means making things smoother for Emma. But somewhere between “fancy meeting you here” and now, his desire to make her life easier evolves into a desire to know everything about her life and just maybe share it. Killian Jones is left to suddenly face the facts.

He likes Emma Swan. Like, like likes her, to borrow that juvenile mindset sometimes encouraged by the theater environment.

Really, it’d be hard not to develop a crush on her - Swan, in his humble opinion, is a wonder of a woman. She’s got a talent of exuding an undeniable authority when she needs to while still blending into the background and directing attention elsewhere. Beyond that, she’s possibly the most capable person he knows - seemingly everywhere she’s needed all at once, her head a well-organized file system of every detail of the show, ready to be whipped out to answer questions from the most obvious to the most obscure at any moment. Swan is amazing, and more often than not, Killian finds himself just watching her in her element with her mysterious system of legal pads.

(Even if it is entirely reasonable to be impressed by such a woman, as Killian dissects those thoughts, it only becomes more starkly apparent that oh, he’s got it bad.)

Liam laughs and laughs at him, of course, when Killian calls in a mild panic to dissect his emotional crisis.

“It’s such a mess,” Killian all but moans in consternation.

“Oh, you’re telling me,” his brother chuckles, apparently deeply amused by the pickle Killian has found himself in. Which is not helpful. Not in the least.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he whines, eliciting yet another bark of laughter from Liam.

“I did try to warn you. Unless, of course, you were too drunk to remember that conversation.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Killian mutters somewhat petulantly. He remembers that conversation perfectly well, thank you very much, and does remember how Liam advised against him pursuing the Lady Swan. And Killian hears that - agrees, really, that it would be a terrible idea to romantically pursue a coworker - but the heart wants what it wants, and he reserves the right to gripe and whine and play the pitiful victim if he so pleases. “But what am I supposed to do, Liam? I can’t ask her out, right?”

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do, little brother,” Liam replies, continuing before Killian even has a chance to muster the prerequisite correction that’s it’s actually younger, “but I’d certainly caution against it. I know that right now you’re in the midst of a fresh new crush, but stop and think about what could happen if you did pursue a relationship with this woman, and it ended badly. You’re the one who’s carried on and on about how important cast dynamics are in a live theatre show; you’ll have to consider the worst case scenario and how that dynamic could be affected in that case.” After a pause for thought, Liam chuckles, some new amusement apparently striking. “You know, you haven’t even told me if the lady in question feels the same. For all I know, this conversation is entirely pointless and she’s only been standing the sight of you out of some professional civility.”

“Oh, lay off, you arse,” Killian all but snaps. “I’m trying to get some advice - something you’ve always claimed to be your job as ‘big brother’, mind you - and you’re treating this all like some big joke. I don’t even know why I called —”

“Calm down, Killy,” Liam interrupts in a more soothing tone. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with my teasing. Honestly, I’m not sure what advice I can give, except to make sure you know exactly what you’re contemplating before you jump right in. Only your own heart can tell you whether this is a risk worth taking.”

It’s not the advice Killian was hoping for, if he’s being very honest. When all is said and done, he knows his brother is right - this is a matter only he can decide upon. But Killian is stumped, and he had really truly hoped that Liam would swoop in with words of wisdom to make everything make sense and tell Killian what would be the smart thing to do - what he should do.

“I know,” he eventually sighs in mild defeat. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t try to get you to fix it.”

“Ah, well, it was an excellent effort. After all, I do know everything, as you’re well aware.”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Killian affectionately grumbles. “I’ll talk to you later, you old bastard.”

“Aye, talk later. And let me know what happens with the lady!”

———

Walking into the theater feels like coming home, regardless of the fact that Emma’s never worked from this location before. She always gets this feeling whenever she walks into a new space - that feeling of belonging, of rightness that she’s only ever felt with Henry.

Emma’s not alone in the space by any means, faint shouts and harsh noises of tools echoing through the space, but the cast isn’t here, which provides its own kind of peace. She loves her cast, she really does - well, for the most part, certain supporting actresses being a notable exception- but actors bring their own variety of chaos, one born of high-strung emotions and everyone giving everything all the time. It’s easier to appreciate the way the show is physically coming together without them present, see the beauty of the set’s construction for what it is without the distraction of loud voices and louder personalities. It’s still a bit of a scattered mess right now - a grand staircase she knows will be used in the Netherfield and Pemberley sets contrasting sharply with a pair of fake hedges in the process of being painted to created the illusion of receding depth - but Emma’s been around this process long enough on all sides to see the potential, to know that even if things still look rough, in truth, they’re down to just the details.

“I really think it’s going to be something,” comes a soft-spoken voice from her side, and Emma startles out of her thoughts, turning to see Merlin to her right. “Sorry,” he chuckles, “I suppose I should have recognized the look of someone who’s taking all of this in.”

Emma waves his apology off. In truth, she had been a bit lost in the visions in her head of how the show would look opening night with everything perfected, but she’ll have time for daydreaming later. There’s more important things to think about - namely, the production meeting she’d been called to the theatre for. Things have been going well on the techie front - Emma’s been in contact with everyone often enough to know that everything is on track - like with the set, the framework and bulk of the major work is done, everything now down to details.

“I love this part,” she says quietly, flashing a quick smile at Merlin. “Right now, when you can see everything really start to come together… I don’t know, it’s like I can really start to put the pieces together in my mind and see all the potential.” It’s not exactly what she means - she can see the potential everyday, watching her cast - but seeing things now makes it feel real and impending and inevitable.

“I know what you mean,” the director murmurs back, eyes fixed on the half-completed set, before turning back to Emma with a grin. “Make sure you enjoy it while it lasts, the peace ends next week.”

Next week, Emma contemplates as Merlin walks away to set up their meeting on what remains of the stage. Consciously, she knows that the cast is moving out of the rehearsal space and into the theater next Wednesday, but the reality of that slams into her all of a sudden. The steamroller that is this show keeps rolling forward, gathering momentum, and even through Emma knows they’re perfectly on schedule, it’s still surprising, how fast time is moving. It’ll be opening night before she knows it.

It’s a nice change, being able to devote her entire attention to the technical crew. All the designers have been around, stopping by rehearsals at various points in the process to see what they’ve got to work with and around, with Emma acting as a communication hub of sorts between them all. However, at rehearsals, there’s always twenty other things she needs to worry about, most of those caused by her cast. It’s a welcome change to be able to focus on the production crew without any interruption.

Things go as well as anticipated - everyone’s on track, as Emma already knew, so this is more of a check in, a chance to double check in person that their coordination has been followed and paid off. As always, the meeting only creates more for Emma to do - Robin had presented her with a list of all kinds of bulbs and gels that still need ordering that she’ll need to double check the budget for, and she needs to schedule time for Kristoff and the orchestra to meet next month and confirm when Robin, Ms. Blue, and select cast members can meet next week to check how the costumes will look under the lights - but that’s not unexpected. Emma’s sitting in the audience, creating yet another list of things that need doing and checking - the top of which is confirming her stage crew - when the seat next to her creaks and shifts. A quick glance reveals the culprit to be Robin, clearly making himself comfortable as he props his feet on the row in front of them.

“Don’t get used to that,” Emma mutters, absent-mindedly nodding towards the man’s boots where they’re propped on blue velvet. When it’s just the two of them, she can let it slide, but she really doesn’t need the house manager on her ass - or worse, cast members seeing him at a later date and getting ideas.

Robin only chuckles in response, leaning over to see what Emma’s currently meticulously listing out. “‘Finalize crew’?” he reads off. “Who are you thinking of?”

“I’ve already got Dorothy Gale and Mulan Fa for deputy stage managers, and they’ve given me a shortlist of people they’ve worked with before and recommend. Still looking for a deck captain, though, if you’ve got any recommendations. Had a guy lined up, but he took another job.”

Robin crosses his arms and furrows his brow in thought, considering the question. “It’s been a few years, and I don’t know what he’s up to now,” he cautions, “but first guy that comes to mind is Will Scarlet. He can be kind of an ass, but he’s good at thinking on his feet and finding unconventional solutions when you need them. Back in the day, I’d trust him to do just about any errand or favor I needed, because I knew that one way or another, he’d get it done.”

Emma’s never worked with the man before - or heard of him, for that matter - but Robin’s opinion means a lot, both personally and in this business in general. Plus, it sounds like Will Scarlet might have the mindset she’s looking for in her deck captain - not afraid to do whatever is needed to keep the show moving forward, no matter how outside the box those methods are.

“His background actually reminds me of yours a bit,” Robin is saying, which sounds like only another reason to give the man a call. “He’s done a little bit of everything just for the sake of learning it, though he was mostly doing stage crew when I knew him. I could give him a call tonight, if you like, see if he’s interested. I know I’ve got his number around here somewhere.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks. If he seems interested, let me know, and I’ll give him a call myself tomorrow.” That’s one thing off her list at least. “Do you have any lighting guys I need to talk with and get contracts for?”

Sighing heavily, Robin nods. “Yeah, you’ll have to talk to the followspot operator, if I ever find one.” He chuckles before continuing. “I might need to borrow one of those legal pads and make my own to-do list.”

“And mess up my careful system? Never,” Emma teases right back. “Do you have a short list of candidates, at least?”

“No,” groans Robin, dropping his head back. “I mean, my four year old has decided that he’s the man for the job, but that won’t work for obvious reasons. Labor laws and whatnot.”

Emma chuckles in response, flashes of Henry at that age flitting through her mind. “Oh, I remember that stage. Have fun with that.”

“Yeah, I know. The thing is, he’s got the right instincts and reflexes for it, courtesy of the nature/nurture thing, he’s just not tall enough or strong enough to operate the lantern yet.” He grins roguishly before standing up, as if to leave. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plans for him yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Emma laughs in return.

“Anything I can grab for you before I head out? I need to make a couple calls about supplies before I pick Roland up from pre-K.”

“Go,” she waves him off. “I just want to walk a few things here, nothing I can’t do on my own. Let me know about Will Scarlet if you talk to him later.”

“Will do.” Robin waves a jaunty farewell, and then Emma’s left to her own thoughts again.

Fresh off the production meeting, she can picture in vibrant technicolor how everything is going to look. Merlin had been right, earlier; this production was really going to be something. Climbing over set pieces, examining the booth, hunting down each dressing room to assign space to everyone, Emma feels a routine beginning to form, one in which this theatre is her domain, and where she’s responsible for everything that happens in it.

An hour and a half later, Emma finally leaves to return home, where undoubtedly Henry is waiting (and hopefully working on his homework), having made excellent progress on her to-do list and with a new confidence in the feat they’re all trying to undertake.

It’s going to be something.

———

Of course, that confidence can only last so long. By the time rehearsals finally permanently shift to the theater a week later, a wide variety of problems have arisen, all of which Emma’s left to deal with and all of which leave her with a god-awful headache.

It had been with no small amount of relief that Emma had offered employment as deck captain to one Will Scarlet on Robin’s recommendation, but she’s not sure after meeting him that the man isn’t contributing to the headache. Will Scarlet has proved to be quick on the uptake and certainly skilled at his job, but he’s a chatterbox, too, with a deep love for sarcasm that Emma doesn’t always have the time, energy, or brainpower to process. Thankfully, whatever past history he and Robin share seems to make the former defer to the latter, and a well-placed look of disapproval from the older lighting designer does wonders to shut Scarlet up and preserve Emma’s peace of mind.

Of course, the odd hours aren’t helping either. The standard 9:30 to 4:30 rehearsal schedule is still in place, granting Emma one facet of much-needed routine. There’s still so much work to be done, however, much of which can’t be done with the cast still milling about, so Emma ends up staying late most evenings with Scarlet and her deputy stage managers, Mulan and Dorothy, setting positions for each set piece, usually only to adjust them the very next day. The file box is carrying a lot more now: five colors of spike tape and a roll of glow tape and more small tab post-its than any other person who doesn’t need to mark individual light cues should ever need, as well as all the myriad other things the cast need and somehow never remember to bring for themselves. The worst part of all of this is that Emma barely sees her kid anymore - sure, she sees him off to school in the morning, and sure, he comes by after school for a few hours before Elsa takes him home, but that’s so little time in the day, and Emma worries about how much she’s missing. While right now Henry is ecstatic to come to the theater and see everything that’s going on, seeming to take his mother’s weird schedule in stride, will he one day come to resent the time she spent at the theater instead of helping him with his homework or spending time with him? It’s a massive burden placed on her shoulders, only alleviated by hugging her kid as tightly as she can when they do see one another.

The greatest stress, however, comes from dealing with the actors. As always. God, when isn’t that the biggest stress in her life? In reality, she should just say actor, singular. Most of her cast, while constantly creating or stumbling across new problems like it’s some kind of competition, are generally pleasant and respectful and enthusiastic about the production they’re undertaking. It’s just one actor that’s the problem - Zelena Mills. Always Zelena Mills. While Miss Mills was hired for embodying exactly the traits they were seeking for their envisioned Caroline Bingley, she’s proved to be a constant pain in everyone’s neck. Emma prides herself on being a consummate professional, regardless of her personal feelings about her cast and their inevitable drama, but there’s just something about that woman that sets her teeth on edge and tests her patience more than usual. Zelena’s latest kick has been fancying herself some kind of genius director, questioning Merlin’s direction at every turn and playing Caroline larger and larger, despite specific instructions to the contrary. She’s already been talked to, both by Emma and by Merlin, but those conversations brought only temporary improvement. Personally, Emma thinks Merlin is being too nice; left up to her, Zelena would be long gone. The headache of dealing with her is not nearly worth the results she’s displaying. Emma has a hard time believing there isn’t anyone else out there who could do the job, even if they are creeping closer and closer to previews and then opening night. But Merlin keeps carrying on about potential, and how he thinks she can really add something to their interpretation of the work. It’s his show, but God, Emma wishes he would just say enough is enough.

Jones’ efforts to ease her load don’t go unnoticed, a gesture Emma appreciates. Unfortunately, there’s only so much he can do, most of which involves attempting to direct people’s questions elsewhere or answer them himself when he can. He even attempts to engage Zelena sometimes, though those efforts are even less successful - every time he tries to calmly remind the redhead of why Merlin’s direction makes sense or why particular decisions are made, she just fixes him with an impatient, condescending look, as if he’s the most simple creature Zelena has ever had the displeasure of interacting with. Frankly, Emma isn’t sure how Killian can stand it - she’s about ready to throttle Zelena just witnessing that glare, and she’s sure it’s infinitely worse on the receiving end. Despite the fact that his efforts aren’t particularly working, Emma’s still touched that he’s trying to lighten her load - something she’s not remotely used to.

In the meantime, Emma’s left with the headache from hell, running around like a madwoman trying to address questions from the cast (most of them inane) while trying to fix the positioning of the set, all the while trying to keep an eye out for Henry. He’s supposed to arrive from school at any minute now, and Emma vainly hopes she’ll be able to carve out a few minutes with her son before Elsa comes to pick him up.

At this rate, though, with all the things she’s having to address? To borrow a phrase from Jones, not bloody likely.

———-

Technically, Killian could go home. It’s just past five now, and rehearsal had let out for the day at 4:30. He could leave, go back to his apartment for a beer and a slice, have a relaxing night in.

But he’s not. Killian could play dumb about why he’s still here at the theater, but honestly, what would it accomplish? Emma’s still here, still trying to put out various proverbial fires, so Killian stays too, in a vain hope that he can help in some way.

God, he’s got it bad.

It was probably inevitable that she’d spot him, even through her many distractions - he’s not exactly subtle, hanging out where he has no need to be. Still, it’s a little comical, the way she stops abruptly upon noticing his unexpected presence, brow crinkled in confusion.

“What are you still doing here?” she asks, her tone brisk but puzzled.

That’s an excellent question, because Killian knows damn well he doesn’t have any real excuse for sticking around. “Uh, well, you know, just… getting a feel for the space,” he stumbles out, barely resisting the urge to tack on “or something” to the end of his sentence. It’s such a blatant, obvious lie, and Emma knows it too, if the unimpressed look on her face is anything to go by.

“Sure, of course,” she deadpans. “Well, I’m having Scarlet fly in one of the suspended pieces in a bit, so maybe try to avoid the stage while you’re getting a feel for the space.” Emma doesn’t make finger quotes around her last words, but Killian can sense them there all the same.

“Aye, I think I can manage that,” he responds, starting to beat a sheepish retreat. He’s made enough of a fool of himself for one day, most likely. “Let me know if you need anything else of me,” he adds at the last minute, more on instinct than logic.

Oddly, however, it seems to be those thrown-away words that most capture her attention. “I don’t suppose you’d want to keep my kid company,” Emma tosses back, tone teasing but eyes serious.

It’s the last thing Killian expects her to say, and his face must show it, because she hurries to backtrack and brush her previous words away. “You don’t have to, obviously, I was mostly kidding —”

“I’d be happy to, Swan,” Killian interrupts, stopping her stream of unnecessary protests. “Anything to help you. That is, of course, if you’re sure.” He carefully offers an out at the end. Emma needn’t worry about retracting her request on account of his own non-existent hesitance, but he imagines it must be a nerve-wracking thing to entrust your child into someone else’s care - especially someone you don’t know particularly well outside of a professional setting - and it would be bad form not to offer her the opportunity to change her mind.

Emma studies him carefully for a few moments, that adorable little crease in her brow deepening as she seemingly sizes him up, before her body abruptly releases its tension and she nods. “Yeah. I mean, he’s ten, so it’s not like you need to watch him too closely or anything, but he’s been hanging out waiting for me to get a break for the last forty minutes, and I figure you’ll be more entertaining than just sitting around twiddling his thumbs or - god forbid - homework. C’mon, I’ll take you over there now.”

Killian is left to mutely follow behind as Emma sets off for the other side of the theater at a brisk pace, presumedly to wherever her son is camped out. Sure enough, there in the back corner of the back row is a dark haired boy (Harry? Henry? Harrison? Killian really is terrible at names), staring at his gaming device with eyebrows furrowed in exactly the way Emma’s do. In Killian’s limited experience, interrupting kids from their video games never ends well, and he almost tells Emma to just forget it, there’s no need to bother the boy, but his head has already popped up like a prairie dog at the sound of their approach.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says warmly, ruffling the boy’s hair as he pulls a face and half-heartedly tries to dodge her hand. “How’s it going? What are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” the lad shrugs, “just waiting for you and playing Knight Quest. Are we going to get dinner soon?”

“I hope so, kid,” she replies ruefully. “There’s a lot more to get done than I’d like, but I’m hoping I can take a break soon. In the meantime, I brought a friend over for you to meet. This is Killian Jones, he’s playing Darcy. Killian, this is my son Henry.”

Ignoring the passing feeling of victory at halfway remembering the boy’s name, Killian sticks out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, lad.”

Henry, for his part, looks more excited about this introduction than Killian had anticipated of a pre-teen with electronic distractions. “That’s so cool!” he enthuses, shaking Killian’s hand with all the enthusiasm a ten-year-old can muster. “So that means you’re the male lead, right? Is there a lot you have to memorize? I mean, I know usually the leads have a ton of lines, but Mr. Darcy never talks a lot in the movies. Oh! Do you have costumes yet? I always come in at the end of rehearsals so I never get to see much. I mean, we’re coming up on previews pretty quick, so I hope you have costumes, but I don’t know, maybe everything’s coming together at the last minute.” Henry pauses for breath finally, leaving Killian to try and stifle his smile at the boy’s extreme enthusiasm.

“Jeez, kid, calm down for a moment, give Killian a chance to respond,” Emma mutters in a vain attempt to rein in her son.

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian tries to reassure her. There’s nothing wrong with the boy’s curiosity, even if it is taking a bit of brainpower to remember everything Henry asked. “You’re right, there’s a bit less talking than there might usually be for a leading male role, but I’ve got a lot of great singing parts, which kind of makes up for it. And I do have several costumes already, you’re right. Maybe I could show you those, if your mum is ok with it?”

The last words are directed at Emma, accompanied by a questioning raise of his eyebrow. Killian suspects she won’t take any issue with his proposed plan; it’ll keep the lad occupied, and they’ll still be in the theater when she’s finished with her work and ready to take Henry to dinner. It doesn’t hurt, either, that Henry is currently fixing his mother with a pleading puppy-eyed look.

“Sure, why not,” Emma laughs. “I’ll come find you when I’m ready to go. Be good, alright? Try not to overwhelm the poor man with questions, I still need him for the show.”

“Thanks, Mom!” Henry chirps, already practically skipping across the aisles and towards the door that leads backstage, leaving Killian to try and catch up. Tossing a last reassuring smile Emma’s way, he turns and jogs after Henry, only catching up at the backstage door, where Henry is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

“Calm down, lad,” Killian laughs. “I promise, the costumes are hanging up in my dressing room, they’re not going anywhere.”

Henry calms a bit at his words, muttering a quick “Sorry” that strongly reminds Killian of the boy’s mother. “I just get really excited about this stuff,” he tries to explain. “I’ll try not to ask so many questions.”

Compared to Henry’s previously overflowing enthusiasm, this doesn’t sit well with Killian. The lad is just excited, and he truly doesn’t mind fielding any questions Henry may have. “It’s really alright, lad,” he tries to explain. “I don’t mind answering them.”

To Killian’s relief, that permission perks Henry right back up again as they slip through the backstage door and into the maze of hallways, dressing rooms and storage. “Oh good. I want to know everything,” Henry tells Killian very seriously. “Mom shows me a lot, but I mostly get the techie side from her, and I want to know everything about the acting side too.”

“Do you want to be an actor then?” Henry doesn’t seem the type, but then again, Killian never did either, and here he is.

Henry scoffs. “No, of course not. No offense,” he offers in consolation. Killian good naturedly waves off Henry’s words, smiling warmly in a way he hopes encourages the boy to continue. “No, I’m going to be a playwright when I grow up. That’s why I was asking about your part, I want to know what makes for a good role.”

It’s not at all what Killian was expecting to hear, but he nods seriously, all the same. “That makes sense. I take it you like to write then?” They’re nearly to his dressing room now, the door just up ahead, but Killian wants to learn all he can about the lad before his attention is inevitably seized by the distraction of costumes.

Henry nods excitedly. “Yeah! I mean, I don’t think I’m that good yet, but I keep doing it. Mom says the most important part is practicing anyways. And I’ve got lots of ideas! Like I want to write a show with Captain Hook as the hero. I think it would be interesting. Do you think so?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea. You’ll have to let me know when you finish, maybe I’ll try out for a part.” And, considering how much Henry is like his mother, Killian has no doubt he’ll do it one day. With his determination, it’s just a matter of time.

“Thanks,” Henry says, turning a bit pink. Luckily, they’ve reached Killian’s dressing room, so there’s plenty to distract. “Oh cool! This is all yours? Oh! Are those the costumes?” And just like that, Killian is swept back into answering Henry’s questions - a pattern he’d be happy to continue for as long as Swan allows.

There are worse ways to spend an evening.

———

Robin looks like he’s barely holding in his laughter when she returns back to where they’d camped out, lips pressed together in an attempt to smother the smile that stubbornly turns up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t you even start,” Emma warns. “You think the four year old questions are bad, wait until he moves past the ‘why?’ phase and into demanding to know how everything works.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing about that,” Robin chuckles, “though Henry is very enthusiastic on that front. No, I was laughing at you and Jones.” After another moment, he quickly amends his statement. “Well, mostly Jones.”

Emma thinks she knows where this is going, and groans at the very prospect. “Don’t even start on that either.”

“Too late!” Robin cheerfully replies, reminding Emma more of Ruby than she’s really comfortable with. “You know he’s absolutely smitten with you.”

“I don’t know that,” Emma tries to hedge, but Robin only fixes her with an amused look.

“Ok, you don’t know that, but the rest of us do,” he replies. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

“No,” Emma scoffs. It’s clearly not the answer Robin wants, based on the look he gives her. “We work together!” she tries to protest. “It’d be a terrible idea!”

“Maybe that’s the case, but anyone can tell that Jones has feelings for you, just watching you two interact. You should probably figure out what you want to do about that.”

It’s sage advice. But the problem is that Emma doesn’t really know what she wants to do about it. Killian is a great guy, and under different circumstances, she might be more open to his feelings. But the way things are, Emma has a lot riding on this show. It could be a make-or-break moment in her career, depending on how the production comes together, and she’s not willing to risk that in any way - especially not by becoming involved with a coworker. Her own feelings - whatever they might be - don’t matter.

She just hopes, for all their sakes, that Killian doesn’t do anything to alter their status quo.

#my writing #cs ff #Playing the Part #Closer to Her #modern AU #Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian #captain cobra #because I'm weak

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huffleporg · 7 years

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Rook Land, Ch. 1

Rook Land, [M], 1/?, 3.4k

Killian Jones already thought that his once steady world had been shaken up by his teenage daughter's mischief and rebellion. Little did he expect that a new sheriff and her quest to find a missing boy would truly turn everything upside down.

Characters: Killian Jones, Alice Jones, Emma Swan, Robin Mills, Detective Weaver, Zelena Mills, Regina Mills

Relationships: Captain Swan, Robin/Alice

And at long last, the Knight Rook and CS Fic I’ve been talking about for a while. I decided to delay posting it until Wish Hook Week (WHook 2018). :)

Ao3

-----

Detective Jones let out a swear when he saw the familiar number on the buzzing cell phone’s screen. Even if he had never bothered to actually put the number into his contacts, Killian Jones knew exactly who was calling him. “Detective Jones,” he sighed as he put the phone up to his ear. Already he could feel a headache coming on even before the secretary of Storybrooke High School’s principal began to fill him in on just what had happened this time. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to rub the bridge of his nose. “I understand completely. I’ll be right down. Thanks, Shirley.”

As he hung up the phone, Killian leaned back in his desk chair and groaned loudly. He covered his face with his hand that still clasped the cell phone, his prosthetic resting on the arm rest.

“Nine-forty,” came a voice from across the room. “I believe that’s a record for Alice.”

Peaking between his fingers at his partner, Killian said, “I can’t believe you actually keep track, Weaver.”

Detective Weaver shrugged his shoulders. “It’s off season. Got to keep myself entertained somehow.”

Their work did always slow down as fall began to feel like winter in Rockland and the tourists stopped coming up, but Killian still thought it was a poor justification for keeping track of the amount of times that the high school called about his daughter. “Might I recommend an app,” said Killian getting to his feet and picking up his heavy winter jacket. “I’ve heard Angry Birds is still fun. Good way to pass the time. No longer have to rely on Tetris or Minesweeper to keep yourself busy.”

His partner let out a laugh. “I’d rather kiss the Captain,” he said.

“Speaking of,” said Killian as he pulled on his hat, “if she comes by, cover for me.” He wrapped his red scarf around his neck.

Going back to his paperwork, Weaver said, “I’ll consider it.”

Killian let out a sigh. With Weaver, it was next to impossible to know just what to expect. Even after a few years of working with the man, Killian was still frequently surprised and sometimes even shocked by what his partner did and said. Long before he had been promoted to detective, Killian had heard tales of the eccentric and often erratic detective of the Rockland Police Department. Killian hadn’t believed half the stories he had heard back then, but now he put nothing past Detective M. R. Weaver.

“Well, I would sincerely appreciate it if you did,” he said. He zipped up his jacket. “Last time she was none too pleased I had to miss over an hour.” It was over an hour of nothing, time that he would have spent doing paperwork, but Captain Mills rarely took such matters into consideration.

“I think you can handle her,” remarked Weaver.

Only offering his partner a parting wave, Killian left the detectives’ office and hurried through the building, out through the front doors and to the back parking lot.

The thirty minute drive from the Rockland to Storybrooke was one that Killian could do in his sleep. For the past twelve years since he had moved to Storybrooke from Portland, he had made the drive almost every single day from the town to the tiny city of Rockland, Maine. Since Alice had started high school, however, and she had started getting in trouble, Killian had found himself making too many unplanned trips from the police department to his hometown high school for his liking.

***

“Needless to say,” said Killian as the emerged from the principal’s office, “in addition to suspended, you’re grounded.”

Even though her back was to him, Killian knew that Alice was rolling her eyes as they started walking towards the main doors. “Naturally,” she said. “These days, that’s how everything ends up.” She zipped up her olive green jacket and pulled the hood over her blonde curls.

“Yes, and I wonder just why that is.” Sarcasm dripped off the father’s voice. He pushed the front doors of the high school open and started down the salted sidewalk, scattering the large crystals of blue salt with each step.

“Not my fault that all the fun stuff is against the rules,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets. She turned around to face her father, walking backwards. “And that no one at the school has any sense of humor whatsoever!” She held out her hands in a shrug through her jacket.

Killian Jones ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “No,” he said, “no. Funny is a well told joke or witticism. Funny is standing behind someone and miming like you used to do in elementary school. That was adorable.” Very disrespectful in a lot of cases, yes, but it had been cute to see his daughter standing behind someone and making silly faces and gestures, making it close to impossible to keep a straight face. “What you’re doing is going to wind you up in juvie.” They reached his unmarked police car, and Killian opened up the door.

“Well, I thought it was funny,” said Alice opening the passenger door and sitting down. “And I wasn’t the only person who thought that!”

“Doesn’t matter what you or your classmates think,” sighed Killian. He got in and buckled his own seat belt. “Trying to steal the DARE officer’s handcuffs and then calling him a ‘pig’ when he caught you…” He shook his head, still unable to fathom just what had possessed his daughter to do such a rude thing. She had always been respectful when it came to police officers and other law enforcement personnel. When she was little, she had even been heard to say that she wanted to be a police officer just like her papa. This, therefore, was a complete departure from what he had come to expect from his daughter. But then again, ever since September, she had been surprising him in less than pleasant ways.

Before he continued, Killian started the car and backed-up. As he pulled out of the high school parking lot, he said, “You’re really lucky that he decided to just let the school and I handle your punishment, since he ‘knows what it’s like to have a rebellious teenager.’” Killian doubted that Officer Flynn had quite the same problems with quiet, nerdy Owen as he was having with Alice, he had been relieved that the Storybrooke police officer hadn’t thought it necessary for the law to get involved. He supposed that that was one of the perks of living in a very small town. “Why did you even try to steal the handcuffs?” he asked finally.

Alice leaned back in her seat, looking up at the ceiling. “Wanted to show someone the trick I know to get out of them,” she mumbled.

Killian shook his head, remembering how he had let Alice place with his handcuffs back when she was younger and how she had even figured out a way to escape them. “You can’t just take a policeman’s cuffs, Alice.”

“He was standing there. Complete serendipity. How could I not!”

“Easily. You exercise self-control. You ask yourself, ‘is this a good idea? Will I get into trouble? Does this break any rules or laws?’ It’s what most people do on a daily basis.” And she used to be fairly good at it for a willful child. Killian turned onto the highway to head back to Rockland.

Alice pointed out the window. “We’re not going home?”

“I can’t take the rest of the day off just because you’ve lost your better judgement,” Killian said. And he certainly couldn’t afford to take off of the rest of the week that she would be required to stay out of school. Taking her home after the other times she had gotten in trouble hadn’t worked, so he knew he needed a new approach. “Besides, it seems a fitting punishment that you should spend the week at the police station.” He grinned a little at the before now unrealized appropriateness of an impromptu ‘bring your daughter to work’ week.

This was hardly the first time he had brought his daughter to the Rockland Police Station. It was hardly the best place for an overly curious little girl and later on an adventurous preteen, but for times when he couldn’t find a sitter or couldn’t afford to send her to day camp for the whole summer, he had little choice but to bring her to work with him. Between himself, his fellow officers, and the other support staff keeping an eye on the station’s ‘mascot’, Alice had definitely been safe. The issue had always been the mischief she could get up to. Killian knew that this week, he was going to have to keep an extra sharp eye on the fifteen-year-old.

The only response Killian got was a huff and cold stare from his daughter. Killian had never enjoyed being the bad guy when it came to parenting, whether it was telling her in the grocery store that he wasn’t going to buy her the sugary cereal she had had at a friend’s house or if it was punishing her when she misbehaved. But, he had never had the choice of picking whether or not he would be the good cop or the bad cop this time around. It had always just been him and Alice, which left him to fill in all the roles that normally were shared between two parents. It was hardly the ideal state, but Killian preferred it over all the alternatives.

As he parked the car in the police station parking lot, Killian said, “I know you’re not thrilled about this but I’m not thrilled about this…” He waved his hand in the air. “This… thing you’re doing. I don’t like getting calls at work because you’re misbehaving. I don’t like seeing you get suspended. I don’t like worrying that maybe this time they’ll float the idea of you going to another school.” He truly hoped it never came to that, but Alice had years to go at Storybrooke High School. At the rate she was going, there was no way she was going to get to senior year attending the school.

Alice unbuckled her belt and turned so she was facing her father, propping herself up from the seat with an elbow. “Is M.R. working today?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m gonna need his help for my social studies paper. He was there in Vietnam, so he probably has some stories that can help me pull my word count up. I’m five hundred short.”

“Alice,” sighed Killian. He wasn’t sure if he should comment on how she shouldn’t change the subject, or if he ought to tell her not to bring up a subject that he had only ever heard Weaver mention twice in their years of working together, since it was clearly a touchy subject.

“What? Don’t tell me you want me to neglect my studies,” she said, pretending to sound shocked and appalled.

With a shake of his head, Killian opened the car door. “Let’s go inside,” he said. He had spent enough time away from work, and there was no way of knowing whether or not Weaver had actually decided to cover for him. Killian glanced of the shoulder to see Alice emerging from the car, pulling her backpack along with her.

Getting through the police station all the way to his office proved trickier than he had thought. It seemed like everyone he and Alice encountered wanted to cheerfully greet the girl and ask just what she was doing here on a school day, wondering if she had a holiday or if she was feeling alright. Killian had had to sigh and interrupt before Alice could say anything to explain that this wasn’t a vacation day or that they were waiting for a doctor’s appointment later - no, this was a punishment, because yet again, Alice had gotten into trouble. That had stopped a few folks short, surprised that the little girl they had seen grow up was actually a rebellious teen now. Leroy the janitor had started laughing, which had only made Alice grin and join in.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her the rest of the way to his and Weaver’s office. “Remember, you’re being punished. So that means I have your phone for the rest of the day. And if you use my computer its for school.”

“But what if I want to use my phone for school?” said Alice.

He gave his daughter a sidelong look before pushing the door to the office open.

“M.R.!” exclaimed Alice, pushing past her father. She hurried over to the older detective’s desk. Killian wasn’t surprised to see Weaver smiling at Alice.

“Alice,” Weaver said, moving a box off the chair beside his desk so she could sit, “heard you got in trouble at school, again.”

Alice shrugged her shoulders and set her backpack down on the floor. “It happens.” She flopped down into the chair and picked up the rubber band ball she had made for the detective when she was eight from his desk.

“Normally I’m all for giving your father a headache-”

“Thanks, Weaver,” shot Killian sarcastically, hanging up his coat. “Good to know you’ve got my back always.”

The old man smirked. “But really, dearie, you’ve picked a particularly terrible time.”

Killian froze. “What happened?” He hadn’t been gone for too long, and he had had the radio and his phone on during the drive. Could he have missed something big? Very few big things ever happened up here this time of year, but still, they did happen.

Weaver waved his hand. “Nothing catastrophic, Jones. Just that the Captain is going to be coming around with a guest.”

Killian sat down at his desk and woke up his computer. “Who?”

“That newly elected Sheriff,” said Weaver. “Evidently she’s got some ideas as to how the Sheriff’s station and the Police Department can collaborate… or something to that effect. Ruby wasn’t exactly sure on the details, but the point is that the Captain is going to be showing her around soon. You’re lucky you got back so quickly. I’m sure Captain Mills would be thrilled to show the Sheriff her station only to find that one of her detectives had gone AWOL.”

Realizing how close he had come to getting on the sore side of one of the least understanding persons around, Killian ran his fingers through his hair. He looked down at his desk littered with paperwork and pictures of Alice. Hearing the snap of a rubber band, he looked up at his daughter, still playing with the rubber band ball.

“Good thing we made it back in time then,” she said brightly.

Shaking his head, Killian logged back into his computer and pulled up the paperwork that he had been filling out when he had gotten the call from the school. He knew that he had lost some valuable time in the day and it would be hard to make it up, but if he at least tried to catch up, it wouldn’t be so bad.

He heard the door open before he could finish his first report. Though he couldn’t see the door from where his desk was, due to the shape of the room, Killian looked up, knowing that after only a few steps whoever had come in would appear. He didn’t need to wait that long even.

“And here we have our two detectives,” said the familiarly disdainful voice of the Captain.

“Hello, Regina!” said Alice, smirking a little at such casual disrespect towards authority through inappropriate familiarity.

The middle aged woman pursed her lips, an expression that Killian had seen on his boss’s face countless times since she had been promoted. She looked back over her shoulder to speak to the Sheriff still standing out of Killian’s sightlines. “And their progeny,” Regina amended. Turning her attention back to Alice, Regina said, “I don’t recall what holiday it is today, but there must be one, unless there’s another reason you’re here.”

“Suspension Day?” joked Alice.

Regina shook her head and turned to Killian. As he met her coal-like eyes, Killian could see that there was some snide insult that would be phrased as a joke on the tip of her tongue. Watching her lip twitch, Killian wished that she would just let out whatever had come to her mind, whether it be a quip about his ability to raise Alice as a single father or whether she would express fake concern over just what sorts of things Alice could be getting up to following in his footsteps.

Instead, Regina’s companion spoke. “A holiday I remember well.” The voice was light, as if the woman was smiling.

Finally the Sheriff stepped into view.

“Detective Weaver, Detective Jones,” said Regina, smoothing over her expression, “allow me to introduce Sheriff Swan.”

“Really, there’s no need for introductions,” said Weaver, getting to his feet. “We are all familiar with Sheriff Swan from her campaign.” He looked over at the blonde woman. “A well fought campaign. I didn’t vote for you myself, but I don’t vote.”

“I won’t take it personally, then,” the Sheriff said, folding her arms.

Considering the final vote tallies, Killian was pretty sure that even if Weaver and fifty of his friends had decided to vote for Sydney Glass, Swan still would have the sheriff’s badge pinned to her chest.

“It’s good to be meeting the both of you,” said the Sheriff, green eyes sweeping from Detective Weaver to Killian. “I know that traditionally our departments have worked separately, but I think that our community will be best served by everyone working together, rather than apart.”

Killian saw the Sheriff’s eyes flick down to where his left hand should have been. Reflexively, Killian put his black hand in his lap, the back of his ears beginning to turn pink.

The woman paused, clearly flustered. Her gaze shifted quickly back to Weaver. “I have a few projects that I am very interested in getting started that I believe you both will be able to help with.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crisp business card. She walked over to Weaver’s desk, but before she could hand it to the man, Alice reached up to grab it. “That is my number and email,” she said, hesitating.

Weaver took the ivory card from Alice and placed it on his desk. “One of us will give you a call when time permits,” he said smoothly, as if he actually meant it.

Sheriff Swan slowly nodded before wordlessly heading back to the corridor.

After one last final disapproving glance around the office, Regina too walked away. Out of sight, the door clicked firmly shut.

“She’s cute,” said Alice with a grin. When met with the silence and disapproving stares of the two detectives, Alice quickly added, “What? I can’t be the only one who noticed?”

Killian had certainly noticed. He had noticed the first time he had seen her face in the article in newspaper saying that Sheriff Graham’s recently appointed deputy would be campaigning to replace him after his sudden death. He had noticed her sharp chin and graceful curls. It had hardly been a picture that had done her justice, he had later realized when he had attended the debate between Sydney Glass and Emma Swan. No, that picture had failed to capture so much about her. The life in her eyes, the determination in her voice, the sheer stubbornness of will that had come through and won his vote. Now as he sat at his desk, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed in Sheriff Swan.

“She’s an outsider with a project,” said Weaver, crumpling up the business card. “In my experience that always means trouble.” He shook his head. “What she looks like is irrelevant.”

“We were outsiders once,” said Alice defensively.

Weaver gave one of his weak, hollow laughs that only managed to raise the corners of one side of his mouth. “You were a toddler with a teenage father who let you eat marmalade out of the jar. No, Sheriff Swan is an entirely different entity.” He tossed the balled up cardstock into the trash bin by his desk.

#captain swan #killian jones #alice jones #whookweek #Knight Rook #wish hook week 2018 #emma swan #bunny hood #robin mills #ouat #ouat fanfiction #morgan writes #my fic

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terreisa · 6 years

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The Savior and The Scoundrel: Should I Stay or Should I Go

Emma has had a few titles attributed to her in her life: princess, captain, pirate but none sat so heavily on her shoulders as Savior. When fate forces her to step into the role prophesied before her birth the only saving she wants to do is to bring back the man she loves. Fulfilling the Prophecy along the way is an additional reward. Sequel to A Crown and A Captain.

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13

ff.net, AO3

“I don’t see why I can’t just go ashore by myself! You said we don’t have to worry about Zelena anymore, right?”

“Just because we don’t have to worry about her doesn’t mean there aren’t hundreds of other ways to get into trouble. Especially when you have no clue how anything in this land works.”

Emma watched Marty and Turner argue with little interest. She didn’t have much interest in anything at all but she was trying to put on a good show for everyone else. They were treating her as though she were moments away from a breakdown but she only felt numb. It was easier to act as though her world hadn’t imploded with a false smile than staring blankly out at the water waiting for another pointless day to end.

Nearly a week had passed and it was the first time she had emerged above deck since the day Zelena had told her the awful truth about the curse. Emma had stayed holed up in her quarters for the first few days, only emerging to give Turner the order to sail the Jewel into the town’s harbor. There had been a small snowstorm not long after she’d given the order and she tried not to think of it as a sign of some sort. The next day they had moored the Jewel in an empty berth with little fanfare. She’d forced herself to remain below deck in order to resist the temptation of going to Killian to explain everything. It was also an attempt to keep herself from returning to Gold’s shop to try and see if she could discern if he was truly a heartless Dark One or not.

It was currently the morning of their second day anchored in the harbor and she had reluctantly emerged on deck when she had heard raised voices. Discovering that Marty was simply having another fit about having to stay on board had irked her at first, mostly because she had been forced to leave the confines of the lower decks. She was about to escape back down into her quarters when she heard someone shouting for permission to come aboard.

Exchanging a shocked look with both Marty and Turner she quickly walked to look over the port side rail to the docks below. She did nothing to hide her frown when she saw that it was Walsh standing there.

“Ah, good to see you Miss White!” He called up to her with an insincere grin. “I’d like to speak to the, uh, captain of this boat.”

“It’s a ship and you are,” she said back, leaning her hip against the rail and crossing her arms. “What can I do for you Sheriff?”

“Can I come up? I’d prefer not to keep shouting at you, especially with the matter we need to discuss-” he said, his grin mellowing into a stern look.

She gave him a terse nod and his grin bloomed again as he began to climb the gangplank. As much as she didn’t want him on her ship she was even less willing to step off the Jewel herself. Moments before his head appeared over the rail she heard the sounds of others emerging from below. With a sigh of frustration she turned to find that everyone was grouped below the helm, watching Walsh step on deck. She heard his surprised intake of breath and rolled her eyes before turning back to address him.

“Welcome aboard the Jewel, Sheriff,” she drawled, lazily waving her arm to present the ship. She then waved over her shoulder, “This is my crew.”

“Ah-” Walsh’s eyes roamed over the deck and those at her back, wide and with seemingly reluctant respect. “Can we, uh, maybe go somewhere a bit more private?”

“I’m going to have to say no. The last time I had a private conversation with you you threatened me before forcing me to choose between saving my own hide or Jones’,” she said with a raised brow. “I think wanting a few others hear what you have to say to me is understandable.”

Walsh bristled, his jaw ticking and his hands clenching into fists at his side. There was a low chuckle behind her that she believed was Roland but didn’t want to look to be sure. They still weren’t on the best of terms even in light of recent revelations. That he was showing his support of her, in the smallest of possible ways, had her squaring her shoulders, ready to square off against Walsh as long as was needed.

“I received a call this morning from the harbormaster,” Walsh grit out. Then, unexpectedly, his eyes lit up with malicious glee, “He reported that a boat, oh sorry, ship had docked without permission or payment. Thought I might take a gander and lo and behold it’s something that belongs in a museum and it’s supposedly yours. Am I to believe you sailed this here? I mean, you did say that Jones had picked you up in Portland, right?”

“She is mine and of course I sailed her here,” Emma spat back, incensed at his condescending tone. “Since you can’t even seem to believe that much can you blame me for telling you something your small mind would find easier to understand?”

“Watch your tone Miss White!” Walsh snapped. “You wouldn’t want to go back to the station in cuffs now would you?”

“I’d like to see you try,” she said with a smirk, resting her hand on her hip, a finger width away from the hilt of her sword.

“Now now, that could be seen as threatening an officer,” he rebuked with a disapproving click of his tongue. He placed his hands on his own hips, revealing a leather harness with what appeared to be a small black firearm holstered in it, “We don’t want things to get messy here. How about you come back to the station with me and we can sort this all out like civilized folks.”

“Wouldn’t she take it up with the harbormaster?” Regina asked, the sneer evident in her voice.

“If I wanted your input Ms. Mills I would have asked for it. Come along Miss White.”

“I thought I told you to leave them alone.”

“Madam Mayor!”

Walsh spun around so fast that Emma wondered if he had been trained to do so at the sound of Zelena’s voice. For her part she merely rolled her eyes and blew out a frustrated breath as the woman appeared over the rail. She gazed longingly at the hatch leading down to her quarters, resigning herself to dealing with the two people in the whole town she wanted to interact with the least.

“I never gave you permission to board,” Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“As if you wouldn’t make me wait a god awful amount of time for it,” Zelena scoffed. She looked at Walsh, “Baum isn’t there a jaywalker you need to scold or some school children that need to be scared straight?”

“Er, no but there was a complaint-”

“Miss White and her… companions have brought their ship here at my request for the Founder’s Day festivities. Which is why I’m here-” Zelena gave her a wide, beaming smile. “I believe we had an appointment?”

“Madam Mayor-”

Zelena’s eyes slid to Walsh and when she spoke it was with a quiet fury, “I believe I told you to go.”

Emma couldn’t see his face but from the way his shoulders stiffened she knew he wasn’t taking kindly to the order. She half expected him to argue further with the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Instead he threw her a disdainful look over his shoulder and stormed off the ship, seemingly murmuring to himself the entire way.

“Ever since you showed up he’s started getting a mind of his own,” Zelena sighed. She frowned as her eyes scanned the deck, “I thought you’d have a… better crew put together. Then again the one you had before was hardly a good effort so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Tell me what you’re doing here, now, or you can get the hell off my ship,” Emma snapped.

“Not out here where practically everyone within earshot can hear us. Especially when there is more than one person in this town who shouldn’t hear what I have to say,” Zelena said with a roll of her eyes.

Emma could practically feel the others tensing behind her, ready to argue over one thing or another. Not wanting Walsh to turn back or attract the attention of any passerby she threw a glare over her shoulder at her unhappy crew. She turned back to Zelena and indicated the hatch leading down to the lower decks.

“After you.”

With a look of disgust curling her lip Zelena climbed down into the ship. Emma went to follow and saw disappointment looking back at her from nearly everyone else. In a bizarre twist Regina was the only one who wasn’t. Instead she was looking down into the bowels of the ship with a mixture of awe and disgust. As she stepped down into the dim bowels of the ship Emma could only hope that someone wouldn’t end up with some kind of injury before too long.

They ended up settling in the galley. She’d had a passing thought of leading Zelena into her cabin but it was too personal and with the way the others had followed her it wasn’t large enough to hold them all. As it was they had to cram themselves around the table with Roland and Turner forced to stand back by the doorway as there weren’t enough chairs. Zelena scowled at her but Emma merely scowled back and settled back in her chair.

“Alright, we’re here where no one can hear us. What do you want?”

“Did you have to allow the peanut gallery to join us?” Zelena sniffed, obviously annoyed at the company.

“It’s either that or I escort you off the ship,” Roland growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If I had my magic I’d turn you into one of my monkeys just to watch you dance.”

“Stop threatening my crew or I’ll help him throw you overboard,” Emma said, glaring at Zelena and trying not to smile at the thought of tossing her into the freezing harbor. “I’m not going to ask again: Why are you here?”

“This is the first time you’ve deigned to show your face in week-” Zelena glared back, “and I need reassurance that you won’t be breaking the curse. There’s a lot at stake here.”

“Why should we even trust you? How do we know you’re not lying just to keep this warped reality you reign over in tact?” Regina snarled.

“Please, you think I warned you out of the kindness of my heart? Who do you think that beast will kill first if the curse is broken? I'm merely trying to save my own neck and if that means aligning myself with you then so be it,” Zelena huffed, looking as though she had just swallowed a lemon.

“Why his heart? Why any of this for that matter?” Regina asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You’d already beaten me, I was at your mercy and you had everything. You didn’t need to cast the curse.”

“Of course I did,” Zelena spat out. “He didn’t think I would do it for all the reasons you stated and more. I had to prove him wrong, show him that he had underestimated me, again. And I didn’t have everything, your face did. I had to fix that as well.”

“Unbelievable,” Regina scoffed. “I knew you were the jealous type but I had no idea you were this insane. When the Savior breaks the curse I’m going to enjoy watching him snap your neck.”

“She’s not going to break the curse,” Zelena said confidently. She smirked at Emma, “Not when she’s of the same ilk as her hero parents.”

“If we-” Emma hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “If we don’t break the curse then the people here will be miserable for the rest of their lives. They won’t ever remember who they were- are. They won’t know that they’re missing pieces of themselves, that there are people they lo-love that they think are nothing but another face they walk by day after day. Or worse they won’t know them at all. It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, princess, anyone who tells you different it just selling something,” Zelena said with a roll of her eyes. “You break the curse the darkest of Dark Ones wreaks havoc on every realm he can get his scaly carcass to. You don’t and people live blissfully ignorant lives where they don’t even know what the hell they’re missing anyway. I believe that should simplify your choice.”

“For someone without morals perhaps,” Grace murmured from her seat at the corner of the table.

“We can argue this round and round until we’re blue in the face but eventually you’ll have to decide,” Zelena said, pointedly glaring at Grace.

“I need more time-”

“You’ve already had a week!” Zelena growled.

“And I’ve spent over a year believing I was coming here to break the curse!” Emma snapped back, flames of anger licking up her spine. “I scoured our land for any clue as to what you did, where you could have sent everyone, and when I found something to lead me here I had to find a way to actually cross realms. For every second of every day since you cast the curse and up until this very moment I’ve had a prophecy hanging over my head, declaring me as a savior because for some reason I’m the one fated to break it. Then you come along and tell me in no uncertain terms that I can’t because you made a mistake that could cost us everything if I do. So forgive me if I need a little more fucking time to figure out what choice I’ll be able to live with.”

She was breathing hard, as though she’d just crossed blades with Zelena instead of words. Her hands were shaking violently but they were in her lap, hidden from most everyone’s view under the table. All eyes were on her, mostly in surprise at her outburst but she could see concern among them too. Keeping her focus on Zelena she was pleased to see that the woman was finally looking at her with a small measure of respect.

“Fine, whatever the princess wants I suppose,” Zelena said begrudgingly. Then after a pause she said, “There is, however, another matter we need to discuss.”

“What else do we need to talk about? I’m pretty sure I have nothing left to say to you,” Emma said, her voice somewhat hoarse.

“Then just listen,” Zelena said with a tinge of frustration. “There’s something I need you to get for me, something that we’ll need if you make the stupid decision to break the curse-”

“Alright, you need to go now,” Emma said shortly, the barely tamped down anger rising again.

“You’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Zelena protested.

“I said go,” Emma growled, pointing a still trembling finger at the door.

“Fine,” Zelena huffed. She stood and held her head high, as though it was her decision to leave, “You should know that I wasn’t kidding about your motley crew participating in Founder’s Day. Festivities start at ten and I expect you to put on a good show. If you refuse I’ll give Walsh plenty of reasons to scour this boat from warped mast to mealy biscuit.”

Zelena pushed past Roland and Turner, leaving Emma gaping at her back as she left. She turned to Regina.

“What is she talking about?”

“It’s this ridiculous festival that everyone remembers happening every year because of the curse but no one’s actually been to,” Regina said, still gaping at the empty doorway. “It’s supposed to celebrate the founding of this stupid town with booths selling cheap homemade knick-knacks and historically inaccurate reenactments throughout the town. Someone always gets arrested for getting too drunk off the spiked cider and it ends when Zelena’s trumped up speech about harmony and prosperity in the town gets interrupted by one thing or another. Last year it we had a two for one when Jones drunkenly accused her once again of killing his brother. It took both Walsh and Archer to successfully drag him off the stage.”

“But that didn’t actually happen, right?” Emma questioned as Regina’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise. “You said this festival is just a false memory but you’re talking about it like it actually happened.”

“It… no… I remember-” Regina’s eyes had clouded over and her fingers were nervously tapping on the table. After a few seconds she blinked rapidly as her eyes cleared, “No, you’re right, it’s never happened. The cursed memories are stronger if they’re ones I haven’t been constantly trying to keep straight. You’ll probably have to give tours of the ship or at the very least come up with some lie about how a ship like this brought over the original settlers.”

“You mean make a mockery of us?” Turner said with distaste. “There’s a reason this ship is named the Jewel of the Realm. It’s not some mere pleasure vessel for entertaining the masses.”

“Newsflash, Blast from the Past, but ships like this are nothing but novelties in this realm,” Regina said testily. “Walsh already thinks there’s something going on here and we don’t need Gold getting any kind of idea what this ship and all of you really are. If Zelena said you’re going to be part of Founder’s Day she’s already told at least thirty people and each one of them have told thirty more. By Saturday you’ll have a crowd of people clamoring to get on board. There’s no choice here, it’s going to happen.”

“Is she doing this to torture us even more?” Roland asked in disbelief.

“Probably,” Regina said with a shrug. “She knows she has the upper hand for now. If Emma doesn’t break the curse we’ll have to play by her rules.”

“And if she does then we’re sentencing everyone to the whims of an untempered Dark One who we have no idea what he will do,” Grace sighed.

“What if we kill him first and then break the curse?” Marty piped up, clearly eager to be included.

“How might I ask?” Roland asked with a raised brow. “According to that witch the man is dead already. Our only hope would be the Dark One’s dagger but seeing as no one had seen hide nor hair of it while he was imprisoned I doubt we’d find it here.”

“Even if we did whoever killed him would become the Dark One,” Emma said with a bitter smile. She stood, her legs barely able to hold her up, “Although, it’s not the worst option on the table. I’d even volunteer to do it myself.”

The collective gasps were seemingly still echoing in the galley as she sped out, almost tripping over Turner’s feet in her haste to get away. Grace called after her but she kept moving forward. Finally she made it to her cabin, slamming the door behind her as her breath came in quick pants. The emotions she had pushed down had suddenly burst, pouring over her like a bottle of ale that had been shaken too vigorously.

Sliding to the floor she tried to reign everything back in but it was hopeless. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she gasped for air. Black spots erupted in her vision as the horrible choice Zelena had forced on her swirled in her head. Dropping her forehead to her knees she scrabbled for Killian’s ring, grasping it like a lifeline as she waited for the overwhelming feelings to subside.

Eventually her breathing evened out and she could hear the normal sounds of the ship over the pounding of blood in her ears. When she felt confident enough to stand she made her way to the table where only two things were resting upon it: her journal with her letters to Killian and the second of the two magic beans she’d found in Blackbeard’s hat. Sitting at the table she resumed staring at the two items, as she had been doing for nearly three days straight as she tried to decide what to do.

The sound of Roland’s voice broke through her musings.

“Planning on running away from it all then, are you?”

“The door was closed for a reason,” she answered without looking up, gently spinning the bean with her finger.

“I came to check up on you since you’ve been holed up in here for two hours.”

Emma glanced around and was surprised to see that her quarters were mostly in shadow from the afternoon sun. Roland was watching her warily and she sighed, turning her gaze back to the bean.

“Come to argue with me some more? Or are you here to try and convince me one way or the other about what I should do? Either way I’m not in the mood.”

“How about a drink instead?”

Looking up with a raised brow to see him produce a bottle of the darkest rum she’d ever seen and two pewter mugs from behind his back. With a shrug she nodded at the chair across the table from her as she sat back in hers. Uncorking the bottle with his teeth he poured out a generous measure of rum for the both of them, gently placing one of the mugs in front of her and then the bottle in the middle of the table before sitting down.

She picked up the mug and held it up for a toast, “To the lucky bastards living under the curse. At least they can sleep peacefully at night.”

“I don’t want to drink to that,” Roland said with a frown.

“Then don’t,” she said indifferently, downing her rum in one swallow. Shuddering slightly she poured herself another round, scowling at Roland as she did, “Where the hell did you get this from?”

“I, er, knicked it from Daniel’s cabin-” the tips of his ears began to turn pink and he quickly took a sip of his rum, coughing harshly after he swallowed.

“Daniel?” Emma repeated, confused until Roland flushed deeper and his eyes skittered away from hers. “Oh, is that Turner’s first name? Add that to the list of things I didn’t know. Although it does go to show that you’ve been so pissed at me that you decided to hide whatever it is you two are now.”

“Emma, it’s not like that,” Roland said, even as he still avoided looking at her.

“No?” She asked, scoffing in disbelief. She took another drink of her rum and uncurled a finger from her mug to point at him, “So if I were to ask Turner why neither of you said anything he won’t tell me that you asked him to?”

“He will, but not for the reason you think,” he said, finally looking at her. “I didn’t want to flaunt it in your face that we’re together when you can’t be with Killian the same way. It’s not fair that we found happiness when you’ve been given nothing but misery.”

“But you’re mad at me!” Emma blurted out, her hand dropping to the table causing some of the rum to splash over the sides of her mug.

“Not anymore. It’s hard to stay mad at someone when they’ve got the weight of the world on their shoulders,” Roland said with a shrug and a pained smile. The blush returned to his cheeks, “Daniel might have also pointed out that I wasn’t being fair or helpful by constantly badgering you about the curse when I’m not doing anything to actually help you break it.”

“If I decide to break it, you mean,” she pointed out.

With a less than steady hand she brought her cup back to her lips, downing the lot. Roland followed suit, coughing again as he reached for the bottle. He poured more into both of their mugs, lightly tapping the rims together when he picked his up.

“So is this your plan then?” He asked, looking pointedly at the bean in front of them.

“To run?” She nudged the bean with the bottom of her mug, “Not in the way you’re thinking and I don’t even know if I can bring myself to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll think I’m cruel.”

“I could tell you at least fifty different thoughts I’ve had that would have you thinking the same of me,” Roland said with a raised brow, sipping at his rum and only grimacing as he swallowed. “I promise not to judge.”

“I keep going back to two options, other than the ones Zelena forced on me. One: we somehow convince our family and friends to come on the ship-” Emma gripped her mug tightly. She wanted to slam the rum back as quickly as she had with the other two but knew she was well on her way to tipsy and she needed to have some of her wits about her as she finally told someone the thoughts that had plagued her. “We could use the bean to take us back home and we break the curse on them there.”

“Leaving the Dark one here, still cursed and somewhat safe,” Roland said with a nod, showing no sign of shock at her suggestion. “I take it Zelena would be left behind as well but so would-”

“So would scores of other innocent people,” Emma sighed, finally taking a sip. “Even if we could convince even half the people we want to save to board the Jewel can’t hold them all. Who are we to decide who gets to stay and who gets to go? And if we do how can we be sure the curse will break for those we take? Or if it does what if it somehow still breaks over here and the Dark One is freed anyway?”

“All valid questions,” Roland hummed, tapping his mug with a finger. “And the second option?”

“We use the bean to send Gold to a different realm. But then that brings up a whole different set of problems. What if he ends up somewhere that has magic? What if going through the portal somehow wakes him up? And again, if we break the curse here maybe it breaks it on him wherever we send him and he happens to be somewhere with magic. It’s even riskier than just breaking the curse here where we already know there’s no magic. At least that will stall him for a little bit-” Emma took a deep breath before continuing softly, “I’ve been going round in circles trying to figure out what to do.”

“I can see that,” Roland chuckled. “Did Marty’s suggestion ever occur to you?”

“To kill Gold and hope for the best? For about a minute in the dead of night until I realized that it was the worst option of all and I stayed awake until dawn because of it.”

“Have you slept at all?”

“When I’m not worrying about what to do,” she sighed.

“So… that would be not a wink,” he huffed.

“You and Turner? Exactly how long have you been spending time in his cabin?” Emma asked in a clear attempt at changing the subject.

Roland rolled his eyes but once again his blush belied him.

He took a small sip of his rum before mumbling into his mug, “Since the night after I ran into my father and Regina came on board.”

“Decided you needed to free up a bunk in the hold or was it you just couldn’t stand her that much?” Emma snorted. She raised her mug, “How’s this for a toast? To being with the one you want in order to get away from one of the bitches that ruined your life.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything-” he gave a put upon sigh even as his lips were twitching and he raised his own mug. “Too bad Killian isn’t here with us. He’d gladly toast to that.”

They both drank their rum but Emma had to fight to keep it down. In the few moments where she wasn’t overwhelmed by the momentous decision she had to make she had nearly driven herself mad trying to figure out what she could possibly say to Killian. It was because of her desire to tell him everything and whisk them away to safety that she had first thought of the bean. Then her sense of obligation to her kingdom’s people and the guilt of even considering leaving them behind in favor of those closest to her had begun to trickle in and her thoughts had spiralled on and on from there.

There was one other option that she hated herself for even thinking and couldn’t bring herself to tell Roland even if he had thought it had been her plan for the bean. The worst part was that it was the most sensible and feasible of anything she had come up with but it was by far the most terrible of them all. They could simply weigh anchor and leave with only themselves on board, return to Misthaven with broken hearts but safer for it. She once more shoved the thought of it away, too painful to consider for more than a moment, and drained her mug for the third time.

“I get it, you know,” Roland said quietly. She gave him a puzzled look as he dropped his gaze to the rum he was swirling in his mug, “Why you’re having all these doubts and can’t bring yourself truly decide what to do. I didn’t at first, which is part of the reason I was so mad at you, but now I do.”

“So why? Why can’t I just choose and be done with it?” She whispered, not entirely sure of the reason herself.

“Killian,” he said with a matter of fact shrug. “He’s falling in love with you again-”

“You don’t know that,” she interrupted quickly, realizing she didn’t want to know why after all.

“True, but Daniel does.”

“What? How?”

Roland gave her an unimpressed look, “You sent Killian to find him right after taking off with that loathsome Walsh guy, did you expect them not to talk?”

“Well, no, but they’re strangers without his memories and they weren’t together that long,” she argued.

“You forget Daniel’s known Killian a lot longer than either one of us has. I guess even without his memories he’s behaving exactly the same as when he fell for someone back when he was younger,” he said with a sad smile.

“He told you about that? He wouldn’t say anything about her to me.”

Emma dropped her gaze, trying not to feel betrayed that Turner had told Roland about Jaqueline when he had all but refused to tell her. She knew it was because they were something more, that they were together, but it still stung all the same.

“He didn’t tell me anything either, not really-” Roland tapped his mug on the table to catch her attention. She looked up and he gave her a knowing look, “No need to be jealous, he just told me that he’s seen the way Killian is when he’s falling in love but it was different this time.”

“Why, because he’s already married and my being here has him feeling confused and guilty?” She drawled sarcastically, eyeing the bottle of rum.

“No-” Roland huffed, grabbing the bottle and pouring her a pitiful amount, “because you love him too and you’ll do whatever it takes to make him happy even if it makes you miserable. Which is why you can’t decide what to do about the mess we’re in. He’s unhappy and apparently vilified under the curse but he’s safe and if it breaks then he gets you and his rightful life back but then Dark One could just destroy it all with the snap of his fingers.

“And don’t tell me it’s the same argument you’ve been having with yourself concerning your father or Red or anyone else stuck in this town because it’s not. I may not have exactly what you do with Killian and it’s only been a few weeks but I know if it was Daniel I’d be right where you are now. Except I’d have probably broken out the rum a lot sooner.”

“Who says I haven’t,” she murmured. She looked up at him, doing nothing to keep her emotions from showing and was unsurprised that tears began to form, “What should I do?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his own eyes glassy. “I’m sorry Emma, but I don’t think this is something we can help you with.”

“Because I’m the Savior?” She asked with a warbling voice.

“Yeah,” Roland answered, looking as though he wished he was telling her the opposite.

Emma cleared her throat and gave him a shaky smile, “I hate that prophecy more and more by the way.”

“I'm sorry I was ever enthusiastic about it,” Roland said with a grimace.

“It's not like you knew what was going to happen,” she pointed out. “Can we just drink and talk about something else? Anything else, please?”

“Sure,” he said easily, pouring the rum until it was almost to the rim of her mug. “What about that Founder’s thing?”

“Ugh, not that either. How about being raised by the Merry Men? It has to be almost as interesting as faking my way into being a feared pirate captain.”

Roland laughed and launched into a story about being left in the care of Will Scarlet and Little John and escaping them both. Emma tried to keep her attention on the tale but her thoughts began to run away from her from everything her and Roland had discussed. She only hoped that the rum swirling through her veins would slow them down enough to finally get some rest, if not peace along with it.

It took nearly until the morning of the festival, two days later, for Emma’s hangover from her talk with Roland to dissipate completely. It wasn’t helped by the hoards of curious onlookers that circled the docks, shouting questions at her while she had a pounding headache, regarding their participation in the festival. With the crew’s reservations and her urge to not bow to Zelena’s whims Emma had nearly ordered them to return to the cove almost three times. The only thing that held her tongue was Regina’s suggestion that they require people to pay to board the Jewel during the festival, something that she assured her would irritate Zelena to no end.

Despite having only just gotten over her night of excess with Roland she nonetheless found herself eyeing the cabinet where she kept her liquor as she dressed for the day. With a sigh she focused back on fastening her vest correctly and trying to remember the story they would be telling the people who would be crawling across the Jewel’s deck like rats before she knew it. Regina had tried to convince her to say the ship was an integral part in the founding of the town but Emma had scoffed at that and stated that she was a pirate captain and that was exactly what the people would get. She hadn’t even bothered to hide her smile at Regina’s frustration and Turner’s distaste at her declaration.

The only somewhat good that was resulting from the festival was that between it and her recovery she hadn’t dwelled as much as she had previously on the decision she still had to make. In the few moments her thoughts would stray Roland would suddenly be at her side commiserating in their shared misery or Turner would be consulting her about the level of the stores in the hold and the state of the ship. She had appreciated their concern but no matter how hard they tried to distract her during the day the nights were consumed by nightmares of Killian blaming her for the decision she had yet to make.

“Emma, are you ready? There are already dozens of people waiting to board and they’ve been pacing the dock since daybreak it seems.”

Emma shook her head at the annoyance she could clearly hear in Roland's voice but couldn't blame him. There in fact had been people queuing up since nearly dawn that morning, when she had tried to escape from her nightmares above deck. She had watched them from the shadows near the helm figuring they were as good a distraction as any. Then she had thought she had seen that Killian was among them but when she had rushed to the rail to invite him on board early it had been a stranger looking back up at her.

As she crossed to the door she strapped on her sword, almost hoping that Zelena would see it and remember the promise she had made back at the jailhouse. When Roland caught sight of it at her hip he merely rolled his eyes and stepped out of her way. She elected not to comment on the hilt of a dagger she had seen poking out of the top of his boot.

“I still can't believe there are people actually willing to pay us just to step on board and not actually go anywhere,” Roland scoffed from behind her. “This realm is so strange.”

“Is Turner still determined to stand guard over the hold?” She asked as she reached the ladder leading up to the deck.

Roland snorted, “He's still upset that we knicked his good rum and he trusts those strangers much less than he does us.”

“Excuse me, who stole his rum?” She asked, turning to glare at him.

“You as good as stole it-” Roland shot back with a grin, “I would have never believed someone as tiny as you could drink that much!”

He deftly dodged her half-hearted swing at his arm, laughing at her scowl. When she turned to climb up to the deck she let her smile unfurl. She hadn't realized how much she had missed him while he had been angry at her until he no longer was.

When she stepped on deck she wasn't surprised to see the others looking at her with a range of emotions. Regina was by the starboard rail, the scowl twisting her features deepening as the voices of the crowd swelled from the dock at the port side. Grace was at the helm looking apprehensively between her and Marty, who was bouncing excitedly on his toes by the foremast. Roland stepped up beside her and gave an interested hum.

“Is it too late to say I don't think we should do this anymore?” Emma sighed.

Roland snorted, “I believe that ship has sailed, Captain.”

“Not funny,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She looked at Regina, “I guess it's time.”

“I still don't know why I was roped into helping you with this,” Regina huffed, stalking across the deck towards the gangplank.

“Because you're the only one who knows how to handle the coin of this realm,” Emma said with only a hint of the annoyance she was feeling. “And it's not like you have anywhere else to be.”

“Besides-” Roland chimed in, “you’re the one who insisted we go through with this charade, it's only fitting you should suffer along with us. Even if you did refuse to dress the part.”

“I won't debase myself by putting on those rags you found in the hold,” Regina sniffed haughtily.

“They're better than the ones we found you in,” Emma said under her breath causing Roland to snort in amusement beside her. With a smirk she said louder, “Just go so we can get this over with, Regina.”

With one final sneer Regina walked down the gangplank and out of sight. As they heard her address the crowd Emma moved toward the stern of the ship. She returned Grace’s uneasy smile as she took her place at the helm, where she'd have full view of the deck and everyone upon it. Grace stepped back behind her as Roland situated himself directly below her. When the first curious head appeared over the rail Emma took a steadying breath and drew her lips into a welcoming smile.

After a few hours Emma felt as though she had a handle on how to deal with the townspeople, at least the ones she didn’t know. It was only the early afternoon and there had already been a steady stream of familiar faces that had stepped on board. Roland had even gone so far as to slip below deck when Robin had walked up the gangplank. Emma hadn’t been much better when David and Red had shown up within ten minutes of each other, both circling the deck as she had stayed rooted at the bow, barely able to converse with the man who had been asking her questions at the time.

By far the worst moment had been when a group of children had come on board. Their adult minder had told Emma that they were from the local orphanage with some of the older ones along to keep the younger ones in line. Grace had been standing near her and had looked over at the group with a gentle smile that dropped from her face in an instant. She had nearly fainted on the spot and it had taken both Emma and Roland to get her below to the galley, both yelling for Turner to bring them water. After a few harrowing minutes Grace had raspilly whispered that her own missing children had been with the group and though she hadn’t seen them for years she was certain that it had been Jack and Jill among them.

After sending Roland back up to the top deck Emma had stayed with Grace for another hour or so. Finally Grace had regained some of her normal color and insisted that she would be fine. Emma had been reluctant to leave her but her urge to check that everything was still running smoothly had been the final push in getting her to leave Grace’s side. By the time she had emerged on deck the group of children were gone and there had been a whole new set of curious onlookers roaming about the deck.

“I think the whole damned town is going to step foot on the Jewel before the day is over,” Roland grumbled.

Emma grimaced, glad they were somewhat alone by the helm, “We’re something new in a town where apparently time hasn’t moved for over a year. I’d be suspicious if they didn’t.”

She looked over the deck and tried not to catch the eye of Walsh as he moved methodically from stem to steer. He had been on board for nearly a quarter of an hour, inspecting innocuous things like the fastenings for the lines or knocking on the deck with the heel of his shoe. Unsure what exactly he was looking for Emma hadn’t let her gaze stray away from him for too long.

“And are you?” Roland’s voice broke through her concentration on Walsh.

“Am I what?” She asked, turning confused to see him looking at her worriedly.

“Suspicious that Killian hasn’t shown up yet,” he quickly looked towards the gangplank where no one was currently stepping on board. “I thought he would have been one of the first ones here.”

“Me too,” she sighed quietly.

It had been a niggling thought throughout the day, constant and irritating in the back of her mind. Killian had always shown up when she least expected with a smirk on his lips and mischief in his eyes. She had been waiting anxiously all day for him to sneak up behind her and whisper in her ear about her outfit or the ridiculous farce they were performing but she had been so far left disappointed. Roland bringing it to the forefront of her attention had only succeeded in bringing about her worries as to why Killian had yet to appear.

“Perhaps he’s waiting for the crowds to lessen,” Roland suggested halfheartedly. “Or until the sheriff over there has looked his fill.”

“If it was the crowds Killian would have found a way on board before everyone else and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Walsh or his presence,” Emma huffed, narrowing her eyes as Walsh lightly kicked at the main mast. “Even Pinocchio has stopped by twice and I broke my promise that I’d return to his library.”

“The curse may have made them forget you but everyone still seems to hold on to their devotion to you whether they realize it or not. I didn’t miss the way your father or Red kept looking at you like they already knew you.”

“Robin was almost doing the same-” Emma pointed out gently, “You disappeared too quickly for him to get a good look at you though.”

“Yeah, well I’m not as strong as you,” Roland said with a shrug. “I doubt-”

“Excuse me?”

They both turned to find a woman around their age standing behind them. She had wide, brown eyes and hair to match, though only the ends of it could be seen poking out of her knit cap. Her dress was much the same as the rest of the townsfolk but there was something slightly scandalous about it, her thick coat open to reveal a bright pink shirt that exposed her chest and stomach in equal measure and trousers so tight Emma wondered if she had been sewn into them. She looked between the two of them with slightly suspicious eyes before focusing on Emma alone.

“Are you Eva?”

“Yep,” Emma said with the false cheer she had been talking to the townspeople with all day. “Captain of the beautiful ship you find yourself on.”

“So you’re the one helping to feed my husbands delusions,” she said in an accented voice that was as cold as ice and eyes that were as hard as steel.

“Excuse me?” Emma asked in shock, sharing a puzzled glance with Roland.

“The high and mighty private detective here to solve the murder that our sheriff’s department has been working on for ages-” the woman sneered, planting her hands on her hips, “You think you can just waltz into town and wiggle your nose and just like that you’ve solved it? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told but I only want to find out the truth, whatever it may be,” Emma said placatingly as she wondered how far talk of her false reason for being in the town had spread.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re set on seducing my husband while you’re at it. You got your claws in him but I won’t allow it, you whore.”

Emma stepped back in surprise at the vitriol in the woman’s voice just as someone rushed up beside her. She was further surprised to see it was Killian instead of Roland as she had thought. He was shaking with anger, his breaths were shallow and his hand was clenching and unclenching in what seemed to be an unconscious gesture.

“That is enough, Deb,” Killian growled.

Emma took another step back, her back pressing against the helm as she realized who the woman was. She somehow felt she should have known it was Deborah, the woman cursed to believe she was married to Killian. Watching Deborah’s face slide from a jealous rage to simpering adoration was almost enough to make her lose what little food she’d eaten that day.

“Oh, hey baby! I didn’t see you,” Deborah crooned, batting her eyelashes. “I thought you’d be down at the Hole like every year.”

“I had more pressing matters,” Killian said shortly with half a glance back at Emma.

“Talking to her?” Deborah’s nose wrinkled as she looked her over from head to toe.

“That’s it,” Emma said sharply, coming out of the daze she’d stumbled into with Deborah’s and Killian’s presence. She stepped around Killian and into Deborah’s space, “You need to leave.”

“What? I paid good money and I have every right to be here!” Deborah shrieked indignantly, her face turning red in anger.

“And we appreciate your patronage,” Roland’s voice rumbled deeply from behind Emma. “You can either go voluntarily or I can escort you. Either way you’re leaving now.”

“You aren’t going to let them treat me like this are you, baby?” Deborah whined, once again changing her demeanor in a split second as she turned to Killian with tears swimming in her eyes.

“I’m going to let them treat you however you deserve,” Killian said coldly. He turned his back on her and looked at Emma with no less anger in his gaze, “Can we talk in private?”

“Sure,” she answered, ignoring Deborah’s spluttering and murderous glares. She looked at Roland, “Make sure she’s off the ship and on her way anywhere else. Let Regina know not to let her back on under any circumstances.”

“You can’t do that!”

“She can and she did, Ma’am,” Roland said with a wide grin. “If you’ll follow me then.”

Deborah continued to yell about the way they were treating her but Emma left Roland to deal with it. With a tilt of her head she began to lead the way to the hatch that led straight to her cabin. She paid little attention to the gazes of the townsfolk that were alternating between watching her movements and the scene that Deborah was making. It was, however, hard to brush off Killian’s presence at her back and she could barely get a calming breath in as she descended into her cabin, Killian right on her heels.

Her quarters weren’t fit to receive visitors and she resisted the urge to rush about setting things to rights. Her bunk was a mess of blankets with a multitude of clothing piled on top, all items she had deemed unfit to wear for the crowds along with the boots she had kicked across the room in fits of pique. The table was littered with loose papers, books, her half eaten breakfast, broken quills and ink pots, and in the center of it all was the journal of letters to Killian, open to the last letter she had written late the night before. With blood pounding in her ears and a scorching heat in her cheeks she quickly crossed to the table and slammed it shut not giving a damn if it caused Killian to become curious as to what it was.

Turning back to him Emma realized she shouldn’t have worried. Killian was standing at the base of the ladder, head down, a muscle in his jaw ticking as though he were chewing on something tough. She wondered if he was trying to calm himself after Deborah’s words and the commotion she had caused. Her answer came when he looked up and his ire hadn’t abated. Instead it seemed to be burning hotter.

“Just what was all that, lass?” Killian asked in a low growl.

“Your wife apparently,” she snapped back, immediately rising to the defensive. “I would think you’d at least recognize the woman you yourself said made you miserable.”

“Sod Deb, that’s not what I’m talking about,” he snarled, taking two steps towards her before coming to an abrupt halt. He waved his hand jerkily towards her then up at the ceiling, “That ridiculous show you and those others are putting on today, what is all that?”

“Something appropriate for your town’s ridiculous festival. I would think that much would be obvious,” she drawled as she propped her hip on the table and crossed her arms over her chest.

Killian’s nostrils flared as an angry flush began creeping up his neck, “Don’t get bloody cute with me, lass. This has that bitch’s scent all over it and I want to know what she said to you to that has you jumping through hoops like a trained dog.”

“What the hell is your problem?” She asked angrily. She also felt a sting of hurt that he was attacking her and tried to hide it with a frustrated frown, “This is my ship and what I do on it is none of your business.”

“Your ship?” Killian asked mockingly. “Is it now, Captain Swan?”

Emma’s heart stuttered in her chest. She was still leaning against the desk and glad for it otherwise she would have collapsed to the floor hearing her moniker from out of his mouth.

“Wha- what did you say?”

“I read your bloody book,” he spat.

He fumbled with a satchel at his side that she hadn’t noticed, pulling out the story book she had given to him for safe keeping at Sunset Storybrooke. Emma had nearly forgotten all about it in the aftermath of Zelena’s revelations. She had thought that Killian had given it to Turner who in turn had held onto it while she had kept herself apart from the others. In truth she almost wanted nothing to do with the book that was filled with the memories of happier times. There had been no intention whatsoever of letting Killian read a single word from its pages.

“Yes it’s quite the fantastical tale, what with all those Disney characters coming together in a magical land. Although there were quite a few names I didn’t recognize from any cartoon I’ve ever seen,” he gave a mocking smile as he strode to the table and dropped the book unceremoniously on it, causing Emma to jump to standing in her startlement. There was a vein throbbing in his temple and his voice was deadly calm, “Can’t quite comprehend your fascination with a book of fairy tales, lass. Especially when you tell me it’s real and that I need to keep it safe before getting whisked off by that wanker Baum. Then come to find out you have a tet a tet with the devil herself and suddenly eager to obey her demands? What the hell do you take me for anyway?”

Emma took a deep breath, forcing herself not to fidget as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation.

“It’s complicated-” she started, wincing as his hand clenched into a white knuckled fist. “What I talked to the mayor about, this idiotic show for the town, even that book, it’s all a part of this stupid complicated thing and I just… I can’t tell you what it is right now.”

“You can’t tell me,” Killian scoffed in disbelief. He leaned towards her and growled, “After I read it I was certain you were having a laugh, a cruel joke but still in the realm of possibility. Then I thought it was some kind of allegory or metaphor or what have you. It could have been a front for the real tale at the heart of it because only a nutter would believe that fairy tales were real, but you were so damn adamant that the bloody book be kept safe. Then when I come here to ask you to explain I find you playing pirate and lying to my face.”

“I’m not lying,” she retorted hotly, wondering how she had completely lost control of everything.

“A lie by omission is still a lie, lass,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“And you’ve been so forthcoming with me? Do you know how many people have told me that you’re involved with whatever it is that got your brother killed? Which, by the way, it wasn’t only that hag and her puppets that mentioned it. How idiotic are you to think that that’s the way to prove anything?”

“This isn't some bloody game!” Killian yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This is my life and I’m doing what I have to in order to finally find some peace for both me and my brother. I'm not some do-gooder prince from over the rainbow or some kind of hero out to save the day. I don't need this fanciful bullshit distracting me from finding what I need to take Viridans down. So either get on board and actually help me or go back to wherever the fuck you came from.”

Emma felt as though he had slid a knife between her ribs. She could hardly breathe. Killian had never spoken to her in that way. Ever.

“Get off my ship,” she said through numb lips.

“I- what?”

“I said get off my ship,” she repeated slowly, hand resting involuntarily on the hilt of her sword. “You came here with accusations flying out your mouth and an itch for a fight in your blood but I’m not going to sit back and take the punches as they come. You don’t need my bullshit distracting you? Fine. There’s the door.”

“Oh, no. You can’t just throw me off the ship like that! I deserve some kind of explanation!” He hollered, stepping towards her to tower over her.

“You deserve nothing!” She yelled back, refusing to back down and having to crane her neck to stare him down. “I thought I could trust you. I did trust you and you just threw it back in my face. Funny, having met Deborah I can now see how you two are a perfect match.”

“That’s a low blow, lass,” Killian growled.

“And here I thought you didn’t understand the concept,” she snarled. “Now get the fuck off my ship.”

“I’ll do no such thing. Not until you set some things straight.”

“I believe the captain has given an order,” Roland’s clipped voice sounded from across the cabin. “It would be wise to follow it.”

Killian spun on his heel and Emma could see both Roland and Turner standing inside the doorway. They were both glaring at Killian, Roland somehow seemingly standing taller than he already was and Turner with his sword half out of its sheath. She had never needed someone else to fight her battles but she was grateful all the same that they had appeared before she had said something she’d truly regret.

“Tell Tweedledum and Tweedledee that we’re not done with our little chat yet,” Killian said with disdain as he turned back to look at her. “I have more questions and I'm not leaving until I get some answers.”

“Too fucking bad,” she spat out. She looked around him to the doorway, “Turner see to it that Jones here finds his way back to the dock and let everyone else know they’re welcome to leave as well.”

“Aye, Captain,” Turner said with a nod, sheathing his sword and stepping towards Killian.

“You touch me and I’ll make sure I’m not the only one handed man about town,” Killian snarled, glaring at Turner. He then sneered at her, “This isn’t over, lass.”

Emma kept her face impassive, biting her tongue as Killian waited for one last retort. With a scoff he left making sure to hit both Turner and Roland with his shoulder as he did. Turner gave her an apologetic glance before following him out as Roland walked to her side pulling her into a hug. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed deeply as her arms wrapped around his waist.

“Why is it every time I see him I end up wanting to punch him in the face?” Roland asked conversationally.

“You’re not alone,” she mumbled as she sighed again. “It’s been a passing thought for me nearly the entire time I’ve known him. How’s Grace?”

“Could be better,” Roland said with his own sigh, giving her a quick squeeze before releasing her. “She came back on deck not long after you went below with Killian but she was far away from here. It took hearing you two yelling for her to snap out of it.”

Emma winced, “You could hear us?”

“Why do you think Daniel and I both showed up when we did,” he said with a shrug. He gave a quick glance to the table and the book sitting innocuously on its surface, “So, what are you going to do?”

Looking at the book she felt torn between wanting to burn it and curling up on her bunk with it to find comfort in its pages. She thought back to the devastated look on Grace’s face when she’d revealed that her children had been on the ship, how Roland hadn’t been able to face his father, the indifference in Red and her own father’s eyes, and of course every single interaction with Killian from the moment they’d arrived. Letting out an unsteady breath she knew what her choice was, what she had already decided deep in her heart.

“I’m going to break the curse.”

If you’d like to be tagged so you don’t miss future chapters let me know.

Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au ff #cs ff au #ouat au ff #savior and scoundrel #i know it looks like shit on the dash but it's fine everywhere else #i can't figure out how to fix it either and it's driving me nuts

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lala-kate · 7 years

Text

From End to Beginning: Ch. 4

@drevazambrano....I am your Secret Admirer! Happy Valentine’s Day from me and @lovefromoq! You’re getting Chapter 4 today and Chapter 5 tomorrow, but if you haven’t been reading From End to Beginning, (ff.net link here )don’t worry. These two chapters can be read as stand-alones. I thought this story would fit the bill for someone who prefers mature, parental OQ and enjoys angst.

And just so you know, FETB is Zelena free. :)

I’ll be posting both chapters on both AO3 and ff.net on tomorrow. I do hope you enjoy this, Amanda, and that your Valentine’s Day is fabulous. It was an honor and a joy to be your OQSA.

XO--Laura

Mr. Locksley,

I know this message will come as quite a shock to you, but I’ve just learned of your existence, and I’d like to meet you if you’re agreeable to this suggestion. I’m currently staying with my birth mother at her house on Piper Beach, a place I’m told you know fairly well. I just met her yesterday, and it’s a bit overwhelming, as I’m certain you can understand. But she’s lovely, a real fighter, and last night she told me your name and in doing so gave me the final puzzle piece to my life.

You see, my name is Henry. I’m twenty years old. And I’m your son.

Robin reads the email again, wondering if on the third reading the words will organize themselves differently. But they remain in the same order, the same meaning searing into his mind and seeping into his pores, waking him up in a manner he’d never before experienced.

My name is Henry. I’m twenty years old. And I’m your son.

Your son.

His son. Christ--he has a son?

His body tingles, his skin feels alive, the name Henry singeing veins and making him hot and cold at the same time. A son-his son. How long...why hadn’t...where did he...how in God’s name--?

Piper Beach. My birth mother. His son’s birth mother.

Regina Mills.

Regina--his first love, his sole love, the only woman he’s ever regretted, the only woman with whom he’d ever shared his heart. He can’t eat shrimp or drink Coke without thinking of her, has avoided the beach religiously since that summer, knowing the pull of the incoming tide would lull him back into a past from which he’d be loathe to leave. He’d kept the sand dollar she’d given him, one they’d found near their cave, the cave where they’d lost their virginity, the cave where they’d evidently conceived a child.

A son. His son. Their son.

Christ. Bloody, bloody Christ.

He’d left Regina at the end of that summer, hadn’t reached out to her to let her know that he and his mother had had to move in with her cousin after her cancer diagnosis, hadn’t sent her his new address because he’d been too ashamed of the fact that he’d given up his dreams and ambitions and had continued in work he’d hoped to leave behind him. She’d been accepted to Vassar. He worked in construction. He and his mother were practically penniless. She belonged to a society that would never see him as anything but the help. They were from totally different worlds, heading towards totally different futures. Why prolong something that would just break him in the end?

So he’d tried to block her out of his mind and memory, had ignored regret’s sting and guilt’s ugly head, and he’d moved forward as best as he could, trudging through life with a self-imposed limp. Without entanglements. Without attachments. Telling himself over and over that he’d done Regina a favor by staying out of her life. He’d set her free to pursue bigger and better things, to find someone who could give her all that she deserved in life rather than being attached to a man who’d struggled to pay for food and his mother’s medical bills.

But she’d been pregnant...with his baby...his son...a boy she’d evidently given up for adoption just after he was born. And she’d endured all of it--pregnancy, childbirth, and giving up her baby without him.

He’d been an eighteen year old jerk who’d tried his best to paint himself as a martyr.

And she’d been seventeen--seventeen--no more than a child herself. How hard had that been for her? Her heart was so tender, so open to love, so deserving of deep and undying affection, yet she’d handed over a child he knew she’d cherish with every bone in her body. Her family had the means to raise and care for her baby, so if she gave him away, she’d either felt backed into a corner and feared that having a child at such a young age would hold her back, or…

Or she’d been on her own and was given no choice. Had her family abandoned her? It certainly sounds like something her gorgon of a mother would have done, and her father never had the balls to stand up to her, at least according to what Regina told him.

Regina. Shit. Being with him that summer had cost her everything.

He doesn’t realize that his hands are shaking until he picks up his coffee mug and nearly spills its contents all over his kitchen table. He sets it down and rubs his hands through his hair, working off a nervous energy that’s taken control of his limbs.

Henry. His son. His and Regina’s son conceived twenty-one years ago. A living, breathing human being who wants to meet him, who is with her, who knows more about his past than he does himself. And at this moment, the two missing pieces from his life were together in the very place where he’d first felt truly alive even as a new life had been created.

That life is now twenty years old.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

He stands and paces the kitchen, rubbing hands over a face he’s certain has aged ten years in five minutes. His feet carry him back to his bedroom, back to his nightstand, into a drawer that holds a handful of things that are precious to him: a photograph of his mother, his grandfather’s pocket watch, a copy of his favorite high school math teacher’s letter of recommendation he’d been certain would help him be accepted into the college of his choice, and a picture of Regina on Piper Beach.

I’m currently staying with my birth mother at her house on Piper Beach, a place I’m told you know fairly well.

Piper Beach. That place had been imprinted into his very DNA that summer.

There are times he’s certain he still feels its sand between his toes and its salt in his lungs, and as he stares at her photograph, his throat thickens, thinking of all they experienced inside that cave by which she stands.

How they’d shaken as they touched each other in awe, as hands first explored what mouths would later taste, how they’d given each other everything and accepted everything in return. He’d nearly come apart when he’d entered her the first time, so in awe of how it felt to be inside a woman, not knowing then that no other woman he encountered would ever feel like her. He’d loved her with a purity he’d denied everyone else since then besides his mother, and he rubs his face again, feeling the beard that hadn’t existed when he’d kissed her for the first time.

He’d loved her. But he’d left her. And she had borne his son.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying at first, but he finally sits on his bed and allows tears to pour out of him like dam unleashed. Years of self-imposed loneliness and regret collide with his living past, a past he can no longer hide from, a past he both wants and fears to face.

We’ll get married once I finish college and get a job.

He’d made promises that cancer had broken as if they were no sturdier than a pile of matchsticks, promises he’d sealed with his grandmother’s ring yet walked away from when life got too hard. But Regina hadn’t been able to walk away, for his broken vows had taken root inside her womb, most likely marking her as a failure in her mother’s eyes and forcing her into a decision she should have never had to have made on her own.

Would she ever be able to forgive him if he asked? Will he ever be able to forgive himself.

His bag is half-packed before he realizes what he’s doing, and he calls Tuck on his way out the door. He knows his crew can take care of things while he’s gone--they’re good people, he’s chosen well. But he stalls once he’s inside his truck, leaving the key in the ignition as he lays his forehead on the wheel and tries to breathe.

He doesn’t need GPS to tell him how to get to his destination. He could hike to Piper Beach from memory and has often enough in his dreams. But two people are there now, two people who mean more than his own life, two people who have every right to hate him yet have reached out to invite him back.

Regina Mills. Henry Jones. His only love and their son.

He prays to God that he won’t fuck things up royally this time.

______________________________________________________________

Two and half hours later, he parks one block away, afraid of parking too close to her house, afraid of encroaching into her life again, wondering why when he’s already encroached far enough to forever alter her life. He stares at the ocean, at the play of sunlight on water, at the fluidity of the horizon, at the depth of his guilt.

A boy is waiting for him--no, a young man, rather, a child he should have known but never got to meet, a son he should have held at least once. He’s certain Regina held their baby before she gave him away, and his heart nearly shatters at the thought of what that did to her.

If he’d been there, would things have been different? What could he have offered a wife and child at the age of nineteen besides debt, disappointment and desperate times?

He could have been there. That’s about it. But Regina deserved at least that, and he’d stripped her of that right, as well.

He rubs his face again, remembering now that he’d forgotten to shave before he jumped into his truck and took off without looking back, and he chuckles to himself as he takes a final swig of cold, gas station coffee. What sort of picture will he make for this son he’s never known? What impression must he already have of him, of a man who would leave a teenage mother alone and uncared for without a forwarding address?

Had she written to him? He’s certain that she did, and he closes his eyes to sunlight that’s now too bright as he steps out of his truck and onto pavement sprinkled with sand.

As sand through an hourglass, he thinks to himself, gazing out upon a landscape that shifts at the will of the tides. Did any sand from that summer remain, he wonders, hidden in crevices just out of the ocean’s reach? Perhaps in their cave, tucked away with memories too precious and pure to disturb by the present, even though his present was crafted within its walls. He looks to his right, half tempted to visit the cave before he faces the two people in this world he owes more than he can ever pay, regardless of the size of his bank account.

He owes them a life. He owes them everything.

A breeze hits him then, ruffling his shirt and hair, pushing him away from the shore to which he is bound even as it carries the scent of forever in its wake. He removes his shoes as he steps into the sand, closing his eyes again as he allows it to caress his toes. One step, then another, until the sand becomes firm and the water licks his feet. Gulls fly overhead, as do pelicans, and he watches their V-formation in fascination, half wishing he could soar with them back in time and correct what he’d forever messed up.

But he can’t. He can only move forward and face those he left behind.

He turns to his left and begins to walk, pausing only to roll up his pants legs until they nearly reach his knees. They’d sneaked kisses all over this beach, had held hands and played in the surf, swam in the ocean and ridden the waves. They’d tried to have sex in the water once, only to end up being knocked over repeatedly and laughing until their sides hurt. Then they’d gone to their cave where they’d caressed and made up for lost time.

Lost time, he murmurs, his words carried away by the wind and surf. Sand through an hourglass, indeed.

He spies the cottage, a reclaimed relic now brimming with life, and his heart thuds in time with the surf, making him stop to catch his breath and regroup. Are they inside, he wonders, talking, connecting, getting to know each other after his decisions tore them apart? He sees nobody at the shore, so he assumes that they must be, and he forces himself to start moving again, to keep his gaze steady and his direction marked.

He will face the mess that he made of their lives. He has to. Regina and Henry deserve no less.

Kites fly further down the beach, and he imagines what it would have been like to fly kites with his son, to teach him to swim and to fish, to play frisbee and ball and read stories together at night. Did Henry have that growing up? Had he been given a father who loved him, who read to him, who took him camping and swimming and taught him how to treat a woman?

As if he had any room to judge on that final matter.

His hand runs through his hair as her cottage looms closer, and he swallows repeatedly, counting steps, marking off years, thinking of all the birthdays he missed, all the milestones, all the years of knowing a piece of him was living and breathing just out of his reach. He wonders what he looks like, what she looks like now, how he should greet them, what he should say? The questions keep tumbling around in his mind until everything stills into mist as he reaches the front porch and stops short.

His life. His family, or what should have been his family. They’re right through that door. And he can’t approach it for the life of him.

There’s a noise from inside, a door, perhaps, and he swallows again as he seeks the courage to move. Just do it, he tells himself. You’ve come this far, and you owe it to him, no, to them. Henry initiated contact, and to walk away now would be the worst kind of cowardice, so he takes one more step, and then another, and then another until he’s at the front door, fist raised to knock, heart in his hands.

For Regina, he murmurs. For Henry. Then he takes a deep breath and knocks.

Seconds tick by, and he wonders if he should knock again when the knob turns from the inside and the door swings open. His past stands before him, alive and breathing, staring at him with the same bewilderment Robin knows is splashed across his face.

God, he’s taller than he’d imagined, with hair a color right in between his and Regina’s and a straightforward gaze he’d inherited from his mom. He can’t look away from him, trying his best to remember words he’d practiced in the car, words he’d repeated and repeated until they’d been burned into memory, words that have deserted him along with his dignity at the sight of a twenty year old young man.

“H-Henry? Henry Jones?”

The words tumble out with no shape or form, crashing in between them into shards of curiosity. Eyes crease, a mouth opens and closes again as the surf continues to pound behind them.

“You must be Robin.”

There’s a tinge of fear in Henry’s voice, and he won’t have that, not for all the tea in China.

“I am,” he manages. “I-I got your email.”

Blue locks with brown as the tide presses in, then a tentative smile breaks, a young hand extends, and contact is made that sears him forever. Only one other person has marked him physically like this, the same one he’d marked in return with his child.

“I’m so glad you came,” Henry says, shaking his head in wonder, obviously just as nervous as he is. “I wasn’t sure that you would, especially this quickly.”

He feels released and bound all at once.

“Why wouldn’t you doubt me when I’ve been absent your entire life.”

His chin quivers, and tears too persistent to fight break free. Then younger arms take a hold of his shoulders and guide him inside, into the very cabin Regina’s mother had forbidden him to enter even as he’d entered her womb. He’s intruding on her yet again.

“I know you didn’t know,” Henry says with a shake of his head. “About me. Regina told me that.”

He’s sitting on a sofa looking at a boy he should have met twenty years ago, trying to pull himself out of the surreality of it all.

“I didn’t,” he mutters, trying his best to steady his voice and his hand. “I had no idea until this morning. God, if I’d known…”

The words fracture apart before spilling out of him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth he fully deserves.

“She tried to tell you,” Henry continues. “But she couldn’t find you. I think it’s only fair that you know that.”

He nods through his tears, trying to make out his son’s face through blurry vision.

“I assumed as much,” Robin returns. “Trust me, I hold no blame for anyone in this situation except for myself.”

A dark cloud envelopes him, even as sunlight warms his neck, yet his fingers are frozen, as if his body is suspended between two realities. He hears Henry get up and walk across the room to grab some glasses and fill them with ice, and he wipes his face quickly, needing to see details, wanting to memorize everything even if it shreds him to bits.

“Water?”

He takes the glass and sips from it gratefully.

“Thank you,” Robin says. “And not just for the water.”

Henry’s eyes study him, eyes that are filled with his mother’s intelligence and curiosity.

“So you’re glad I contacted you? I--we weren’t sure that you would be.”

The question hovers between them as Robin breathes it in.

“I’m very glad,” he assures his son. “And also very ashamed.”

Ice tinkles in the glass Henry picks up.

“You were a kid,” Henry states, taking a sip of his own water. “And you didn’t know.”

“I should have been there for you,” Robin insists. “For you and your mother. If I was old enough to father a child, I was old enough to own the responsibility.”

Henry quirks his head as he sets his water down on the end table.

“You were younger than I am now. You both were.”

Air rushes out of Robin’s lungs as he rubs his hand over his head.

“I know,” he replies. “And I’m sure I would have made plenty of mistakes with you. But I still should have been there, for both of you.”

“You’re here now,” Henry says. The words settle into his chest, releasing one knot as yet another forms. “God knows you didn’t have to come, but you did.”

“Of course I had to come,” Robin replies. “You’re--Christ, Henry, you’re my son.”

They stare at each other, forging the beginnings of a connection that hints at redemption.

“So you’re alright with having a son?” Henry asks.

“I’m blown away,” Robin admits. “It all still seems surreal, like I’m in the middle of a dream or something, but yes. I’m more than alright with having a son. I just wish…”

Emotions overpower speech, and he inhales to restore the balance.

“I just wish I could have known you sooner.”

Henry’s hand reaches out and lays atop his own, the contact so mesmerizing he almost cannot breathe.

“I had a good life. You don’t have to worry about that.”

He’s crying again then, nodding, relieved, and more ashamed than he’s ever been in his life.

“I’m so glad,” Robin says. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t have been the one to give you that life.”

“But you did, in a way,” Henry states. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You gave me life in the first place, you and Regina. And then she gave me a new life when she gave me up for adoption, a life I’ve never regretted, not one single day.”

He wipes his face with his arm, reaching out for his water and taking a drink.

“That’s good,” Robin returns, pulling his composure back together piece by piece. “And even if I’d been there for your mother, we might have had to make the same decision. I had nothing to offer her, much less a child…” His words break off as he stares out the window at the sea. “But she shouldn’t have had to make that decision by herself. That wasn’t fair.”

“No,” Henry agrees. “It wasn’t. But maybe you can be there for her now.”

He realizes with a start that he has no idea where she is, and he looks around the small cabin, somehow knowing she’s not here at the moment.

“She’s at the grocery,” Henry answers before he asks. “And just so you know, she has no idea I contacted you.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, only to shake his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No,” Henry interrupts. “You’re right. I was going to tell her sometime today, because I thought I had more time. She was nervous about how you’d respond to finding out about me, and I honest to God didn’t think you’d respond as quickly as you did.”

The thought of Regina seeing him out of the blue just after meeting their son sets his nerves on edge. She’s been through enough on his account. The least he can do is allow Henry to give her a proper warning that he’s come back into their lives after a twenty-one year absence.

“I should leave” Robin asks, standing up quickly. “Just so she doesn’t have to see me without warning after all these years. I could go get a room somewhere close by, then you--”

The sound of a car door closing interrupts him, and he gazes back at his son wide-eyed.

“I think it’s too late for that,” Henry says, looking somewhat concerned himself. “It sounds like she just got home.”

He’s frozen in time and space, everything suspended in slow motion as he looks from his son to the front door, wondering if he should hide, if he should sit down, if he should run out the side door like the guilty teenager who’d left her alone and pregnant? But his feet won’t budge, so he stands there like a condemned man begging for a pardon he doesn’t deserve.

Then he hears her on the porch as his lungs tighten and his palms grow damp. He watches as the handle turns and the door swings open, then he’s looking at the woman who forever changed his life, a woman who is more beautiful than she’d been as a girl, a woman he’d put through hell and back because he’d loved her.

She sees him. Time stops. And all of the groceries clatter to the floor.

#outlaw queen #love from oq #valentine's day #Regina Mills #Robin Hood #Henry Mills #from end to beginning #Laura writes

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somewhereapart · 7 years

Text

Maybe Baby (I’ll See You on New Year’s Day) (Ch 1/8)

Author’s Note: For @onceuponanadvent. Recently-divorced and returning home for the holidays, Regina Mills is ready to sink into the comforts of the familiar small town she grew up in. While she's there, she finds herself drawn to an old friend.

Regina Mills doesn’t always enjoy being home for Christmas, but she does enjoy going home.

She enjoys the way the December light bounces off of the snow-coated pines, the way their trunks stand out starkly in the woods that cradle the road as she drives north. She even enjoys the sight of the ocean, choppy and grey and unwelcoming as it is.

It’s familiar. Like an old, worn blanket – not necessarily nice to look at all of the time, but comforting nonetheless.

And this year… This year, she’s aching for familiar.

This year, it’s well after dark as she crosses the town line, “Christmas, Baby Please Come Home” blaring from her car stereo in an attempt to keep her awake and alert on the darkened back roads. The moon filtering down through the thick woods makes the snow-covered ground glow blue, and Regina feels a sort of settled rightness in her middle at the feeling of being home .

Home isn’t a feeling she’s been able to indulge in lately, and imperfect though this home may be, it’s better than the one she’d left to come here.

It’s quiet downtown, the chilly streets mostly buttoned up for the night, shop windows all festooned with bells and pine branches and SEASON’S GREETINGS!, fake snow climbing up from their corners and wrapped boxes arranged behind the darkened glass.

There are a few lights still on – the Rabbit Hole has music pumping out into the street, as usual, and Granny’s is still open for late dinners and boasting vacancies.

For a half-second, she’s tempted to pull off right there on Main Street and book herself a room. It might be more welcoming than her destination, and certainly less complicated – but it would no doubt feed the small town gossip mill and Mother would never let her live it down, so she keeps driving.

Just before Main Street ends, curving into Hatter and then Mifflin, she passes Storybrooke Camp and Sport (now boasting signs for ski rentals and ice fishing augers) and her heart skips a beat, her fingers tightening a little on the wheel.

Her wedding ring feels heavy on her left hand, a weighty lie that glitters for a second in the streetlights and makes her heart twist and sink.

She tears her gaze from what maybe should have been but never was, forces her mind from what was and maybe never should have been, and takes the turn carefully, mindful of the ice that slips ever so slightly under one of her tires.

It’s nearly midnight when she pulls into the drive of 108 Mifflin, but the lights are still on in the looming white mansion, an ornate wreath decorating the front door as usual. That and the potted mini-pines lining the walk are the closest thing Mother has come to decorating for the holidays – no surprise there; she finds fairy lights garish and pedestrian, wouldn’t be caught dead with window clings or light-up reindeer, or glowing plastic Santas.

Regina kills the motor in her Mercedes and shrugs her jacket on haphazardly, stepping out into a bitterly cold night. She liberates her Louis Vuitton travel bag from the passenger seat and shivers as she makes a quick trek between those little pines, one hand holding her coat closed as the other lifts to knock at the front door.

Cora answers in a neat pant-suit, her face still painted, not a hair out of place despite the late hour.

Regina is suddenly painfully aware of the splotch of coffee she’d spilled on her jeans somewhere near Kennebunk, and the distinct possibility that said coffee and the granola bar she’d scarfed down an hour ago had worn away her lipstick.

“Come in, dear, you’re letting in the chill,” Mother beckons, and Regina crosses the threshold, dutifully shutting out the winter night.

The outside of the Mayor’s mansion may be sparingly decorated, but the inside is another story. The grand staircase is wound with boughs of holly and pine all the way up, and there’s a large, glowing tree in the sitting room. The whole place smells vaguely of spice—no doubt from the trio of fat candles burning on the sitting room coffee table—and Regina knows that she can count on an ornate Nativity on the dining room credenza despite Mother’s ambivalence toward religion in general, along with another small tree in Mother’s home office. There will be company towels in the guest bath, company soaps, too, all season-appropriate.

The combined effect is supposed to make the place feel welcoming, but Regina remembers too many Christmases from her younger years spent being told not to muss the holly, not to encourage more needles to fall from the trees, not to play with the baby Jesus and the little drummer boy.

Even now, in her early forties, the display carries a forbidden air. A feeling of look-but-don’t-touch.

It feels like a showroom more than a home, especially now that Daddy is gone.

And yet, she’s glad to be here. Would rather be here than in D.C., in that too-empty loft, not enough furniture yet to fill it. She’d decorated it a few weeks ago – silly, considering she’s spending the holiday here and not there . But she hadn’t been able to bear the empty countertops, the bare corners, the… new-ness of it all.

It shouldn’t feel lonely, not to her. The divorce was her choice, and she tells herself night after night that she asked for this. For a place of her own, for an end to the exercise in boredom and endurance and strained silence that her marriage had become. She’d asked to be free, and she was.

She should be happy.

She’s not happy.

Not even with her fragrant six-foot fir with its silver and gold ornaments, or the bowls of snow-crusted pine cones on the coffee table, the drape of silver bell garland over the mantle, or the sleek, white reindeer figurines perched behind it.

She should have gone with red and gold, she thinks, not silver. The silver just feels cold…

Speaking of cold, Mother tells her frostily, “Midnight is a bit late to arrive, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“I told you I would be getting in late,” Regina reminds as she slips her coat from her shoulders again and unzips her boots. “I worked this morning, and it’s a nine hour drive.”

She shouldn’t have mentioned the drive. All it accomplishes is making her mother huff, “I still don’t see why you drove up from McLean instead of just flying. You could have chartered a car from Portland, and been here in time for dinner.”

“I suppose I could have, Mother,” Regina sighs, “But I wanted to drive. It gives me time to think.”

“What on earth could you have to think about that takes nine hours?” Cora asks as they finally leave the foyer, and, oh, if only she knew.

Far too much is what Regina has to fill nine hours of thinking.

Still, it had been good – the long drive to herself, just Regina and her music, and then a conference call while she’d been snarled in some traffic around Philly, and a good chunk of a book on tape as she’d made her way past New York. There’d been a quick call with her lawyers to recap the divorce agreement she and Leo had signed, and when all the assets would be divided officially.

You know, business as usual for the beginnings of a Christmas holiday.

But Regina hasn’t yet told her mother about the divorce – the ring weighing heavily on her finger is a testament to that – and she’s not sure if she intends to break it to her at the beginning of this trip or the end. She can’t imagine the news will be well-received.

So she holds onto it a little longer, dismissing, “There’s always something to think about,” as they head (unsurprisingly) for the den.

It’s where Mother keeps her bar, and there will no doubt be a post-drive nightcap before Regina gets a chance to shower and sleep.

“I see Leo’s not with you,” Cora comments, predictably, as she reaches for a decanter of brandy.

Regina lies, and tells her, “He had work to do; he couldn’t get away. But he sends his regards.”

Cora nods slowly, pouring drinks both for herself and for Regina and bringing them over to the sofa Regina has settled dutifully onto. Only then does Mother say to her, “I’m sure he’s getting lots of work done in St. Barts.”

Regina freezes, her hand poised to grab the lowball but not quite grasping it yet.

So much for keeping her divorce a secret.

She feels very much like she had at seventeen, when she got caught necking with Daniel out at Lookout Point, despite Mother’s repeated insistence she wasn’t to waste her time with a boy so terribly common .

Busted. And small. And very much like she’s failed to keep Mother’s favor.

It doesn’t help that Cora is looking down at her expectantly, but also with that hint of triumph behind her eyes. Like she’s beaten Regina at her own game, and Regina supposes that, in a way, she has.

“I don’t know why you felt the need to lie to me, dear,” she says to her, and Regina finally grabs that brandy and takes a deep swallow as Mother sinks into the cushion beside her. “I’m your mother; and you’re hardly the only person I know in your social circle, I was bound to find out.”

It would be true, if their divorce had been at all public. But it hadn’t been, it had been quiet, a low-key, mostly amicable parting of ways. Hell, most of their friends don’t even know yet. They’d agreed not to break the news until after the New Year. Which means Mother must have gotten it from one of the lawyers.

Regina is sure—absolutely sure —it was Gold, that snake.

She should have known this would happen. Mother and Gold have known each other for decades, she just figured that attorney-client privilege might actually save her this once.

“I was planning on breaking the news this week – although preferably not the minute I stepped in the door,” Regina tells her mother, trying not to fiddle with her glass despite the twisting nerves in her belly. “I wanted to tell you and Zelena in person, not over the phone. And as well-connected as you may be, the divorce hasn’t been big news. We’ve kept it between us, for now. I thought it was a secret that would keep until the holiday.”

She sees Mother’s mouth pinch slightly at the mention of her other daughter, but she doesn’t acknowledge the comment with more than a, “Well. What happened, then? You seemed like such a good match.”

They didn’t. They never had been.

Leo had been a mistake, a square peg she’d spent a decade of her life trying to fit into a round hole. He’d been good on paper – successful, driven, a mover and shaker in the D.C. political arena. And he’d afforded her the life Mother had always hoped she’d have. But the socialite life had never been Regina’s dream, and she’d always felt stifled in it.

“I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life attending boring galas, on the arm of a boring man, and then going home and having, quite-frankly, mind-numbingly boring sex—”

“Regina,” Mother chides, as if she’s somehow been scandalized by the idea of her daughter having sex with her husband. Or maybe it’s just the honesty that has her so rattled.

“You asked, Mother,” Regina reminds, taking another small sip of her drink. “I wasn’t happy with Leo; I hadn’t been happy in a long time. I’m not sure I ever was. I think…” She shouldn’t say this, absolutely should not, but she hasn’t had much to eat since well before dinner time, not much more than that granola bar, so the little bit of brandy she’s had is already starting to go to her head. It makes her bold enough to admit, “I married him more for you than me. He made sense, he was a ‘smart choice,’ but he was never really my choice. That life had never been the life I wanted. I thought it could be, but…”

She shakes her head, takes another sip and says, “I couldn’t bear the thought of spending ten more years just… surviving, and not really living . Much less another thirty, or forty. So I left him.”

“You gave up,” Cora says primly, and Regina’s blood boils.

“I did not ‘give up,’” she defends, fingers tightening around her glass. “Unless you’re talking about the years I gave up trying to make a doomed marriage work.”

Cora lets out a little huff and takes a swallow of her own brandy, but thankfully doesn’t argue. Regina can tell from the sour expression on her face just what Mother thinks of Regina’s excuses, though – and that’s what she’d no doubt call them, “excuses”, if she wasn’t showing a blessed amount of restraint.

Thank goodness for Christmas miracles.

Of course, Cora not answering leaves dead air between them, a heavy silence that Regina feels the need to fill.

“He didn’t even fight me on it, Mother,” she informs wearily, a headache starting to brew behind her eyes (she should have gone with water, not liquor). “We both knew it wasn’t right anymore.”

“Well, I suppose you’re happy, then,” Cora says with a tight little smile, and Regina scoffs a laugh.

How her mother manages to pack so much disappointment into so little expression Regina will never know, and, “No, I’m not happy. I’m… sad. Or…”

Regina takes a deep breath. These sorts of talks have never been easy with Mother; the more Regina tries to be honest about how she feels, the more judged she usually ends up feeling.

But she tries anyway, telling her, “I feel like a failure. And a fool. And I feel… old. And lonely. And… adrift.” Cora narrows her eyes as Regina talks, but she’s listening, so Regina keeps going. “I may not have been happy with Leo, but I knew what to expect. My life was boring, but comfortable. And now… I suppose I’m just not used to being alone anymore, or to having nothing on my calendar but my own social engagements. It’s… an adjustment.”

“You chose this,” Cora reminds, as if Regina doesn’t know that. “But I’m sure if you wanted to change your mind—”

“I don’t,” Regina insists, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go back to what I had. I just have to figure out what’s next, that’s all. But right now, all I want is a hot shower, and a warm bed.”

And to not be talking about this with her mother.

“So do you think we could continue this in the morning?” Regina suggests, “Or later this week?”

“I think you should spend this week thinking about whether a divorce is really a good cure for boredom ,” Cora tells her, and Regina's jaw clenches. As if she didn’t spend plenty of time thinking this through before she finally threw in the towel. But then Mother concedes, giving her an out with, “But it’s late, and we have a whole week to discuss your options, so yes, we can continue this in the morning.”

Regina is too relieved to even protest the promise of more meddling.

Instead, she takes her bag and climbs the stairs, settling in to the guest room that was once her childhood bedroom.

She unpacks her toiletries and her pajamas, and then she stares at the rings on her left hand, the thick emerald-cut rock and the diamond band. She’d kept them on to keep up appearances with Mother, but the jig is up now

So Regina slips them off, unzipping her cosmetic bag and dropping them inside, never to be worn again.

It feels good. Right.

A bit heavy, but somehow… hopeful.

When she steps under the spray of the shower, it feels like she’s washing away more than the nine hours she’s spent behind the wheel.

View on Ao3 or FFnet

#outlaw queen #outlaw queen advent calendar #somewhereapart writes #regina mills #robin hood

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lenific · 7 years

Text

prompt: scissors

"...and this is from Halloween in second grade--" Henry pointed to a younger version of himself in plastic armor, a red cape dropping from his thin shoulders. "I was Thor," he explained, noticing her puzzlement at the hammer in his hand.

Zelena laughed inwardly. Even the gods were fictional characters in this world. "You look happy," she said, striving to focus on the grinning boy and not the dark-haired woman at his side. A pair of scissors would solve the problem, but Henry would hate that.

Regina lived only in pictures now, she reminded herself.

She could live with that.

#ar: never leave you alone #ch: zelena mills #ch: henry mills #100 words #leni drabbles

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hereticheroine · 3 years

Note

🌪️ - a starter where our muses are trapped together during a storm. (From Daniel for Zelena)

"I know I have a reputation for this sort of thing, but before you jump to any conclusions I want it known I had no part in this.. this time," Zelena was quick to say after they rushed into the library and barred the door best they could.

#ch; zelena mills #ah yes. stable witch. good memories xD #could be shippy if you want #we can start fresh with it

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hook-come-back-to-me · 7 years

Text

Bad Idea (Ch.1)

Enemies AU

Emma Swan’s big story is stolen by none other than Killian Jones. But to her surprise, he comes to her with a proposition.

Word Count: 1659

For @swanandapirate

Happy music plays in the streets, and multicolored lights twinkle in the trees. The air is crisp and cool. There's a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. New York is dazzling during the holiday season.

It's giving her a headache.

She spots someone reading a copy of The Mirror at a nearby bench. She grinds her teeth. On the front page is a picture of Mr. Gold being led away in chains accompanied by large black letters.

Mayor Gold Arrested

By Killian Jones.

That damn man kept showing up. Always shoving himself where he did not belong. She could not be rid of him.

In college, they worked on the paper together. Both determined to win the coveted internship at The Mirror given at the end of senior year. She drove herself to near insanity. She sacrificed tears, sweat, and long hours of work. Everyone thought it was hers, and then Killian won it. The rivalry transformed into something else. Something deeper. She accepted a job at The Informer. It was a good paper, but it was second rate compared to The Mirror.

Now he was stealing her stories now too.

How did he even find out? Detective Lucas had promised she had only spoken to her, and Emma believed her.

She needed coffee.

Starbucks is warm and packed with people. Businessmen making phone calls, writers tapping away on keyboards, and people with arms full of packages.

“I wonder if Mr. Gold did all the stuff they say he did. I mean there's a rumor that he even murdered his wife,” a girl in the corner says.

“I heard he chopped her up.”

“Stop it,” the third girl complains as a shiver racks her body. “I am trying to enjoy my latte.”

She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore them. Thinking about the promise of sweet caffeine only a few steps away. At that moment, she spots another copy at the counter with its title facing out for all to see. She marches up to the counter, grabs the paper with fury, and it shakes in her grip.

“What's your order?” a male voice asks.

“Espresso with three shots,” she seethes as she rips the paper violently in half. “And a paper.”

The man behind the counter nods in fear and takes her money. As she walks away from the counter, she rips the paper again, and again. Until it's nothing but shreds. She dumps the shreds in the garbage as her order is called.

The Informer office is humming with tension. She feels the weight of every gaze on her as she walks to her desk. She grips her coffee cup tight in her hand.

“I can't believe this,” she huffs as she tears off her jacket and throws into her seat. “How did that little cockroach of a man find out?”

She notices that several of her nearby co-workers turn their heads away.

Mary Margaret sighs. “It's possible he got wind of it through the same source you did."

“Detective Lucas promised me that I was the only one she talked to. She's the only one who knew. You might not do underhanded things to achieve your goals, but most people in this business do,” she snaps. A long moment passes in which the words burn through the air like poison. Her stomach churns. “I'm sorry. I've been working on that piece for months and that little weasel outwits me in one move.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Mary answers.

“How angry is Regina?” Emma asks, but she's a little afraid to hear the answer.

“She's had four coffees this morning.”

“Oh, god. Can this day get any better?” she scoffs.

“There are some rumors going around that you gave him a scoop.”

Emma chokes on her coffee. “What?”

Mary looks up from her keyboard, with sympathy in her gaze. “Some people were talking in the elevator. I overheard! I didn't take part.”

“Do you think Regina thinks that?”

“I think you are about to find out,” Mary nods to Regina who is walking towards them.

“Miss Swan,” Regina Mills oozes ice in her every syllable. “My office. Ten minutes.”

Once Regina is out of sight, Emma hangs her head. “I'm going to get fired,” and the words feel disconnected from herself somehow. Empty and hollow.

“Don't jump to conclusions. She probably wants to hear your side of the story,” Mary cautions.

Emma sits up straight and smooths her skirt. “You're right. I am going to go in there and tell her what a precocious little di-”

“Emma,” Mary interrupts, “breathe.”

Ten minutes later, she is standing in the doorway of Regina's office. Her heart is beating so fast it might as well jump out of her chest.

“Sit down, Emma.” Regina had never referred to her as Emma. She was in more trouble than she'd thought. She moves further into the office but does not sit. Regina folds her hands on her desk. “Tell me how this happened.”

She considers her next words carefully. “He outwitted me.”

“Clearly,” the word is almost a whisper, but it sends a wave of nausea through her. “Do you think Detective Lucas gave him something?”

“No,” she answers honestly, “he got it somewhere else.”

“Did you show your piece to anyone before you gave it to me for approval?”

“No.”

"Did you give him this information?"

“No,” Emma retorts.

Regina studies her for a long moment and then nods. “I believe you, but that brings us to a different problem. Is there a leak in our midst?” She reaches across her desk and pulls out her calendar. "I spoke to Mr. Jones this morning.”

“Why?”

“Hello Swan,” a familiar voice interrupts from the doorway.

Emma clenches her hand into a fist so tight that it turns her knuckles white. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“No hello? I'm deeply offended love.”

“What in the hell is he doing here? He broke our story, he can't possibly-” but Regina holds up one hand.

“Mr. Jones, please have a seat.”

Killian enters the room and stands next to Emma, but she refuses to look at him. “I am sorry about your story.”

“Don't lie to me, Jones.”

“Okay, I'm not that sorry. It was quite the story. I've already been asked to have interviews on all the major news stations.” She can hear the mocking smile in his words and it makes her so furious she starts to shake.

“Keep talking, Jones. I've given you a black eye once, I will do it again,” she vows through gritted teeth.

“You always were violent, Swan,” he laughs.

Something snaps inside of her and she faces him. He's exactly the same. His hair is untidy and his jaw is stubbled. He's wearing a deep blue velvet shirt, leather jacket, and leather pants. “I see you kept the leather,” she laughs.

He grins at her. “It's nice to see you too.”

There's a long moment of silence. Neither of them is willing to break eye contact.

“Mr. Jones, we are rather on a tight schedule. Now told me on the phone that you have something to share?” Miss Mills interrupts.

“Yes,” he replies as he moves toward a chair. Emma continues to glare daggers at the back of his head. “It all started yesterday when I got an anonymous note on my desk.”

“What did this note say?”

“It gave me a phone number to call. The person told me they were from The Informer, and that Mr. Gold was going to be arrested this morning. They gave me all the information I needed,” he declares, and the words fall weighted and deadly into space.

Regina hisses a very obscene curse under her breath.

“You are lying. No mole would be that stupid,” Emma fires back.

Killian shrugs. “I'm just telling you what they told me.”

“Why should I believe you?” she hisses.

“Because of our history,” he retorts with a quick wink.

“Jones, you need to get the fu-”

“Before you finish that thought. I have an offer for you,” he interrupts yet again.

Emma crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “What could you offer me?”

“Perhaps we should speak outside,” he gestures to the door.

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of my boss.”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Whatever you say, love. I want you to come with me this afternoon so we can interview Mr. Gold together.”

Regina starts in her chair, but Emma doesn't even flinch. “Why in the hell would you want to do that?”

“I'm sure was Zelena's idea. It's a move my dear sister would make. A power move," Regina interrupts.

“No, it was my idea. Zelena doesn't even know.”

Something inside her twists. “You didn't ask permission?”

He shakes his head and runs a hair through his hair. “I have had some dealings with Mr. Gold in the past. Interviewing him alone would be unwise on my part.”

“Why don't you take your dear sweet editor with you?”

“Miss Swan,” Regina finally speaks up again. “You should do this.”

There's a command in the words, and she knows she should not refuse. “Yes, Miss Mills.”

“I'm planning on going this afternoon. I will meet you here at two,” Killian gives her a final smirk then exits.

She turns to Regina. “Care to explain what that was about?”

“There's more here than the chance to figure out who our mole is. I have to play my cards right. Thank you, Miss Swan,” she concludes.

Emma turns out of the office and heads towards her desk. She mumbles curses under her breath the entire way.

“So, did she fire you?” Mary hesitantly asks.

“Worse,” she moans.

“What on earth is worse than being fired?”

“She's forcing me to work with Killian Jones.”

This was a bad idea. She could feel it in every inch of her body.

#cssecretsanta #cssecretsanta 2017 #katie writes things #swanandapirate #Bad Idea #cs au #cs ff

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mystical-flute · 6 years

Text

Black Coffee & Pumpkin Pie - Ch. 4

Ao3 || Ko-fi

"You're sure you're ready to introduce me to your family?" Alice asked, still sitting in the passenger's seat of Margot's car, playing with the lace on her shirt.

Margot smiled and kissed her head. "Of course I am. It's been almost a year after all. It's time for you to meet them. They'll love you, I promise. My family is super accepting, don't worry. None of them are anything like your mom."

Alice shivered a little at the memory of introducing Margot to her mother. It hadn't ended well, and she and Margot had been traveling Europe trying to forget the tantrum her mother had thrown. Despite Margot's assurance that her family was going to be more accepting of their relationship, Alice still felt a bit uneasy.

"Are you okay?" Margot asked with a small frown.

Alice nodded. "Yes. I trust you, Margot. With my life."

Margot looked out the window and smiled as a car pulled up behind them. "That's my mom. I'll be right back. I'll wave to you when I'm ready." With that, she hopped out of the car and ran up to her mother, leaving the door open so Alice could hear their conversation.

"I had no idea you'd be home. If you'd called ahead of time I would have been home by the time you got back. I hope you haven't been waiting too long," Margot's mother said with a smile.

"No, not too long at all. Traffic was a nightmare getting through Augusta or we would have been here sooner."

"'We'? Margot, who is 'we'?"

Margot's cheeks flushed a brilliant pink, before she waved Alice over. With a bright smile and a bounce in her step, Alice hopped out of the car and waved.

"Mom… this is Alice Jones. My girlfriend."

The mother paused for a moment, looking at the pair of them together, before giving the women a warm smile. "Oh. Oh Margot I'm so happy for you! Hello Alice. My name's Zelena. Welcome to Storybrooke."

Alice gave Zelena a relieved look. "It's so nice to meet you Zelena. Margot told me so much about you and Storybrooke that I just had to come with her when she said she was ready to come home."

And to get away from my crazy mother.

Chuckling, Zelena shook her head. "That's my daughter for you, wanderlust has her heart, but it looks like you've managed to fight it off. But Margot," she said, her tone turning urgent as she looked at her again, "it really is a good thing you've come home. I don't know if my message got through, but Bobby's been in the hospital for a week now. He was in the abandoned mines and got trapped."

Margot's face fell. "What? Oh no! I should get to the hospital right away."

"I'll take you. Here darling, get your things in the house and we'll go. Alice… would you like to come with us?"

Alice was surprised at the question. "I – me? I dunno, that seems like something you guys should do by yourelves. Trust me. I can even make dinner if you want. Though… it'd only be marmalade sandwiches but – "

"Alice, I want you there. If it's as bad as Mom says, I'm going to want you there with me. Besides, I'm sure the family wouldn't mind meeting you, even if it is under this set of circumstances," Margot said softly. "You might be the thing they need to cheer up somewhat."

"You think so?"

"I do."

"Well… alright then," Alice said with a weak smile.

Soon enough, Zelena was leading Margot and Alice down the hall to Bobby's hospital room, where two adults, whom Alice could only assume were his parents.

"Aunt Mary? Uncle David?" Margot said softly.

"Hm? Oh! Margot! Zelena, you didn't tell us she was home," Mary-Margaret said with a small smile as she stood and embraced her.

Zelena smiled. "It was a surprise to me too, Mary-Margaret. You know I would've told you otherwise. And she brought someone along with her, I hope that's okay."

Alice shuffled nervously as she looked at the pair. Maybe it was a bad idea for her to come right now…

"Oh – no, of course it's fine. We trust her," the dark-haired woman said as she rose from her chair. "My name is Mary-Margaret Nolan, and this is my husband David. And, you are?"

"My name is Alice. Alice Jones. It's nice to meet you both. I'm sorry it isn't under the best circumstances though," Alice said with a shy smile and she shook both of their hands. "I'm Margot's girlfriend."

"It's a pleasure, Alice. Welcome to Storybrooke," David said. "If there's anything you need, feel free to find me at the sheriff's station. I'm the seriff."

Alice gave David a bright smile, lighting up at the mention of a sheriff. "Oh! My papa's a detective in Seattle! I think you'd really like him!"

David smiled. "Is he now? Always nice to hear of another police officer."

Alice nodded, before looking at the boy in the bed and biting her lip. "So… this is your son, right? What happened?"

"Storybrooke was a mining community when it was first founded, but we eventually closed them down. Despite how well-sealed the mines were, teenagers always managed to find a way inside. We'd hoped, with David being the sheriff and being at every rescue, that our kids would know better than to go down there but…" Mary-Margaret explained with a resigned shrug. "The mine shaft he was in began to collapse, so there was a lot of dust that got into his lungs. We're hoping the damage isn't permanent."

She could only stare at Mary-Margaret. "Oh – I'm so sorry, Mary-Margaret. I hope he gets better soon."

"Thank you Alice. It was so nice of you to come."

"Can I ask another question?"

"Of course; I have nothing to hide."

"Are you and Zelena sisters? Margot talked about all of you but, no offense, you don't look all that much like Zelena," Alice asked. She was insanely curious about that fact, despite knowing that it could be a little offensive, and she inwardly kicked herself for saying it out loud to a woman whose son was laying in a hospital bed.

To Alice's surprise, Mary-Margaret actually chuckled softly and shook her head. "No, Zelena and I aren't sisters. The story is a little more complicated than that. See – "

Mary-Margaret was cut off from her story at the sudden sound of choking. Robert Nolan's eyes were wide open, and he coughed around the tube in his throat.

"Doctor Whale!" David screamed, and Alice stepped out of the room with wide eyes to give the family some privacy as a doctor and several nurses raced by her.

"Well, this is going much better than it did with my mother!" She thought, pleased with how things were turning out. "Despite something happening with Bobby, of course. I hope he's okay. That sounded bad…"

She paused when she saw a pair of men walking down the hallway. Was that…? No, it couldn't be.

Could it?

"Bae?" she said with wide eyes as she looked at one of the men.

Neither man seemed to pay much attention, with one of them turning and walking down another hallway.

Huh.

"Hello to you too!" the second man said, waving to her. Briefly, Alice was confused, wondering when she'd greeted him, until she realized that 'hey' started a lot like 'Bae'.

Alice cleared her throat. "Yes, hello. Are you going to visit Robert?"

"I am," he replied. "Come with a card from the fire station and everything. You were visiting him too, I assume? I don't recognize you though."

"Oh – I'm Alice. I'm Margot Mills' girlfriend," Alice replied with a small smile. "I came here with her."

"Pleasure to meet you Alice. I'm Ali. Margot huh? I didn't realize she was back in town. Anyway, are they accepting visitors?"

Alice could only shrug. "I dunno. He started coughing and the doctor and nurses ran in so I stepped outside. I don't know what happened after that."

Ali frowned. "Oh geez. I'll go check. Thanks. And it was nice to meet you again."

"You too Ali!" Alice said in a chipper tone, continuing down the hallway, a spring in her step. She glanced down the hallway the man that she'd seen with Ali disappear down. She didn't see him again though, which caused a small frown appear on her face. Why did he seem to be so familiar, despite the distance they'd had?

Ah, well. Maybe she was wrong. That happened sometimes. Instead of dwelling on it, Alice paused in front of a vending machine, glancing through the options.

"Would you like anything, Alice?"

She started, looking over to find Zelena next to her.

"Oh – I don't know. I'm just browsing," Alice said.

"You look like you're deep in thought. Is everything okay?"

Alice shrugged. "Well, yes or no? I'm not too sure actually. Ali, that man that just went into Bobby's room? There was someone else with him."

Zelena frowned. "Was there? Ali was the only one to come inside…"

"Yeah, but that's because the other guy walked down another hallway. I would just shrug it off since maybe he's here to visit someone else but… I don't know, Zelena, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he looked a lot like my cousin before he ran away…"

She didn't notice the look in Zelena's eyes, quickly masked by a face of concern. "Your cousin ran away? Well… you know Alice, I'm a private investigator, if you'd like, I can help you find him. Why don't you tell me all about him?"

Alice beamed at the woman. "Thank you Zelena, that would be amazing!"

-----

Neal felt his hands shaking as he ducked down a far hallway from where his intended destination. Shit. Shit. What the hell was Alice doing here? Why was she here?

More importantly, what was he going to do?

Tugging at his hair, Neal exhaled slowly. Dammit all. As much as he'd liked hanging around Alice before he'd run away from home, he really didn't want her to blow things for him right now. Looking around, Neal dropped into a free chair in the small lounge he'd found and put his phone to his ear.

"Neal, honey, what's the matter?" Eudora's voice came from the other end of the line.

"Mama…" he breathed, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone that could be coming near. "I need some advice. Badly."

"Of course, what is it?"

"It's my cousin. My stepfather's niece. She's here in town. I haven't seen him since I ran away from them and… I don't want her to recognize me."

"So let me guess, you ran down another street so she wouldn't see you or talk to you?" she guessed with a small hum. "Thus making her more suspicious if she had any to begin with?"

"Well, I…"

"Neal… you know you're going to have to tell your daddy you're there soon, right?"

"I know, Mama. But I'm still trying to find information on him before I tell him I'm here," Neal sighed. "He seems shady, like Mom and Killian would say."

"That doesn't mean they're right about everything regarding him. You know that."

"I know…"

"Besides, maybe you can recruit her to help keep your secret. You told me she was the only one out of your family that you trusted in the end. I'm sure you can trust her now, Neal. And remember, if you ever want to come home…"

"I know. I can go back to New Orleans."

Eudora chuckled an affirm. "You should come back soon though. I'm sure Tiana would love to see you back home. And we could really use your help at the restaurant."

He laughed softly. "I'll see what time off I can get, mama. I promise."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to take you away from your work, honey. Call me soon, okay?"

"I will. Bye, Mama."

Neal ended the call, feeling slightly calmer now that he'd spoken with Eudora. Maybe she was right. Maybe letting Alice in on his plans wouldn't be such a terrible idea.

He just hoped she wasn't too suspicious of him already.

A few days later, Neal found himself sitting at the counter at Granny's.

"Did you want anything else, Neal?" Emma asked with a smile as she slid over his plate of food. "Maybe some mayo so you can make that ketchup-mayo stuff you seem so keen on?"

He laughed. "You actually remembered that? But yeah, sure, I'd love some, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all. It's my pleasure."

He laughed. "Wow, you're really working for a big tip aren't you?" he teased.

"Well, you know, cars are expensive. And I might be planning a trip with some of my friends and I want a little spending money," she hummed in response.

His brow raised as she slid a small thing of mayo over to him. "A trip, huh? Where are you going?"

Emma beamed. "My friends and I are planning to head to New Orleans actually. For spring break. I'd love to be able to go over the winter break but with Hanukkah, Christmas, and New Years in December, it's a bit hectic."

Neal smiled, stirring the ketchup and mayo together. "New Orleans, really? That's ironic. If you want me to give you some good, local places to go to just let me know. Those are the best places to be, not necessarily the tourist traps."

"Really? That'd be great! Thanks Neal!"

"Course, any time."

"I get off at five if you want to come by the farm and talk about it."

He blinked in surprise. "Uh. Are you sure? Aren't your parents going to be busy with Robert and everything?"

She waved off the worry. "My parents won't mind. Besides, Bobby's actually doing better, so they've relaxed a lot in the last few days. He woke up! And the doctors say his levels are going back to normal! It's really amazing, even if I still want to kill him for scaring us like that in the first place."

"I can't say I blame you," Neal replied with a small laugh and taking out his phone to check the time. "Alright. I'll hang out here at 5:00 and you can show me the way."

"See you tonight," Emma said with a small wink and a giggle that had Neal's heart beating just a little bit faster.

Neal nodded as she wandered off to check on some of the tables, and began eat until the door opened, and Alice walked in, holding hands with another woman.

He hid a smile behind his glass and nodded to Alice once when he caught her staring.

"Is that you, Bae?" she murmured, leaning against the stool next to him.

He glanced around, making sure no one was around before answering. "Yes. It's been a long time, Alice."

"Where have you been? Do you know how worried we've been about you?" Alice whispered. "Why did you do that, Bae? Why did you leave?"

Neal exhaled. "Please, don't call me that. I go by Neal now. I'm here to figure out my past."

"What?"

"My dad and everything. Alice, please don't tell anyone. You're the only one I trusted before I ran away. I'm trusting you again with this."

Alice's eyes got wide. "I – yes, okay. I'll keep your secret. I promise. I won't even tell Papa you're here. I'm just… I'm just so glad to see you B – Neal. I'm so glad you're okay."

Neal smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm glad to see you too, Alice. I missed you."

"Alice! You ready to sit down?"

Alice looked over and grinned at the woman that had called her, nodding. "Be right there!" With another glance at Neal, she whispered "girlfriend", before heading over to the booth where the other woman waited.

Neal leaned against the counter with a smile. Damn, he was glad to have an ally in this town.

"This must be a bit of a culture shock for you, huh?" Emma asked as they made their way up to the large farmhouse later that evening. "Coming from New Orleans and all."

Neal nodded. "Yeah, kinda. What's your dad even farm, anyway?"

"Vegetables, mostly. But we have sheep and a couple cows. You'd never guess that Dad's such a country boy when you see him in action, but he really is."

He chuckled. "Well it's a nice farm. I'm sure my sister would be in awe of the fresh produce here. She loves to cook."

"You have a sister?"

"Yeah, Tiana. She's the one that encouraged me to come here, actually."

"What, was she that desperate to get rid of you?" she teased, pushing the front door open. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!"

"Hey sweetheart. Your dad took Eva to the hospital to visit Bobby," Mary-Margaret said as she appeared from what Neal could only assume was the dining room. "Oh? Who is this?"

"I'm Neal Cassidy. I just arrived in town a couple of weeks ago. I'm a firefighter. Emma asked me here to help her plan her trip to New Orleans."

She smiled. "Oh yes, of course. Regina mentioned you the other day when she was over. It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Mary-Margaret, the principal of the elementary school. I'm sure you're tired of hearing this, but thank you for helping to save my son."

"All part of the job, ma'am. It's nice to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you from the guys at the station," he said politely.

Mary-Margaret laughed lightly. "Oh I'm sure. Alright, I'll let you guys plan the trip Emma. But Neal? Just make sure they're safe?"

He nodded, taking a seat at the table with Emma. "Of course I will. I promise."

They were left alone, Emma pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. "Okay! Spill all the details about New Orleans."

So he did, and the dining room was filled with laughter, their chairs slowly getting closer and closer, their cheeks flushing pink at the shared charge in the room.

Finally, Neal decided to do something about it. "Hey uh – Emma… did you maybe wanna go to the Fireman's Ball with me? It's coming up soon and I really don't know what I'm doing."

Emma looked up at him and grinned. "I'd like that Neal. I'd like that a lot."

While he couldn't have imagined that this was where the night would go, Neal had to admit, he didn't exactly mind, and he returned to Granny's that night with a clear head and a spring in his step.

He may not have had much information on his dad yet, but he wouldn't complain that someone had caught his eye.

#swanfire #emma swan #neal cassidy #fanfiction #black coffee and pumpkin pie

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