#cs two part ff

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 fic: "For All Life and For All Time" {Part Two}

I certainly did not intend to keep everyone waiting so long for Part Two, but I won't ramble on with a lot of excuses, I'll just let you get right into the story. The action here picks up just after Part One left off, and with finding out what the rest of their brave band is doing in Emma's absence. I hope you'll still enjoy despite the delay - and, as always, I'd love to hear what you think!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts written for the @cssns24 event

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

Also available on AO3, if that's your preference...

Part Two

Killian Jones could not help but worry incessantly, pacing the floor of Lord Briarling’s study without ceasing, mind assailed by all which could go wrong. He had no doubt of Miss Swan’s bravery, her determination, or her intentions - she was a wholly incomparable woman - unlike any he had ever encountered, even his Milah long ago. The problem was, he knew better than most just how powerful, how debilitating the will and control of the being they faced… that they had sent Emma to face alone.

Already, he had asked much of her in the short time he had known her. The trust Emma Swan had bestowed up on him in return was nothing short of astounding. She was smart, discerning, careful not to be falsely taken in - and yet she had not doubted or questioned him, even when his orders and conclusions must have seemed egregious to her ears. That he had been forced to lead the men who had loved her dearest friend to stake and behead the poor sweet Aurora Spindleton’s corpse on the claim that the girl had been turned into a vampire must have seemed an intolerable insult; yet she had steeled herself and accepted the dire need, not holding their actions against any of them.

Not only that, but Emma had stood forth boldly, seeking what she could do to end this creature’s reign before more were turned, their lives destroyed as her friend’s had been. Her voice might have trembled, but she stood straight and tall, her chin jutting forward in stubborn resolve. Though Killian knew she must have been afraid, her pale, perfect face looking to him for guidance had seemed like a candle’s flame breaking through surrounding darkness - more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

It was a risk, certainly, this plan they had concocted in the hopes of ensnaring their quarry. He certainly did not relish the idea of sending Emma alone into perilous surroundings. The thought of her in the Count’s thrall without himself or at least one of their compatriots at her side was enough to bring bile rushing up his throat and a cold pit of fear to settle in his gut. The demon was unpredictable, nearly invincible, and suffered no compunction or fits of conscience to reign his actions. And yet, despite the way his limbs nearly burned for action, how he had wanted to follow behind her carriage to see to her safety, Killian knew their best possibility of luring Count Dracula von Stiltskin into their net and putting him off his guard enough to attack with success was to send her to him in the guise of a besotted innocent. Emma was beguiling enough, and the Count’s thirst, even the Count’s intention, was already turned toward her. He had to trust that she could hold her own, and that she could respond with false interest while still remaining on her guard.

Yet, it was the not-knowing which made his wait so trying. There was no way to ascertain what Emma might have already been faced with - or was already enduring - now that she was out of their reach and beyond communication with him. That morning before the sun had even fully broken across the chill sky, Killian had ridden out on his sturdy Andalusian to follow the path Emma’s carriage had taken the previous night. By the time he had reached the empty and abandoned conveyance and found no sign of either Emma or her driver, he had already known it was a futile journey, yet it was all he could think of to do. It only made his nightmarish reel of possible scenarios Emma might be suffering cycle through his mind more quickly. The poor horses were still hitched, and to Killian’s surprise, still in the area, despite having no tie or guidance, but they were pawing the ground, eyes wild with fear, and he had been able to bring them back to Lord Briarling’s chateau and see them properly tended. Where he had located the carriage though was in the forbidding shadow of the dark, austere castle towering over the area. Even the poor beasts had sensed the “wrongness” in the air - the presence of something wild and unnatural. 

They had all tracked the monster back from his prowl across English soil to the outskirts of his own country. As fate would have it, the Briarling estate owned a hunting outpost just before one crossed over the Romanian border - long unused but perfectly suited to their needs. From there, Emma had ventured on alone, and the rest of waited unwillingly until they could follow.

Finally, Killian stood and strode from the room to find his compatriots in this almost unreal, but necessary, mission. It was now well into the new day, the sun full and warming overhead and rendering the next several hours much safer from their lurking foe. He heard the others moving in the hall and throughout other rooms on the floor below. They have much to do, and the sooner they are off to complete their part of the overall plan, the sooner he can be off to face Dracula head-on at last, after so many years and so much turmoil and waiting. Even more importantly, the sooner they can ride after Emma, hopefully finding her still well and whole, and bring her back to safety again.

He found them all - Sir Philip Thornswood, Graham Morris, and his old friend and colleague Jefferson Seward in the sun porch, partaking in coffee or tea and a late breakfast, but quietly and with an undercurrent of tension, waiting and knowing that their next move was nigh, yet not sure what that move might be. As Killian appeared in the doorway, all three heads turned toward him abruptly, eyes alert, and in Morris’ case, even half-rising from his chair, coiled to spring into action.

“Van Helsing,” Jefferson greeted simply, standing to bring him a cup of coffee and place a strong hand on his shoulder in support. The greeting jarred him in itself, as he had spent much more time recently in Emma’s company - first tending to Aurora, then listening to Emma’s fond memories and intense grief and anger, and then outlining their plan of attack for her - what she must do and how to keep herself as safe as possible. However, in her presence, he had let down his guard and allowed himself to be simply “Killian”, far more than he had done in a very long time. 

“When do we set out?” Jeff pressed, his mouth pursed in tense readiness as his eyes busily attempted to read Killian’s face. 

He took the cup from the physician and drew a long pull of the hot liquid, wincing slightly at its heat and bitterness, even as he savored its familiarity. Pausing only a moment, he then nodded sharply, as if to acknowledge all of them deferring to his direction.

“The task before us is a weighty one,” Killian began solemnly, meeting their eyes and quickly confirming each man’s commitment. “It will not be easily accomplished, but must be done - whatever the cost - if we are to stand any chance against this devil we face.”

Each man, Seward, Morris, and Thornswood in turn, nodded their assent, understanding on their faces and merely awaiting his instruction to take action. In every one of their bearing, he saw the intent and the loss that drove them; they would do what they must and would not shrink from fear or challenge.

“We are aware that the Count must have other lairs, a maze of strongholds in which to hide from the light, as he has made his way far from his citadel in the mountains - with a purpose he has not evinced in an age. Each and every one of these must be destroyed. He must be forced into the open where we stand a chance to fight him.”

“Right you are, Mate,” Graham spoke up with brisk determination, but a slightly puzzled expression marring his brow. “I’ve no question with that.  If sunshine and open space be his only weakness, then we must do away with all his shadows. But how may we know where he has chosen to hide? And, once found, how may we be certain to dismantle each lair?”

Killian’s gaze flicked over to Jefferson’s, as if gauging from his friend who knew Morris better whether or not he should bare all. At the Doctor’s subtle nod, Killian launched into his past history with the Count - how he had watched and studied the monster, waiting and biding his time until he had finally gathered enough knowledge to strike while Dracula von Stiltskin would be most vulnerable to harm. It had to make a mark, for when fighting such a one as this, he might not get a second chance.

When he had finished his condensed tale of explanation, he paused, eying Lord Briarling, Philip Thornswood, in particular with acute regret. “That I was too late to help our dear Miss Spindleton is a heavy burden I must bear,” he finally intoned, forcing the words past clenched teeth and a tight throat. “But I can only pray you will still trust the information I have and the hope that we can save ourselves and countless others, along with our brave and true Miss Swan, who was so dear to Aurora. When Jefferson’s urgent summons reached me, I was in truth already on my way to these parts. All my tracking, spying, and observation had finally bought me an opening that led me straight to this very countryside, even as you called upon me to assist.”

“No wonder you arrived so quickly,” Jefferson exclaimed, clearly taken aback by this revelation that was new to him as well.

He might have said more, but Morris had already broken in urgently. “What had you discovered then? How can it help us?”

Killian noticed that Sir Philip was silent nearest the window, clearly listening to their exchange, but not moving or speaking, a pained look of focus etched upon his features. He could not tell what the other man was thinking, or if beneath his grief the bitterness was taking poisonous root. Whether he laid blame at Killian’s feet or no, he could not judge Van Helsing more harshly than Killian already judged himself. All the time and the sweat and blood, the effort of years, and he had still been too late to thwart the vampire’s draining another innocent of life. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Killian plowed on, not having any recourse but to see the story through to the present. Whether any of them deemed his plans reliable or possible to carry out, he needed to be on his way. He would do all he knew to weaken von Stiltskin, to bring on even an ounce of human weakness he might inflict, before facing the demon once more. He would not - no, he could not survive it - if he were forced to see Emma suffer the same fate as his Milah, and Aurora, had before her.

“There was a ship,” Killian explained, holding out a staying hand as Graham began to pace - needing the movement and action so much that Killian feared the cowboy might race to the docks that very moment before he could even explain what they sought. “It made slow, hidden voyage all the way from (Varna?) near where his castle stands overlooking (Transylvania?) to our English shores undetected. Even with contacts and spies scattered throughout the distance between, I did not hear of its existence until it stopped briefly at some small port for supplies. The uneasy fear its very presence impressed upon the harbormaster there made it memorable enough for him to note when he was next questioned of any strange happenings in his jurisdiction. The description of a dark and eerily silent ship, barely in dock an hour, and odder still, with hardly enough crew to properly man its decks, was enough to convince me Von Stiltskin was on the move with some nefarious purpose in mind - especially joined as it was with reports that he himself had not been sighted on his own lands in some weeks, even at night when he usually hunts.”

His three man audience was captivated now, motionless with eyes fixed upon him as Killian continued his ghastly tail. “However, as concerning as this news was, no one had any way to be certain where he was bound. I was at that point in Italy, seeking a holy relic - a jewel hilted dagger from the Crusades - which my studies had led me to believe might equip one to mortally wound the vampire. I needed to have it in hand before returning to English shores.”

Jefferson opened his mouth at this, no doubt to ask if the mission had been successful, but his friend’s lips snapped together again wordlessly when Killian pulled the weapon from the hidden pocket inside his heavy, dark cloak. Holding it out upon his palm for their perusal, he watched as each member of their band registered its clear import silently, seeming to straighten their shoulders and steel themselves further. This dagger signified their way forward.

“No others know this blade is in my possession,” Killian intoned seriously. “And it must remain that way. One of the very few things which can strike fear into the Count’s blackened heart is the existence of this item which can control his power and do him mortal harm. Though legends and rumors disagree upon how it was ever wrested from his possession, it almost certainly torments him not to have it - the one thing keeping him from true invincibility. I found it safeguarded by a long-forgotten hidden order of monks and managed to successfully convince them I was the correct avenger with whom to entrust the relic. Unfortunately - “

He bowed his head toward Sir Philip Thornswood once more, a heavy moment of quiet remembrance covering the room before he wet his lips and carried on at Philip’s small acknowledgement. “Unfortunately, I was too late. I was still a week’s journey from the English coast when I received Dr. Seward’s summons, along with a notification of the same dark, silent ship docking in Whitby, only to horrify all those at the harbor with the discovery that all aboard it were dead - and this only after a large, black wolf had leapt from its deck snarling and slavering and cutting a path through the area and up into the surrounding wooded hills, leaving behind it an echoing howl that set all who heard its hair on end and chilled them to the bone. They found the poor captain a mere corpse lashed to the mast, note clutched in his hand detailing how something in the dark was picking them off one by one. He was the last one alive and dared not sleep, but knew at some point his body must do so; the note was his attempt to explain what might be found remaining on board.

“The Count!” Sir Philip spat with the force of an invective. “Murdered his own crew as it transported him? For what purpose?”

“He had reached his destination,” Killian answered simply, not at all nonchalant about the slaughter, but needing to be clear how very little a life - any life - truly was to worth to Dracula. “They had served their purpose, and he could not have any witnesses who might cause complications to his plans or raise an alarm (too soon?) If one could sully and drain the beauty and sweetness of an innocent such as your betrothed, my Lord, please be assured, no atrocity is beyond him.”

The sharp, almost spasmodic dip of Philip’s chin showed his frank agreement, having learned all too well the appalling truth of Killian’s words. “Right you are, Van Helsing,” he rasped with a voice that sounded almost rusted with disuse from the last few days’ wordless grief and brooding thought. “So tell us what we must do.”

“Indeed,” Morris chimed in readily, stepping forward once more. “You have the dagger, how will you wield it, and how shall the rest of us work to insure you succeed? We must be off and doing it.”

Killian inclined his head to each of his compatriots, acknowledging their eagerness and desire to be of use. “We will not have to wait much longer,” he assured them. “There is only one last part to my tale, and then we will be on the move, following the tracks he has recklessly left for us - too overconfident in his long invulnerability.”

Here he nodded to Jefferson to take over the narrative, the doctor having gone with him to see almost as soon as Killian had reached Whitby - nigh on a week ago. Emma Swan had requested a mere hour or two alone with her dear friend, promising she knew how to do the few things left to them which would bring Aurora any comfort, and that she would send for them if there were an emergency. The young lady had been wasting away at that point, nothing to be done for her but attempt to ease her discomfort and bide the time. He had seen no harm to leaving Aurora in Emma’s capable hands, nor did he begrudge them any last feminine secrets or promises of the heart in the sweet Miss Spindleton’s final hours. He had needed to see for himself what had been found on the ship in any case, and he did wish for Jefferson’s accompaniment and the added benefit of his insight. 

“On that ship,” Jefferson began, picking up the story’s thread adroitly and pulling it taut again with speed. He held the other two men’s attention as rapt as Killian had done - perhaps more so even, due to their greater connection and shared history, “very little had been found at all, until Van Helsing and I ventured below, into the depths of the hold.”

Killian gratefully turned away as the Doctor raced through the rest of the information needed. He was thankful to have focus off of his person for a moment as he clenched and unclenched his fists and forced himself to draw in and release several deep, cleansing breaths. Every bit as impatient as Graham Morris to be riding into the fray, he only barely kept his impatience from showing through herculean effort. Staring out the window as he swallowed a long pull of rum from the flask discreetly hidden at his hip - he didn’t give a bloody damn how early in the day it was, though others might - Killian stared out the window and forced himself to remember that Emma knew what she was doing, of how often he had marveled at her strength, rather than letting his mind fly to all the ways she could have already been overpowered, tormented, broken beyond - 

With a harsh jerk of muscles that he feared could hardly be missed by the astute men around him, Killian spun away from the view out the window of the morning dew on the nearby fields and caught the last of Jefferson’s explanation.

“So, to the best of our knowledge and deduction, this metal casket full of raw earth must have been the one our Dracula traveled in - his shield by day, as it were. He has, no doubt, others scattered throughout the countryside at intervals so that he may move around as needed, stalking his chosen victims and adding to his cursed ranks while maintaining safe places to retreat from the light of the sun. We must split up, find these strongholds, and destroy the caskets within, leaving him no place to left to rest concealed.”

“Aye,” Killian resumed, signaling Jefferson seamlessly, and the doctor turned to get the maps he had brought, marked with the targets for them to hand to Thornswood and Morris. “We dare not travel and enter these possible lairs completely alone, but if we break into pairs and reconvene this evening when the task is completed, then we can make our way toward Castle Dracula itself as a reunited band. The fiend himself will have no choice but to flee back from whence he came when he sees that there is no other place for him to hide. We can only hope and pray that our brave Miss Swan has remained safe from his influence in body and mind, has been able to use her quick wit and feminine wiles as planned to infiltrate and put him at his ease. He will wish to prolong and savor his enjoyment of such a rare delicacy…” His abhorrence for the way the creature would view this woman as a mere object, as a possession to be enjoyed and then tossed aside, was clear in his pained expression and the way he nearly spat the words, even as he strove to be realistic about what she and the rest of them faced. “His last casket will no doubt be in his castle. If Emma can find and destroy it while he is unaware, and we arrive before his return to find it so… we will be ready for him. He will have to face us - once and for all - desperate and with no other hole in which to hide, weakened enough that we just might stand a chance against his evil power.”

As one, the other three were on their feet standing before him; all reached in, hands clasped between them in solemn promise. They would chase this demon to his end, or die in the attempt. If he had more than a moment to dwell in such thoughts, he would have been almost overcome with a surge of conflicting emotions. For years now, Killian had been a man apart - had forced himself to be so, out of duty and penance, and for the safety of any who might have joined him. The sense of brotherhood and belonging which flooded him before their tight huddle was broken seemed more than he could have hoped to find again in this life.

If only they might succeed in their wild hope of a quest… and he could reach Emma Swan to find her still well and whole… he might at last cease to be only his mission and a vindicating shadow of a man, and find himself once more a man of flesh and blood - with a life of warm reality - for her sake.

They had much to do before they could ride after her. It was time they began.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Emma held her breath while she crept through darkness thick and gray, heavy as hanging vines or a thick curtain, as she made her way determinedly through the bowels of Count Dracula von Stiltskin’s castle. Guided only by the small flare of a single candle in hand, a mere pinprick in the black veil surrounding her, for she dared no more, Emma slunk as soundlessly as possible down one long, deserted hall and corridor after another, moving lower floor by floor, her breath shallow with dread that kept her lungs from drawing in a full breath.

She had to be near the lowest level of the massive structure; it felt as though she had been alone in the dark for hours, for so long that it seemed she might never reach the end, even as she scolded herself it had to be fear and paranoia working on her nerves and overriding her good sense. When Killian had instructed her where to seek out the Count’s lair, he had reasoned that the further below the surface and into the Earth should could get, the more likely to find Dracula’s true resting place. His nest would be removed from all else, far from any risk of light or accidental exposure and discovery, and difficult to reach. The monster had not survived so long without caution and numerous safeguards - no matter the preternatural strength he wielded. 

Even at that, however, Emma still doubted her chances at finding his coffin bed - even if on the surface far above her all was still and von Stiltskin was far from home. It could not be so straightforward as all that. She feared all that could go wrong with her heart in her throat, even as she forced herself forward, one foot in front of another. 

Killian had also advised, and she had agreed with him - as daunting a challenge as it would be - that her best hope was to feign intrigue, curiosity, and an impulse she could not fight, once she encountered Dracula upon his own land. To implore him to expose her to the wonders, freedoms, and power at which her dear friend had only vaguely hinted. Their chance at convincing him she was stronger, that she would survive where Aurora had not, and that she, Emma, could be useful to him, was her prayer of survival and the way in for the rest of them following after - if she could keep up the charade that long.

It had turned her stomach to pretend interest, perhaps even wide-eyed attraction, when Dracula had met her waylaid coach in the darkness the night before - seeming to separate from the shadows so subtly that he must have been part of them. Every fiber of her being had teetered on rebellion at batting her lashes like some ninny and simpering coquettishly to wheedle a welcome into the vampire’s abode - so much so that she had fisted her hands into the fabric of her skirts to keep her fingers from balling up and smashing violently into the creature’s cold-eyed face.

But gain entrance she had, and the ancient being had played a dutiful host, a rich and generous nobleman offering food and shelter to a weary, lost traveler. He had smiled as he asked Emma of herself and what brought her to the area, but the whole time an undercurrent of knowing malice ran between them. He was already aware of her, had allowed her admittance because he wanted her there. Von Stiltskin watched her ever movement avidly - a spider waiting for the hapless, innocent fly to tumble into his web and be ensnared. Just as Emma knew what he was, the Count had been aware of her too, and had already decided she would add nicely to his macabre collection. It was eerie, unsettling knowledge that only served to put her further on edge, though the Count had not shown himself since bidding her adieu near midnight, telling her he was rarely available - “a busy man” - in daylight hours, but to make herself at home.

She had done just that, though certainly not for the sake of simply enjoying fine hospitality. Thankfully, her thoughts were saved from continuing on the same whirling cycle of wondering if the vampire knew exactly what her intentions were, where he might be, and if he watched her from the shadows, even at that very moment. Before her stood a heavy wooden door, solidly barring the passage she had begun to fear unending.

Having come too far at this point to give up, Emma struggled to pull the door open with one hand, not willing to put down the candle and risk its going out - the utter darkness she would be plunged into if that occurred struck sickening fear to her very core. Careful not to wrench too quickly and make more noise than absolutely necessary, the heavy barrier finally began to move as she continued to tug steadily with all her might.

The vault of sorts which greeted Emma beyond the door seemed exactly the sort of hidden nest she had sought. Though she felt her cheeks heat at how pleased and playfully self-satisfied he would be at hearing it, Emma allowed herself a mere moment to savor the image of Killian’s face when she was able to tell him how well he had guided her; it was almost exactly as he had attempted to describe. It might not be proper, but the effect even his image had on her pulse and shivering frame was a comfort there in the nightmare depths.

She moved forward with pure determination and force of will, though her knees trembled beneath her. Feeling for the satchel which hung at her waist, Emma tried to draw strength from the vial of holy water and the communion wafers she knew were stowed within. All was ready. She was ready. She needed only to find and open the coffin which must be von Stiltskin’s, put the emblems within the dirt it contained, and it could no longer house the vampire - his last refuge would be ruined for him.

As the light of her candle illuminated the small space, it was hard to miss the large, ancient-looking casket nearly central in the room on a sort of plinth.

‘Not a bit dramatic,’ Emma grumbled to herself in nervous comment. ‘Not at all.’  Still, she shook herself from the uncertain pause and hurried forward, not about to linger if she needn’t do so.

Having waited until the dusk of evening and for dinner once again to be concluded and for the Count to excuse himself from her presence for the night, Emma had only undertaken this venture when as sure as possible that he must be gone - out hunting or gathering his minions. That hardly made it easier to stand beside the coffin though - feeling more fragile and small than she’d ever had cause to in her life.

Finally, she forced out a tense breath and shoved the lid from the casket, not allowing herself to hesitate a moment longer. Every second she lingered was another second in which she could be discovered.

As the heavy lid fell away, clanging to the stone floor, Emma couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her, horror in every pore of her being. Dracula was there, lying still as Death in the coffin before her. Shock held her rigid in indecision for terrifying moments as her mind tried to process what to do, the other possible plan if given the miraculous opportunity.

Hands shaking, she fumbled for the hidden blade at her thigh, bypassing the elements and hoping to move right to staking the creature before it woke to find its stronghold breached. She raised her hand to strike, aiming to pierce the monster’s heart and paralyze him against any attack until she could manage to sever the head.

But before she could let the blow fall, those inhuman eyes flicked open, a garish sneer on his face as the reptilian eyes froze her in place helplessly. “Oh Miss Swan,” Dracula chided silkily, as one might scold a wayward soul who knew they’d earned their punishment. “You must know better than that. You see, I’ve been expecting you.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The hoofbeats of their horses pounded on the hard ground as the four riders raced desperately along the treacherous pass as quickly as they dared in the rapidly failing light. Night was falling fast, and though they had managed to ruin the numerous hideaways Dracula had planted along his route from ancient castle to the English soil he meant to claim, it still seemed an empty victory until they reached the end of this frantic ride. Only seeing Dracula himself reduced to ash and vanquished forever with absolute certainty would allow any member of the band rest or peace. That the first prong of their attack had been managed, allowed a flicker of hope but little more, as they careened around sharp corners of rocky cliff face and whipped past the grasping fingers of bare branches and thorned hedges; little green lived here, in what seemed a dark waste of gray stone and deathly stillness. Was it merely their horrified fancy, or had the entire region come to resemble its horrid master?

Killian could not bring himself to pull back on his mount’s reins, even as rocks skittered from the edges of the narrow, uneven path as it wound higher, and crashed down the steep incline with disturbing regularity - sharply reminding that their own fall would be no less swift if one step went wrong. Still, the tremor running through his hand clenched tightly on the braided leather leads was not fear for his own safety, or even that of the companions at his side, but the sense that their arrival had already taken far too long for the woman awaiting them. 

The sturdy Andalusian’s dark flanks were flecked with sweat as they at last crested the final winding rise and plunged into a dense copse of gnarled trees. As they left the shadows of the twisted grove minutes later, the grouping thick but not wide, they emerged upon a wide open expanse in the shadow of tall walls surrounding a wide gate on yet another sharp rise. Startlingly close to the Count’s forbidding stronghold at last, nearly on the proverbial doorstep before realizing it.

Killian did pull up then, his horse’s tossed head and the shivering of its coat making even the animal’s unease clear. The courtyard and grounds seemed quiet and deserted before them, but he looked to the other three men for any hesitation, a last warning to be alert and on their guard needless on the tip of his tongue that he swallowed back with effort.

Seeing no hint of hesitation in them either, Killian wheeled around to press onward. His horse had just begun to move again when a sharp jolt nearly wrenched him from his saddle. Searing pain clutched his insides, squeezing his gut until he couldn’t help doubling over his mount’s withers. Blinding light overtook his vision for a moment, and when it receded, he knew. Something had happened to Emma - or was happening even that moment as he struggled to regain his breath. He knew no science, history, or legend of such visceral physical connection, but the knowledge was certain in his blood all the same. They were somehow connected, and he was experiencing her turmoil and fear in his own veins.

Having managed to retain his seat, if only just, Killian charged forward, teeth grit in determination against the quivering in his limbs from the easing onslaught and the pounding of his traitorous heart. Seward, Morris, and Thornswood at his back had never been more welcome than in that moment, his heart gone cold within his chest no matter how hard he tried to steel himself for what awaited.

As they reached the towering doors in the surrounding wall, the entrance into the fortress itself, Killian swung from his horse’s back, pleased to find himself stumbling only slightly upon impact with the ground, his strength returning with every breath. A sharp swat to its flank sent the majestic creature off to safety, Killian musing idly that at least perhaps the Andalusian would survive the night. He was prepared to pry open the door with his bare hands until his fingers bled or beat at the sturdy wood with sticks and stones until he chipped the barrier away, so heedless was his need to get inside and reach Emma Swan before it was too late. Oh aye, he still desired the end of his long-sought foe, and would see it accomplished if it took another unfathomable stretch of years, but there was no hiding the truth from himself any longer. It was more important that Emma Swan lived - that her shining light not be extinguished by the vampire as had so many been before her. She was paramount - and beyond her, little else truly mattered, not in his deepest heart of hearts.

However, though they had all raised their hands or put shoulders to the gates to push, to see if the sturdy boundary could be moved, before they could, the portal shifted and with heavy groan began to move inward of its own volition. That, or it was rolled back dramatically by some powerful unseen force.

It didn’t bod well. Killian looked sideways to Jefferson, brow arched in suspicious query as if to confirm his suspicion. Their quarry knew they had arrived and was granting them entrance. His friend did not hold his gaze long; a stiff nod of agreement, and then his eyes fell with a terrible resignation and turning of his head to hide the expression. If the beast awaiting them wished their approach, what would surely greet them could only be horrendous.

None of that mattered though. Striding forward, the four men entered Dracula’s castle, needing only to step fully into the large entry hall before the thick doors were swung shut behind them with a bang, sealing them within. They could see by the flickering light of candles and torches throughout the wide, high-ceilinged space, but the fading evening’s natural light was held outside by the lack of windows in the stone walls and the heavy draperies concealing what apertures did exist, shielding the vampire from the rays that would burn him irreparably.

Eyes adjusted, all came up short, frozen at the nightmare tableau across the room, glowing a sickening amber and red in the flickering flames that illuminated it for their human sight. Not in the least slowed or phased by discovery, the creature continued what he had been about before their entrance. Held before him as a shield, stood Emma Swan, the vampire’s arms seemingly holding her upright as she slumped frighteningly limp within such firm grasp. Her blonde tresses streamed down her back like a flood of molten gold, but bile clogged Killian’s throat at the sight of the white-pale clawed hand that held it aside to bare her neck. From what he could see of her face, Swan’s eyes were open but unfocused in some sort of trance - though her hands did appear to be raised to push back futilely against von Stiltskin’s chest in hopes of holding him off.

The only thing granting him any sort of relief was the subtle rise and fall of her breast barely visible across the space separating them. She was still breathing, still trying to fight.

And then, as though he had merely been waiting for an audience to his depravity, Dracula sent one evil, calculating look at those who had hoped to defeat him, and bent to sink his fangs into Emma’s flesh.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @laschatzi

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @myfearless-love @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @lfh1226-linda

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @drowned-dreamer

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @everything-person

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm

@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@goforlaunchcee @laianely @belovedcreation @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

@grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

[snowbellewells]

@hollyethecurious Oh wow!! 😮 🤩😮 I seriously love this one! I have to admit I’ve gotten way behind in keeping up with my reading, reviewing and reblogging lately, but I was so excited to see more of this story. I remember loving the teaser bit of a Part One to this back when you wrote it, and I was thrilled to see more of the story emerge.

You do such a brilliant job setting the scene of Emma with her hit, her herbs and her magic, and Killian coming there to seek her knowledge and aid to free himself from Pan. It’s perfectly set up that she has pressing business to settle with Pan as well. And it makes sense with the abandonment and hardship Hook faced in childhood (and what he has seen of the suffering in Neverland, no doubt) that he would easily take up Emma’s cause to find her son as his own - even if he weren’t clearly attracted to her.

Oh, but that attraction… 😏 You’ve balanced it so well here, ebbing and flowing beneath the surface of their whole interaction, really from the moment she turns and he discovers she is far from the old crime he had expected. Their give and take, and the crackling awareness of each other despite all the more serious things swirling around them, is delicious and tangible. Hook’s honor and courage is clear in the fact that he would have stayed and fought for her against them mob, even though he had just met her, because she’d done nothing wrong and it was the right thing to do. All the same, I liked where you took it even better. My heart was fluttering with excitement when she said she was going with him and transported them both back to the Jolly Roger. I loved that moment they just stood there on the deck, arms still around each other, and you knew they would see to the mission first, but their intent to explore that closeness is far from over. “His eyes sprang open and he found himself surrounded by a swirl of white mist. Gone were the aromatics of the witch’s hut, replaced by the bite and brine of the sea. It was not a murderous mob, but the comforting snap of sails and lapping of water against the hull of his ship that filled his ears. When the mist dissipated, instead of the soft flicker of candles, it was the moon’s rays glowing off the shimmering waves that illuminated the deck. The same rays that sparkled in the witch’s eyes, her neck still craned so she could peer up at him, their arms still circling one another, their gazes locked in an enchantment far stronger than any mystic might produce.” Simply Gorgeous!!! 🩷🩷🩷

And the bit with the Jolly welcoming her aboard as well?!? And his whispering over her shoulder as they take to the sky?!? Whew!! It was steamy and had me melting!! 🫠 So, so, good!! I know the muse cannot be forced, but I really do hope she gives you more of this one!!!

CS AU: The Witch in the Woods (2/?)

Summary: “If it’s aid of a magical sort ye seek, then you’ll be wanting to find the witch in the woods.”

A/N: This is a continuation of a short ficlet I wrote back in 2021 for that year's Halloweek (link below). When I had the idea of doing a spooky season bingo, I thought it would be a good time to add to this fun little tale so I could mark out the witches square. I would love to expand on this more, but that is entirely up to the muse. As of now, she has given me zero ideas for future installments, however, she is also a fickle bitch, so... who knows??

Although her bday was technically yesterday, I am offering up this continuation to @kmomof4 as a special gift. She yelled at me back in 2021 to continue it and has brought it up every year since. I doubt this will get her off my back, but maybe it'll satisfy her for this year... maybe. Happy belated Birthday, Krystal!!

Rated T for now / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

Hook stood stock still in shock. Her son was related to the devil who had bound him in servitude? How long had the lad been in Neverland? Was he a lost boy? Or perhaps one of the poor unfortunates the tribe of miscreants kept captive for sport? He would not put it past the deranged brat to torment and torture the boy for his own amusement, despite a familial connection.

Before Hook could voice any of this, a blinding glow illuminated from behind a cloth draped over something in the opposite corner. The witch turned and crossed the room, throwing back the cloth and revealing a tall mirror. However, in its reflection was not the witch or the interior of her meager hut, but a viewing portal, depicting a group of townspeople marching through the woods.

“Right on schedule,” the witch sighed sardonically before spinning around and murmuring an enchantment under her breath.

“What the devil is that?” Hook asked, but his question was nearly forgotten as his attention turned to the items that had begun moving of their own accord, whizzing past his head on their way to a carpet bag sitting open atop the work table.

“That-” the witch answered, gathering a few things on her own and packing them into the bag. “-is an angry mob. Note the torches and pitchforks.”

“I gathered,” Hook exasperated, attempting to duck out of the way while jars, vials, bottles, and sachets smelling of herbs continued to glide overhead. “Where are they headed?”

“Here, I'd imagine,” she replied with an unaffected air in her tone. “Most likely to hang me or burn me at the stake.”

Hook balked at that statement and the way she said it so matter-of-factly. “Come again?”

The witch stepped back towards the mirror and gestured at the figure centered within the frame. “See that man? He came here a few days ago, convinced his infant son had been cursed by the midwife and begged me to help.”

“The midwife cursed his newborn babe?”

“No,” she informed him, shortly. “She did her job and did it well. The issue with his son came later.”

“What issue?” Hook asked, making his way to stand next to her now that the objects in her hut had quieted down.

Her gaze still fixed on the mirror, she forlornly told him, “I do not believe the mother’s milk ever came in. The man said the boy would latch, but never seemed satisfied. He was slowly starving and I told the man as much. I suggested they supplement with goat’s milk and offered them an icing rod to feed him with, but…”

“But?”

The witch’s features tightened from a mixture of sadness and anger. “He said, no son of mine will be fed from a goat’s teet. That be the devil’s work.” Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the work table and began inspecting the contents of the carpet bag. “He insisted it had to be witchcraft and demanded I give him something to break the spell.”

“What did you do?” Hook inquired.

“I gave him some herbs to give his wife,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at the mirror, her brow pinched and eyes squinted, straining to make out the details of the image. Perhaps attempting to ascertain how far into the woods the mob had traveled? “I did not tell him it was to increase her milk supply, but I did tell him it would take a few days for the ‘magic’ to take full effect. I warned him that if he did not see that his son was nourished during that time that it may well be too late, and unfortunately…”

“It was,” Hook finished, full comprehension of the situation now becoming clear to him. “So… the man blames you for his son’s death and means to see you pay for his ignorance and superstition.”

“It appears so,” she replied, focusing once more on the bag.

Hook gripped the hilt of his sword and raised his namesake menacingly towards the mirror. “I will not let that happen, love. I will protect you. I swear it.”

The witch chortled; an amused snort reverberated past her lips, causing Hook’s head to snap in her direction.

“I don’t plan for either of us to be here when they arrive,” she told him, closing the bag and lifting it from the table as though it weighed nothing at all. “Why do you think I’ve been packing?” Stepping up to him, she craned her neck to meet his gaze and said, “Shall we?”

“Shall we… what?”

Again, she rolled her eyes, another beguiling scoff huffing from her chest as she inquired, “You are a pirate, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Which means, you have a ship docked somewhere close by?”

“I do.”

“And you still wish for me to remove your binding, yes?”

“Aye.”

“And I’ve told you my fee, haven’t I?”

“Indeed,” he answered. “You wish for me to steal back your son from Pan.”

“Well, then…”

She paused and wet her lips, drawing his gaze down to her mouth. If not for the sound of the approaching mob, he may well have given in to the temptation of claiming that mouth… and other parts of her as well.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, stating that which should have been obvious to him before now.

“Very well,” he acquiesced, forcing himself to step back from her so he could make his way to the door, ready to fight his way through the mob if necessary.

“Not that way,” she said, grasping his arm and pulling him back to her. She set the carpet bag at their feet - or rather, nestled it on top of their feet - then wound her arms around his waist. “Think of your ship, Captain,” she murmured in the scant space between them. “Close your eyes and imagine us at her helm. I’ll do the rest.”

The shouts and cries echoing off the trees outside had become almost deafening. It took every ounce of trust he did not know he possessed to do as she instructed. His eyelids slid shut and his grip at her waist tightened. Images of the two of them together at the helm of his beloved Jolly Roger filled his mind’s eye and without warning a weightlessness took hold of him.

His eyes sprang open and he found himself surrounded by a swirl of white mist. Gone were the aromatics of the witch’s hut, replaced by the bite and brine of the sea. It was not a murderous mob, but the comforting snap of sails and lapping of water against the hull of his ship that filled his ears. When the mist dissipated, instead of the soft flicker of candles, it was the moon’s rays glowing off the shimmering waves that illuminated the deck. The same rays that sparkled in the witch’s eyes, her neck still craned so she could peer up at him, their arms still circling one another, their gazes locked in an enchantment far stronger than any mystic might produce.

“What’s your name, love?” Hook asked in a desperate breath, fearful that the slightest sound or sudden move might cause the woman to vanish as quickly as she’d had whisked them from her hut.

“Emma,” she replied on a breathless exhale. “Emma Swan.”

“Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, Miss Swan,” Hook murmured, his fingers lightly skimming over the rough, woolen texture of her dress. “Captain Killian Jones. At your service.”

Hook had to force himself to not tighten his hold of her when she turned in his arms. Leaning back against his chest, she gently caressed the wheel, her fingers wrapping around one of the spokes. A crackling, the likes of which he had experienced during many a storm where lightning threatened to strike, swept through him and across the deck.

The witch - Emma - let out a giggle tinted with affection and lifted her head to gaze up at the sails. “A pleasure to meet you, too,” she said on a note of fondness, and Hook realized his ship, his enchanted ship, was also welcoming her aboard.

“I think it’s time we set sail. Don't you, Captain?” She made no attempt to move from the spot she currently occupied - the one manning the helm nor the one that kept her pressed against him.

Using the side of his boot, he shoved the carpet bag - still nestled between their feet - to the side and stepped in closer. Reaching around her, he grasped the wheel, caging her in, and gave his ship the command to set sail. The anchor was hoisted, the rigging was tightened, the sails snapped to attention, and the ship lurched forward, gliding through the waters. Once they were clear of the harbour, the mainsail lit up with a glittering sparkle and the hull lifted effortlessly into the night.

Emma gasped and braced her stance, but her surprised reaction was quickly replaced with an astonished laugh of awe and wonder.

“Hold on tight, love,” Hook crooned in her ear, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth at the wash of gooseflesh that erupted down her neck and across the swell of her breasts. “We’ll be in Neverland before you know it.”

“Will we?” she replied, her voice a bit hoarse and husky, making Hook wish the journey to their destination took longer… much, much longer.

“Aye,” he answered, molding himself to her back and pressing his cheek against hers from over her shoulder as he pointed towards starboard. “See there?” he said, turning his face towards hers, their lips now a hair’s breadth apart. “That’s the way to Neverland. To your boy.”

Emma’s eyes cut to the sky then back to Hook’s forget-me-not gaze before dropping down to his mouth. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning?”

“Aye, love,” Hook murmured against her lips. “Straight on ‘til morning.”

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

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@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

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@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[let-it-raines]

Black Velvet (Part Two)

1919. The War is over, but life is far from normal. While the imminent danger is gone for many, it is not gone for Emma Swan. Her secrets have always been dangerous and had the ability to control her, but they have never been more dangerous than now as she is forced to work undercover as a barmaid and keep her true intentions hidden from the most notorious gang leader in England.

Her life depends on it, but unfortunately for Emma, Killian Jones can read her better than anyone ever has.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I know, I know, we thought my days of you guys convincing me to continue one-shots were over 😉 In all seriousness, I did not intend to do this and wasn’t going to, but my mind started working and here we are. 

We pick up with our favorite duo (and Lee, lol) on their journey to America! Thanks to @shireness-says and @resident-of-storybrooke​ for helping me out a little on this🖤

Ao3: Part One | Part Two

Tumblr: Part One

-/-

1920.

Emma has never hated the sea more.

When she was a child, it was her favorite place in the world. The insides of orphanages and homes were dull with broken furniture and scratchy blankets, and when she could get away, she would try to find the ocean. There was a rare time in her life where she lived near the shore, and every day she breathed in the salt air and looked out onto the water with the hope that more was out there and with the hope that she wouldn’t always be so alone.

The sea was her safe haven.

Now it is her enemy.

One of many, if she’s honest. Her childhood dreams have become her waking nightmare. She’s spent fifteen days on the ocean on her way to a new country, but all she wants is to be back in England in the comfort of her bed in her grungy little flat she thought she hated. Every day feels a little closer to her last, like Gold is on her heels, a gun pressed to her temple.

Her thoughts have run wild with fear. What if he was fast enough and followed them? What if he’s on the next ship to America? What if he’s found William or Rob and hurt them?

What if he’s found her son and hurt him?

She doesn’t keep up with him, knowing that each bit of information about him breaks her a little more. She wasn’t ready to be a mother, still isn’t, and it isn’t fair to the kid for her to check up on him. She gave him up for him to have his best chance, for him to have a good life, and from what she’s seen, he’s had that.

Emma is terrified that her running away is going to strip that good life away from him, and she should have thought more about that before she allowed Killian to pay for their passage on this ship. Hopefully his parents have enough protections that everything will be fine, but she knows that just because they work in the government with Gold doesn’t mean he’s safe.

Gold will obviously betray anyone, but she hopes he has limits when it comes to a child.

Her stomach turns as they move over a rough patch of ocean, and she wraps her hands around the railings as another breeze washes over her. Her nose is red with chill, her toes curling under themselves in her boots, and suddenly the temperature warms, a solid body closing in on hers, an arm wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her closer as unshaven whiskers prickle against her temple.

“You’ll be nothing but an icicle if you stay out here, love,” Killian tells her as the ocean roars around them.

“And why would you care about that?” Emma bristles.

He sighs. “Please come back to the cabin.”

Emma pulls away from Killian, gooseflesh bubbling up her arms and a shiver wrapping around her spine. She doesn’t feel like having him near her or going back to the cabin. Escaping closeness to Killian is the reason she left the warmth of the cabin to begin with. “I don’t want to come back to the cabin.”

“You are going to freeze.”

“It is a hell of a lot warmer out here than it is in there.”

“You speak in falsities.”

She does, but she won’t admit that.

Emma cocks her head and rolls her eyes before looking at the ocean again. According to the Captain and several crew members, they should be in New York either tonight or tomorrow morning, and Emma cannot wait to step foot on dry land again. She doesn’t know what their plans are for when they get there, but she knows that even if she doesn’t stay with Killian, she has enough money to get her lodgings and food for at least a few months. She hopes that she’ll be back in England by then. Or another country in Europe.

“I don’t.”

Killian’s lips press into a firm line, and the lines on his forehead appear. She’s seen that look more than she would care for, and she doesn’t care to see it now. “Swan.”

“No. I don’t want to go back to the fucking cabin, Killian. I’ve been in there for two weeks with you and Lee, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of having to listen to Lee complain, and I’m exhausted from having to figure out when you’re going to ignore me or not. I sleep with your chest pressed to my back every night, and I’ve never felt so alone.”

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Emma throws her hands up in the air as they hit another rough wave and Emma’s stomach churns. This fucking ship.  “I want you to make up your mind, Killian. Do you want to kill me for betraying you? Do you want to fuck me? Do you want both? Because I don’t know, and I need to know what I’m dealing with. Because if I’m going to die, do it now so I don’t have to suffer on this ship any longer.”

He takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest, his coat shifting with the movement. Emma watches as his hair blows in the wind, long black strands whipping together then apart. He hasn’t shaved for these two weeks, his skin is paler, and there are purple bags underneath his eyes. Even with the striking blue, his eyes are tired, sad, and Emma likes to convince herself that he is just as confused and affected by everything like she is. He has to be, but then again, Emma has never known Killian to be unsure of anything.

His power is in his sureness. His steadiness.

It is all rocking beneath their feet.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to kill you. That has never been in question.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Bloody hell! I don’t know, Swan! You cannot expect me to have everything between us figured out in a fortnight when I’m aware of the fact that I’ve known you since June and yet all of it has been a lie.”

“It hasn’t all been a lie.”

“What hasn’t been?” he counters, his voice still raised, and she notices the crowd around them turning their heads to look. Their conversation has piqued the interest of the ship, and Emma doesn’t want that. She cannot have this conversation with people watching, listening, judging her. “I need to know because I cannot be a fool who is brought down by giving my trust and my heart to someone who hasn’t bothered to do the same.”

“What you mean to say is you cannot be a fool who is brought down by a woman.”

Killian scoffs and steps toward her, pressing his hand into the small of her back. It’s a feather of a touch beneath her layers of clothes, but she can still feel it, warmth permeating through. “Let’s go back to our cabin.”

“Is Lee there?”

“No.”

Emma nods and begins walking through the crowd until they come across the staircase that leads them below deck and to their cabin. They’re in the middle of the hall, and she has to kick the door open until she’s in the small space that has nothing more than two small beds and a dresser that is bolted into the floor. There were more luxurious rooms as well as ones without privacy, but Killian didn’t want to waste money when they don’t have much of a plan for what to do when they arrive in New York. Well, he might have a plan. Before they left he managed to send a letter to Liam as well as making several phone calls, but Emma wasn’t privy to any of that information. She was still trying to wrap her head around the previous twenty-four hours of her life.

The door clicks closed behind them, and Emma settles down on Lee’s bed while Killian sits opposite her on their bed, his knees hitting hers. In reality, it’s much warmer down here, and the shivers that were taking over her begin to dissipate.

Emma loves this man sitting across from her. She loves the blue of his eyes, the quirk of his smile, the scars lining his skin. She loves the way his mouth feels when it’s on her, the way he feels inside of her. She loves the way he tells a story, the way he makes her laugh until her stomach hurts, and the way that despite their history, he makes her comfortable for the first time in her life.

No part of her is comfortable right now.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, Emma looks up from her twiddling fingers and to an expectant Killian. She doesn’t know what he wants from her or what she can give him, so she begins with the basics, the history that is unchanged no matter how much she wishes to change it. “I was born in Brighton. I don’t know of my parents. I was raised in homes until I left to be on my own at sixteen. That’s when I became pregnant, and everything after that has been me working for Gold. He gave me my education out of necessity for the job, and everything I own has been his doing. A part of me sometimes feels like everything I am is his doing.” Emma shrugs and clasps her hands together. “I can’t think of any specific lie I’ve told you. I have learned it’s easier to keep track of things if I only tell the truth, even if it means cutting some details short. The only lie was my intentions and why I walked into My Fairest Lady.”

“How old are you now?” Killian asks.

“I turned twenty-four in October.”

He hums and leans back, closing his eyes so his dark lashes fall against his cheeks. “So Gold has had you under his thumb for eight years then?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a coward of a man,” Killian growls, but his eyes stay closed. “His wife, my Milah, was tired of the way he paid her no attention. She wanted out of the marriage. She wanted…she wanted to do many things with her life, but he wouldn’t let her leave. When she did, he murdered her in front of me and then set the building on fire. I nearly lost my hand trying to save her. I’ve never understood why he went away after that, why he was waiting to catch me in an illegal act. He could have pulled the trigger at any moment, but he didn’t.”

“Do you have an idea as to why?”

One eye opens, and his foot hooks around her ankle. “I think he believed that living on the edge of fear would be a greater torture than instant death, but I fear neither him nor death. He should fear me for what I’m going to do when I see him again.”

The venom in Killian’s voice has Emma’s shivers return. This is a man set out for vengeance, a man who wants to take a life, and as much as she would like to do the same for all Gold has done to her, she doesn’t know if she can.

Emma has feared death for years, and all she wants is to live without shackles holding her down.

“How do you despise Gold but love me?” Emma asks. “I worked for him. I could have been the reason you were murdered.”

“You had no choice, love.” He leans forward, invading her space, and his breath comes up in a white puff of air between them. She can smell the rum he must have had earlier. “I never once thought I would love again after Milah. My heart was black, and there was no room for that sort of thing, especially after the War. My only job in life is to keep the Jones Corporation alive and make sure it continues when I’m gone, but then you walked into the pub and sang as you poured a drink for Leroy. Something shifted inside of me then. I cannot give you my full trust, love. Not yet. And I cannot guarantee that there will be no strife between us because I am still trying to figure what the hell is going on in my mind, but I would like to imagine there is a world where you and I can have the simple pleasures in life.”

He leans back and laughs, clicking his tongue. “Well, at least on occasion. I don’t think you and I are set for a life with a white picket fence and nothing to worry us.”

“I’d like that,” Emma smiles, “I think. It’d be nice not to worry.”

Killian leans forward and reaches his hand out. She takes it and is pulled into him, settling her knees on either side of his hips and she settles in his lap. His lips ghost over the bare skin of her neck, his hand tugging away her scarf until there’s more skin for him to devour, and Emma lets him. She does not know what is between them or what will come next, but for now, she can forget about all of that.

She hasn’t felt good like that for two weeks, and the chill that’s been constant on her skin has been both from the ocean and from Killian, his shoulder turned to her even when he’s pressed against her.

“Swan,” he whispers, almost reverent, as her hands reach underneath his coat and start to take it off. “What are you doing?”

“Do you have to fully trust me for us to do this?”

His breath is warm against her, his teeth sharp with her skin, but his nose is soft as it presses into the hollow of her throat to speak. “No.” He helps her push his coat off, and now she can feel the muscles in his back. “You don’t have to fully trust me either, love, but one day, we’ll do this with no barriers between us.”

Emma’s nails scratch against his skin. “What a glorious day that will be.”

Killian kisses her until she’s dizzy, touches her until she’s breathless, and he moves inside of her until she’s fully warm, sweat beading at her temples and the small of her back. Killian’s weight above her is a comfort, his hand on her thigh is a guide, urging her to lift it higher so he can sink deeper, and his voice is a melody of a song that is familiar but the lyrics are floating away, so close, but far enough away for her to not be able to reach.

She doesn’t care.

Not when she finally might have someone who could want to be hers.

“Oi, did you see what they’re serving in the dining hall?” Lee groans as he pushes his way into the room with little preamble. “It’s nothing more than stale bread. I – oh, fuck off,” he mumbles as Killian shifts over Emma to cover her and pulls the sheets over his arse. He chuckles into her neck, and Emma presses her lips to his cheek. “I have to share this cabin with the two of you. Have a little compassion.”

“Lee, go back to the fucking dining hall and get us some bread,” Killian mumbles, pulling away from her neck and winking.

“Did you not hear me when I said it was stale?”

“Are you so obtuse that you do not realize that the lady and I need our privacy?”

“I expect my own room whenever we get to New York.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t leave you on the streets. Now go.”

Lee curses underneath his breath, but he quickly leaves the room, the cabin door clicking behind him. Killian’s jaw clenches, and Emma reaches up to caress it, her fingers dancing along his skin, coaxing him back to her.

“Would you really leave your brother in the streets in a foreign country?”

“Eh,” Killian clicks his tongue, “possibly. He has a few lessons he needs to learn.”

Emma sighs and closes her eyes before pressing her lips to the underside of his jaw. “Promise me you won’t leave Lee on the streets…unless he insults me because I’m a woman again. Then he can spend some time away from us.”

“That is a promise I can make,” Killian chuckles.

-/-

When they step on dry land the next day, Emma’s legs nearly crumble beneath her. America is a foreign land, and while the soil should feel the same as England, it doesn’t.

She doesn’t know how it feels or what to feel, and Emma doesn’t fully process everything that happens once they leave the ship. She fills out papers, careful only to give as much information as is necessary, and she watches as Killian puts in false information. She should have done the same, but it’s too late now.

Hopefully Gold will never make the voyage here and if he does, he won’t come through this port and check the records.

She doesn’t know where to go, but Killian does, taking them to a line of smaller boats that are going to take them into Manhattan. The thought of getting on another boat makes her stomach queasy, but she does it anyway, keeping her luggage in her lap. When they’re on land again, they start walking, wandering through bustling streets that are full of more people than Emma ever saw in Birmingham. As they move and her feet begin to ache in her boots, she watches as the clothes and the hair change, going from dull and much like hers to bright and extravagant. The buildings change too: fresh paint, doormen, nice cars waiting on the outside. It’s two different worlds, and from everything she’s heard, there are more worlds within this place. It’s divided between classes and race, and Killian walks through every section like he belongs.

He knows not a soul, but Emma swears some who pass by look as if they know who he is, what he does.

The chill that runs down her spine and makes residence there returns as she thinks once more of why they are here, of what they’re running from.

She’s been running for her entire life, but she’s never run this far.

She’s never had someone to run with.

They stop at a small restaurant for something fresh to eat, the aroma of fresh baked bread overpowering the scents of the city, and Emma nearly melts into the leather booth that sits by a warm fire. Killian orders their lunch, nicely cooked beef with a heavy soup and bread, and the taste is so miraculous that even Lee is quiet for the duration of the meal. He’s been complaining, wishing he would have stayed back in England and traveled to see Liam and Elsa instead of coming to America, but unless he wants to get back on the ship and travel back now, he is stuck with them.

Emma isn’t too fond of the kid, but at the end of the day, he is still a kid who has time left until he’s technically a man. Even growing up in times of war in a family that is entrenched in crime and danger, he still has the soft edges of a child who has been raised without a mother and is searching for someone to guide them.

Emma would know. She’s been searching for her entire life, and she did not have any brothers to surround herself with.

The couple who owns the restaurant comes to say hello and ask if they would like any more food, and when they hear the differing accents, they begin to ask questions. It puts Emma on edge, as if these two people who radiate kindness could know they are on the run, and she doesn’t like to answer with anything more than the minimum. Killian is much better at talking to them, eloquently giving them enough information without giving too much, and she does not fail to notice the way he keeps her left hand in his, hidden underneath the table.

“My wife and I are thrilled to be starting a new life here,” Killian tells them, squeezing her hand, a silent request for her to play along. “It seems we’ve already picked the greatest restaurant in the city to dine in, so we are off to a wonderful start.”

“Oh, how long have you two been married?” the woman, a petite brunette with short hair asks.

“Newlyweds,” Killian answers. “What about the two of you?”

“David, how long has it been now? Five years?”

“It was five years in October.” David kisses his wife’s temple, and Emma moves closer to Killian, glancing at him in an attempt to see what angle he’s playing. “Best five years of my life.”

“And you’ve opened up this damn fine establishment in this time?”

“If only,” Mary Margaret laughs, holding her hand to her chest. “My parents own several businesses across the city, and when we were married, they gave David a few of their finer dining establishments to manage. Where are you two living? We could give you all of the best recommendations.”

“We haven’t figured that out yet, love, but I’m sure we will find a place.”

“Stay with us!” Mary Margaret suggests, rising on her toes in excitement.

“Pardon?” Killian asks as Emma coughs on her drink and Lee kicks his leg under the table.

“Stay with us,” Mary Margaret repeats. David doesn’t look thrilled at her suggestion, but she’s powering on. “We live in an apartment a few blocks away, and it is far too big for just the two of us. You could have your own bedrooms, bathrooms, and living area. We would have to share the kitchen, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem, would it, honey?”

“We couldn’t impose,” Killian insists, laying on every ounce of charm he has with his smile.

“My wife won’t take no for an answer, so believe me, you wouldn’t be imposing. We’d love to help get you on your feet. Maybe one day if we make it over to England, you two could be our guide.”

“Absolutely, mate,” Killian promises, squeezing Emma’s hand.

-/-

When Mary Margaret mentioned her family owning several businesses and restaurants, Emma knew they were wealthy. It was obvious in the way the woman dressed and the way she spoke, but as Emma sits on a bed with blankets as soft as silk and as warm as every coat she has ever owned, she is taken aback by the luxury of the place they are in. Emma has never been in a palace, but she imagines the Nolan flat is similar. Everything is ornate, no detail left unchecked, and being inside here is a different world than the outside. Even where the city is bustling and bright, there is still a darkness to it with the rarity of nature. It’s not Birmingham with its lack of sun and smog-coated air, but there are similarities.

This flat is a world away from any place she has ever stayed, and she imagines once they leave, she’ll never return.

If she’s honest with herself, Emma is worried her clothes are going to ruin the furniture every time she sits down.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret calls as she enters the room, a basket in her arms. “I know you likely have your own things, but I figured you could use some soaps and lotions. I also brought a robe. I have several, and I can only wear one at a time.”

“That really isn’t necessary.”

“I insist.” She walks a little further into the room and places the things on a low table. “The boys are having a drink together and talking business. You know how men do. So I figured I could make sure you’re comfortable.”

“This is the nicest place I’ve ever been inside, so yes, I am more than comfortable.”

“Good.” Mary Margaret smiles, and sits down on the arm of a sofa. “Listen. I don’t know if you’re interested in working or if Killian is the breadwinner for you and Lee, but if you are, I have connections with every department store and several offices where you could be a secretary. What did you do back in England? Did you work? I know it is rare for married women to work, but I take you for a rare woman.”

“I was a barmaid,” Emma lies. She was, technically, but for years before that she was blackmailed into being a spy. A part of her doesn’t feel free of that yet. “I was a barmaid and sometimes I would clean homes.”

“Oh, well, if you want to work in one of our restaurants, I could arrange that. Or you don’t have to do anything at all. What does your husband do?”

Emma blanches, and she inhales to calm her breathing. “He produced rum, owned a few pubs. It’s a family trade, actually. After the War, Killian and his older brother took over, but Killian wanted to explore the world for a little while and allow Lee to experience new things and mature. I don’t think Lee expected that would mean traveling with the two of us.”

“Is that how you and Killian met? At one of his pubs?”

“Yes.” Emma nods and smiles, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to smooth away the gooseflesh. “That’s how we met.”

“Do you not wear a ring?”

Emma’s fists clinch, and she attempts to hide her left hand, wrapping it under her arm. “Oh, it’s in my luggage. I didn’t want to risk losing it or having someone take it off my hand.”

Mary Margaret nods and returns Emma’s smile, hopefully believing her lie. “Anyhow, I don’t mean to be intrusive. I’ll leave you to bathe and take care of yourself. Would you like to have breakfast with me in the morning?”

“I would love that.”

Once Mary Margaret has left the room, Emma rises from the bed and collects the things she left. The bathroom is connected to the room, and the tile is cold against Emma’s feet. The bathwater is warm, however, the lotions all smell of vanilla and apples. After she’s bathed, Emma’s skin is softer than it’s ever been, and the dark shadows that have been lingering underneath her eyes for two weeks have begun to fade. She’s clean and comfortable, and she melts into the sheets when she gets into bed. Emma doesn’t know what time it is when Killian sulks into the room, but what she does know is that he never comes to bed. Instead, he sleeps on the chaise in the corner of the room and she’s left with no warm body pressed into hers.

Emma’s confusion grows, but at the moment, all she cares about is how she is sleeping with solid ground beneath her.

-/-

There’s a note and a box sitting next to her head when she wakes up the next morning.

Wear this. The Nolans are traditional. That is why I said we were married in the eatery. I realized in my conversations with David that we would need rings and to discuss a few details to align our stories. I don’t want to take advantage of them or their kindness, but as you well know, sometimes lies can be used to get us what we need.

Killian.

Emma squints her eyes to see if the words change, but they don’t. The words don’t change, and Killian’s lack of presence in the room doesn’t change either. She doesn’t know what time it is or where he is, but she knows he’s not here.

She also knows that inside the black velvet box is a ring, a gold band holding up a round emerald stone. It’s delicate and intricate, and even with her untrained eye, she knows it is real.

-/-

Emma’s day is spent with Mary Margaret in the flat and in another one of their restaurants where they eat lunch. They chat and wander around, and Mary Margaret shows Emma her collection of books as well as some paints and fabrics she uses to occupy her time when she cannot drive to her family’s land where they have horses and a bow and arrow course where Mary Margaret apparently likes to spend much of her time.

Emma never would have figured the woman for enjoying so much time outdoors, and the past near decade of Emma’s life has been spent reading people for their secrets.

Killian returns long after the sun has set, Lee and David with him, and David informs all of them that Killian will now be handling the books at several restaurants until he establishes himself in the city. Lee will work as waitstaff when he can, but they want to work on him enrolling in University.

It all sounds great, but to Emma, it sounds like she’s been left out and that she’ll have to piddle around all day with nothing to do but talk about fabrics and the latest fashions with Mary Margaret.

Emma isn’t used to not working, and she’s going to need something to occupy her time if she doesn’t want her mind to run wild. Working in a department store or as a secretary sounds dreadful, but she may have to take the offers she can get.

-/-

“Do you like it?”

“Hmm?”

“The ring. Do you like it?”

Emma glances down at the stone on her finger, the heavy weight she’s been fiddling with all day, and she turns back to Killian as his arms wrap around her waist and his lips press into her neck.

“It’s beautiful. Where did you get it? How did you get it so early in the morning?”

“I have my ways.”

“Killian.”

He doesn’t say anything back, instead kissing her until no thoughts are left in her brain and no clothes are left on her body. They fall into the back and forth, the push and the pull, and Emma’s left breathless as she moves on top of him, every problem melting away into the firmness of Killian and the comfort she feels with him.

The pleasure too, especially when his head is buried between her thighs, and Emma can do nothing more than hold onto his hair as tightly as she is holding on the sheets.

-/-

When she wakes up in the morning, he’s gone, and she’s not sure if he slept next to her or not. The blanket hanging over the chaise makes her think otherwise.

-/-

Emma takes the next few days to explore the city. As kind as Mary Margaret is, she cannot spend all of her time with the woman, and she certainly cannot commit to a job when she isn’t sure which would make her less miserable. So, she walks and explores, listening to people play music from street corners and coax people into their stores. It’s as if the people never sleep and more and more come in each and every day. Emma thrives in it, even if she stays in the corners and observes.

So much of her life has been spent with a gun pressed to the back of her head, and for once, she has been relieved of the cold weight of the metal.

She isn’t sure how to deal with any of it.

Days begin to pass, and Emma spends many of them wandering, even more of them sitting by a large window with a pile of books next to her as she stares out at the snow falling outside and coating the streets with a white powder. Killian comes and goes, sometimes coming back for meals in the middle of the day, sometimes not, and a week after arriving, Emma tells Mary Margaret she would love to work in one of their eateries as a barmaid or a server, even if that is uncommon in America.

That’s when all hell breaks loose, and the government passes laws about the sale of alcohol.

The prohibition, they call it.

Bloody pointless, Killian calls it.

Every night at dinner, Killian and David discuss how not being able to sell alcohol is affecting the restaurants. Mary Margaret’s father comes by one night in a rage of fury that is only quenched when he realizes Killian, Emma, and Lee are there, and it seems that the little slice of paradise they’ve found may be disappearing.

“Should we look for somewhere else to stay?” Emma asks as she rubs lotion down her arms, vanilla filling the bathroom. “I know the Nolans will never lose their money because they owned more than pubs and eateries, but I can’t help but feel we’re taking advantage of them.”

Killian moves a blade across his jaw as he stares in the mirror. “The only lie we’ve told them is about the state of our relationship, love.”

“That’s quite the lie.”

“I don’t think it’s too far fetched.”

Emma turns to him and crosses her arms over her chest. “We are not married, Killian. We are so far from married that we don’t sleep in the same bed. Actually, I take that back. From what I’ve heard of some couples, we might as well be married in that you fuck me and then leave. So I guess you’re right. We’re not lying to them.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he finishes his shave and puts the blade down near the sink before turning to her with a clenched jaw and fire in his eyes. “What is it you’re trying to say, Swan?”

“I don’t think I have to bloody explain it!”

Killian cocks his head to the side and mirrors her, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “So, you’re cross that I’m not sleeping in the bed with you?”

“I think it’s preposterous that you sleep in a chaise when we have a bed.”

“I think that’s not what you’re truly mad about.”

“Well, what would you know about what I think?”

“You’re an open book, Swan. I’ve told you that before, and I’ll tell you again. You try to hide how you feel, but you cannot do that from me.”

“Well, that makes you a real arse because then you would know that I’m not happy to be wandering around this place all day with Mary Margaret. I’m not someone who is meant to be a housewife.”

“I thought you were tending the bar at – ”

“I obviously lost that job, Killian. We can’t sell liquor.”

Emma turns away from him and catches a look at herself in the mirror. Her hair is long and soft, brushed out and curled, and it’s never been like this, never this smooth and well taken care of. Half a month in a new place, and she already looks like a different person.

“I don’t like not having work,” Emma continues, “and I don’t like that I’m in a new country and the man I came here with runs off and spends all his time in business I know nothing about.”

Killian scoffs and drops his hands to his sides. “Need I remind you that we are here because you got yourself involved with Gold.”

“Need I remind you that you slept with his wife and are a gangster. I didn’t make him come after you like that. You know I had no fucking choice, Killian. I was trying not to die or to have my son killed! You have always had a choice in your actions. This is not my fault.”

“You betrayed me,” Killian says, his voice steady even as his fingers twitch, the ring on his left hand catching the light from the lamp above. “You betrayed me. You worked with my enemy, you lied to me for months, and you made me believe you were getting close to me because you fancied me. Little did I know that it was because you were trying to learn all of my secrets so I could be carted off to prison while you continued to live your life.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

Emma throws her hands in the air and covers her face, trying to regulate her breathing to calm her breath.

She is not successful.

“So what do you want, Killian? I can’t keep having this conversation. I can’t keep walking on the edge of a cliff. I want some stability. I want to not be terrified all the time, and not knowing where I stand with you terrifies me. If it would be better for us to part ways, let’s part ways. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling like you’re never going to trust me. I’m tired of us running in circles and not solving anything.”

Killian moves her hands away from her face, calloused fingers cupping her chin and tilting her gaze up to his. His eyes are still dark, his mouth still firm, but there’s a softness there that wasn’t there before. “I am not an honorable man, love, and you deserve better than me. You deserve to live a good life with a man who can give you everything your heart desires and who doesn’t have so many secrets.”

“Tell me your secrets,” Emma whispers. “Tell me, and I’ll tell you the rest of mine. That’s the only way we can make this work, and if we can’t, I can find my way back home or to a new place. I’ve always been on my own, and I don’t have any problem with that.”

Killian leans his head forward and presses his forehead against hers, wet hair dripping onto her. “I should hate you. You should hate me for how I’ve treated you over the past month, for how I treat others.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“No?”

“I think you’ve been a right bastard lately, but I also think I deserve it.”

“You don’t.” Emma chuckles, and Killian presses his nose further into her cheek. His lips inch closer, but they don’t touch, not yet. “We’re fucked up, Swan. There’s no way around that.”

“But we could be less fucked up if we tried.”

Killian huffs and gently kisses her. “Will you come to bed with me?”

“Well, as long as we get into bed and not your chaise.”

“Aye, I think that sounds like a better plan. The bloody thing has been straining my back.”

Nothing about their relationship has ever been normal, and as they settle under the covers of their oversized bed, Emma is once again reminded of that. They’ve never had this, not like this. They had their night in the pub, which was interrupted, and then they were forced to share space on the ship. Here, Killian has only come to bed for sex, and then he’s moved to his own space.

This is foreign, especially as Emma rolls over to face Killian and finds him already looking at her with his hand reaching out for her hip underneath the covers.

“The night we first slept together,” Emma begins, “why’d you have to get that gun that night?”

He slowly blinks. “Rob needed it the next day for a job, and it wouldn’t have been smart to go digging in graveyards in the daylight.”

“What was the job?”

Killian raises his brow. “Someone made an attempt on his lady’s life, and he needed to take care of it. I was the only one who knew the location of the guns, so it had to be me who retrieved it.”

Emma nods and moves an inch closer as Killian’s thumb traces circles on her hip. “Will you tell me more? About everything? As if I was one of your brothers and in the inner circle?”

Killian huffs and squeezes her hip. “You are certainly not one of my brothers, and thank fuck for that.”

“So crude,” Emma laughs.

“I’ve never claimed to be otherwise. My life isn’t pretty. Are you sure you want to hear it all?”

“No secrets,” Emma repeats. “That’s what I want. Keeping them has gotten us nowhere.”

So, he tells her. He tells her of how his family has been in the business for generations. They used to be wealthier, but they fell apart under his grandfather’s guidance. His father, who Killian holds no affection for, was ruthless and his ruthlessness elevated the Jones Corporation to the levels it once held in the past. He made the relationships with the coppers, figured out how to hide illegal dealings in legal ones, and it is with all of his teachings that Killian learned everything he knows.

It is with Killian’s hatred of him that Killian has learned to do everything better than his father.

It is his love of his mum that kept Killian from living his entire life in the pursuit of money and revenge. After he lost Milah, all he wanted was revenge on Gold and every person who had done him wrong, but then the War happened and Killian saw more evil in the world than he had ever seen before. It changed him, and while violence is still necessary in his line or work, he does everything he can to avoid it or minimize the carnage.

Killian tells her so much of everything she’s never heard before, and as each minute passes, the man in front of her changes, a chameleon that she is attempting to keep up with.

She does the same.

She tells him everything she can think to tell in the dark of night when sleep is creeping into the edges of her eyes, and she knows in the morning she won’t remember each word she utters and each story she tells. But in the morning her heart will be lighter, and maybe, just maybe, she and Killian can be lighter too.

For good this time, with all of the trust they did not have when exchanging stories on the ship.

-/-

He drives her across the city in the morning, not telling her the destination, but she recognizes Harlem and the way it differs from Fifth Avenue almost immediately. The buildings are smaller, not as luxurious, the people are more diverse, and the streets are filled with children playing and more street performers than in the main parts of Manhattan.

It is more like what Emma is used to, and it creates a stark divide between the wealthy and the normal.

She imagines she would like to live here more than in the Nolans’ flat.

“Was that Lee?” Emma asks as they drive past a small block of apartments. “Isn’t he supposed to be in classes?”

“He gets time off, and the lass he fancies lives here. That is not what I’m trying to show you no matter how interesting the lad’s love life may be.”

What he is trying to show her is an empty café, the black and white tile work half done but no one around to finish it. Despite the obviously new tile, it looks abandoned. “What is this place?”

Killian takes her hand, interlacing their fingers, and walks her through the café and toward the back wall. He presses against it. There’s a click, and then the wall is sliding open. Killian guides her through the hidden door, which makes her heart ache for the My Fairest Lady back home, and then they’re walking down a hallway and down a set of stairs until they’re in what looks like a combination of a pub and a dance hall. It’s darker and full of stained wood, and the lights are dim. There are no windows, but she does see several doors behind curtains and counters.

“Killian – ” Emma begins as he turns on more lights. “Killian, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

He turns to her and flashes his trademark smile, the one that could get her to do anything without a word muttered from his lips. “It’s a speakeasy.”

They’ve been popping up across the city ever since the ban on liquor was announced, and she should have known this is what Killian has been doing.

Emma shakes her head. “You’re a scoundrel.”

“Dashing rapscallion. I prefer that.” He winks and takes both of her hands in his. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be here. I’ve wired and written Liam and Will, and they both say they’ve heard whispers of Gold searching for me, for us. Liam is staying in France for a longer time to protect Elsa. Will and Rob are taking care of the businesses. I don’t have everything figured out yet, but I thought we should make the best of our time here.”

“You’re going to get arrested. You don’t have the coppers in your pockets here. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“This is who I am, Emma. This is what I do. I find ways to maneuver around the bloody system when I can. I know many a lass expects a man to change and become softer when he falls in love, but I do not want to give up who I am.”

“I would never ask you to do that.”

“Then trust me,” he insists, cocking his head and smiling, a real, genuine smile this time. “I know what I’m doing, and this is an opportunity for me, for us. If I don’t do it, someone else will. You can help me. You can be by my side, fully this time. It’ll be similar to how I ran things back home.”

“That nearly got you killed.”

“I don’t think a spy is going to maneuver her way into my life and seduce me.”

Emma tilts her head back with laughter. “She better not.”

Killian tugs her closer until they’re pressed together, and he glides his lips over hers as his hand slides down her back and rests in the dip. He’s gentle and demanding all at once, and he could convince her of anything with one kiss.

One kiss, one smile, one turn of phrase.

“We make quite the team, love.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

-/-

Over the next few weeks and months, Emma watches as Killian works his magic on this place. Out front, construction continues on the café, a place that will sell sandwiches, sweets, tea, and coffee at a quick pace to compete with other cafes, and in the hidden halls behind and below, the dark room is finished and transformed into a pub that Emma would have wandered into in England with little question. It’s beautiful, and when it’s full of people and records are at full blast, Emma can feel the life vibrating through her skin.

New York City is unlike any place she’s ever been before, more alive than any place else, but hidden in the back of a café with Killian’s arm around her waist and a drink in her hand as people dance around her, Emma knows that she partially feels that way because of the man she’s with.

He brings out color in things that are black and white, and she could dance and laugh with him forever.

The money comes in like nothing she’s ever seen, and Liam brings in barrels of rum and whiskey from England. It’s a coordinated effort that nearly goes awry at the port, but they manage it. For a week, Liam, Lee, and Killian are reunited, and since Liam brought Elsa, Emma takes her to meet Mary Margaret, who insists on taking them shopping and to get their hair done before they dine in a park, the new spring flowers beginning to bloom. Mary Margaret and David have no idea as to what goes on behind the scenes of one of their businesses, and Emma hopes they never do. She’s grown overly fond of the couple, and they’re good people. She doesn’t like taking advantage of that kindness, and after much warring in her heart, she’s decided that she won’t tell them about any of it. Their ignorance is for their safety.

That isn’t a thought she has too often, though. She’s too busy helping Killian by making sure everything runs smoothly. Every day more people come to their speakeasy. Lately, it’s been full of singers and actors who are in the pictures and on Broadway, and Emma knows they’re gaining a reputation as one of the best places for drinks and music. As good as business is, that also comes with its own dangers. With more notoriety comes more of a chance of the coppers finding out, but with his impossible charm, Killian has managed to get them in his pocket as well. It hasn’t been easy, and there have been times when she’s not sure Killian is going to return to their bed at night.

He always does, laying a kiss on her cheek before he falls into a slumber right before the sunrise.

Elsa and Liam return back to Europe after a wonderful week, taking Lee with them after his schooling period finishes, but Emma and Killian don’t join them on their return. Rumors of Gold run rampant through Birmingham. Few have seen him, but Liam told Killian yet again that the threat on his life is still prominent. It would be better to stay until they can locate Gold and take care of their problem. Liam looked at Emma with disgust when he said it, like every danger toward Killian was her own fault, but she knows that Gold’s history with Killian predates Emma. His deciding to murder Killian, however, does not, and she never allows that to slip from her mind. Emma doesn’t think Liam likes her much, likely thinks her too much trouble, and she wouldn’t disagree.

She never was too fond of Liam, but after he assures her that her son is safe with his parents living life completely unaware of his birth mother’s troubles, she thinks she has never loved anyone more.

She won't let anything bad happen to that child. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

When Mary Margaret announces she’s pregnant in May, Killian makes the decision that he and Emma are going to move to their own place. The Nolans insist that they stay. They like having them around, but it truly is the best for them to find their own home. Emma promises that she will see Mary Margaret every week and that she will be sure to shower her baby with all of the finest things.

“Are you two thinking about children?” Mary Margaret asks as she cradles her bump. “You would be a wonderful mother, Emma.”

“Maybe someday,” Emma insists, trying to keep her voice steady when it wants to waver. “Maybe someday.”

Killian takes her hand, warm palm over the cool metal of her ring, and squeezes before guiding her out of the Nolans’ apartment and to the car that’s waiting to take them to their new home, a brownstone away from Fifth Avenue but still close enough that Emma can easily walk everywhere she needs to go.

Their furniture has already been placed, food stocked in the cupboard and the icebox, and while now would usually be the time for them both to go to the café, Killian assures her that someone else is taking care of it for the night. They can take the night off to relax into their new home and make it theirs.

Emma quickly learns what he means by that when his hand cups the back of her head as he pushes her into the door. She laughs into the kiss as Killian murmurs filthy words, but soon she’s breathless. Each touch, each whisper, each kiss builds her higher, and by the time they’re in their bed and stripped out of their clothes, Emma is dizzy in the desire for it all.

As she moves above him, each thrust of his hips and movement of hers bringing them closer, all Emma can think about is how she’s home.

This is her first true one, and it is nothing like any of her dreams told her it would be.

“I love you,” she whispers to Killian as her nails leave red marks on his chest.

“And I you,” he promises, bringing her down to meld their lips together.

-/-

Emma’s staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, soft sheets strewn over half her body, and Killian’s leg is half hooked over hers, his breathing coming down from heavy until she can barely hear it at all. Emma reaches out for him, placing her hand on his chest, and Killian reaches for it and brings it to his lips to kiss.

“Do you like your ring?” he asks.

“Hmmm?”

“Your ring. Do you like it?”

Emma lifts her hand away from Killian’s and moves her fingers, watching the gold and emerald glint in the lamplight. For so long this ring felt foreign on her. It felt like more of a lie than it was, but now, when she takes the ring off to bathe or to clean, it’s as if something is missing from her.

“It’s beautiful.” Emma flips over onto her stomach, her breasts pressing against Killian’s chest, and she props herself up on her elbow to look both at Killian and the ring. “How did you get it so quickly? You left it by the bed so early in the morning. I don’t think any jewelers were open before the sun rose, and you didn’t answer the first time I asked.”

He clicks his tongue and presses his head back to the pillow. His hair is messy from where her hands were running through it, and she can see some of the lines around his eyes and the few that have started to form on his forehead. She realizes now that she has no idea how old he is. He was born in August, but she doesn’t know what year. He asked her about her age, but she never thought to do the same.

“It was my mum’s.”

Emma stops tapping her fingers against his chest and looks at Killian. “What?”

“Your ring was my mum’s. She had it made for herself, and she wore it every day. When she was sick, she gave Liam her wedding ring, and she gave me this one. We were instructed that we were to give the rings to the women we married, and, well…”

Killian arches his brows, as if he wants Emma to fill in the blanks, and Emma drops down and rests her hands on his chest and her chin over her knuckles so her eyes are on the same level as him.

“We’re not married.”

“Aye, but…” Killian tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and his left hand finds her back, cool metal running against her skin. “We could be. I could make an honest woman out of you.”

“I think you and I both know neither of us will ever be honest.”

Killian chuckles. “We’re honest with each other, and that’s enough for me.”

Emma’s heart is beating in a faster rhythm than a jazz band, and yet, she feels calm.

She feels steady, and her home is so much more than the four walls around them.

“Would you really want me as your wife? All I seem to do is get you into trouble.”

“Ah, but I love trouble.” His hand slides further down her body and squeezes her arse. “And you only get me into the best kind. So, what do you say, Emma Swan? Would you like to marry me?”

“Yes.”

-/-

They get married a week later in the park near their home. Killian wears a suit that isn’t in his daily rotation and Emma wears a white dress with silver beads sewn into it that she found while walking to the café two days before. It’s simple, intimate, and if Emma is honest with herself, not much changes other than her last name.

Emma likes it that way.

She likes her life.

She loves her husband.

“One round of drinks on the house,” Killian exclaims in the speakeasy that night as a band plays loudly in the background. “But only the one. I’m not made of gold.”

There’s a chorus of cheers around them, and Killian nods to the bartender before wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing his lips to her check, stubble scratching against her skin.

“Well, aren’t you generous?” Emma teases. “What’s the occasion?”

“Married the bloody love of my life today.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“Aye,” he winks. “The best.” Killian pulls her closer and moves his lips over hers in a dirty kiss. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Most intelligent too.” He kisses her again, then moves to her jaw. “Witty and wild and fierce.”

“Wild?” Emma sighs, tilting her neck back to give him more access.

“You wouldn’t believe the things she gets up to. I hear she had the bollocks to become friendly with gangsters.”

“Who would ever do that?”

“She would.”

Emma laughs and presses her fingers against Killian’s chest, tugging on his jacket sleeves to pull him even closer. “You have a private office here, right?”

He arches his brows. “Aye.”

“You might consider taking me to it.”

“Mrs. Jones, you need only ask.”

She and Killian walk through the crowd of people, stopping to say hello to everyone along the way, before they move past a wall of beads hanging from the ceiling and several doors that lead them to Killian’s back office. It’s filled with files for the speakeasy and from the café, his legitimate and illegitimate businesses combining in one place, and Emma shakes her head when she sees it all. How has he managed to pull this off?

How have they?

The door clicks behind her, several bolts shifting as it locks, and the heat of Killian catches up on her as he moves behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, breathing her in and slowly swaying her. Emma sighs back into him and tilts her head to look at him.

She could get lost in his eyes, and she would willingly throw away the maps.

“Do you remember the song,” Killian begins, “the one you sang in the pub?”

“The one that made you kiss me for the first time?”

“Aye. That would be the one.”

“Of course I remember.”

“Would you mind singing it again?”

Emma laughs and twists around in his arms. She wraps her arms around his neck and continues to sway. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.”

Emma sighs and rolls her shoulders back, all of the sounds of the outside fading away as she focuses on Killian and the way that he is gently swaying her, their steps only matching up with each other instead of those outside the room.

“In a neat little town they called Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound. And many an hour's sweet happiness have I spent in that neat little town. A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land. Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band.”

Killian closes his eyes in the middle of the verse, but his lips tick up in a smile. There’s a flash of white teeth, and Emma leans her head against his shoulder, resting her cheek in a place of comfort, and sings in his ear.

“Her eyes they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band. I took a stroll down Broadway, meaning not long for to stay when who should I meet but this pretty fair maid come a-traipsing along the highway. She was both fair and handsome. Her neck, it was just like a swan. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder tied up with a black velvet band.”

“Do you know how this song ends?” Killian asks.

“She betrays him.”

“I think it’s rather fitting for you and I, but the lyrics would have to change for us.”

“That can be arranged.”

Killian laughs into their kiss, and Emma can feel joy spreading over her body as she melts into it. He is not perfect. Neither is she. They will never be two people who have a white picket fence and no stains on their hearts, but if Emma is honest, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

All she needs is to be happy, and she is.

There’s a sudden bang outside the room, and Emma pulls back from Killian’s lips. His hands tighten on her back, and they still as another bullet is released from a gun.

“Bloody hell.”

“What’s happening?” Emma whispers as Killian moves away from Emma and toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck. The coppers are here, and I don’t think it’s the ones who enjoy our drinks.”

Emma feels her stomach drop.

“What do we do?”

“We stay here,” Killian says, slow, measured. “Help me move the desk against the door.”

“They’ll hear it scraping.”

“Not if we lift it. There’s too much commotion outside for them to come here first.”

Emma nods and helps Killian move the desk. It’s a heavy oak, and she struggles to keep it from falling to the ground. They get it, along with several filing cabinets, and Emma’s heart pounds as the commotion outside keeps happening. There are several exits for this exact reason, for people to run away if someone snitches on the place, and Emma hopes most everyone is able to leave and run to safety.

She knows that she and Killian are not going to be so lucky. They’ll only have so much time before they’re arrested.

Emma turns to see Killian with a crowbar, and he pulls back a plank of wood siding on the wall. “What are you doing?”

“There’s a tunnel through here,” he explains. “I had it installed when Dave put me in charge of construction on the place.”

“Oh my God, are the Nolans going to be charged for this?”

“No.” Killian shakes his head. “I changed the paperwork. Even though this is connected to them, no one will ever know. And if someone finds out, Mary Margaret’s father has enough power to aid them. Come help me. We’ll only have so much time to get out of here.”

Emma nods and walks toward him, helping to pull away boards until there’s a big enough gap for them to move through. Killian gets down on his knees and goes first, and Emma follows behind him, only a little light available to guide them. Her hands and knees are covered in dirt, and with each passing minute, they become more scraped and bloodied. It stings, but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

Emma doesn’t know how much time passes or how far they travel, but eventually, they come to a stop and Killian kicks against another panel. The sounds of the city come through, pouring rain joining it, and when Killian climbs out first, she can see streetlights. He helps her out, apologizing for making a mess of her dress, and Emma doesn’t have to look down at it to know that it is no longer white and that some of the beads are lost.

“Where are we?”

“A few blocks over. C’mon, love. We have to go.”

They walk through the rain, puddles gathering at their feet and water soaking through their hair and their clothes. Killian attempts to shield her with his jacket, but it does no good. She is already a drowned rat, and she might as well accept it. They can’t go back, can’t see what’s happening in the place they’ve put so much of their heart into, so they go home.

Nothing about it feels right.

“Aren’t they going to come looking for you here?”

“I’m Mr. Jones to everyone there. No one knows my first name. No one knows anything about us. We should be safe for now, but I’ll have business to attend to. We may need to leave for awhile, possibly return to England to keep me from ending up behind bars.”

Emma stills then slips off her heels. “What will we do with everything here?”

“Save it for us to return. We can make a home in whatever place we desire. The options are there for us, sweetheart.”

Emma reaches up and squeezes the water out of her hair as Killian undoes some more buttons on his shirt, his hair dark with water on his chest. “What about Gold? You remember what Liam said? He’s looking for you, Killian. He’s looking for us.”

“I am not scared of that crocodile of a man,” Killian seethes. “He is a coward who has others do his work for him.”

“Are you not a coward, Mr. Jones? Running away with your mistress to America and then running back to England when your threads are pulled?”

Gooseflesh rises on every inch of Emma’s skin, and ice runs down her veins. She knows that voice. It haunts her nightmares and her waking hours, and she thought she’d washed the grime from him away. She thought he was gone, that she was safe.

And yet he’s here, in her home, emerging from a dark corner. The silver of his gun appears as lightning flashes outside and thunder joins with it, shaking their home to its bones of wood and brick.

“Killian,” Emma whispers. Her hands are shaking, and she wants to vomit. Her legs are heavy, unmovable, and she watches in horror as Killian’s eyes widen. For the first time, she sees fear there.

“What do you want, Gold?” Killian turns away from her to face Gold, and his shoulders straighten. The tension is obvious through his soaked white shirt, each muscle defined despite the lack of light.

“I want you dead, of course. I’ve come all this way to finish you off for all that you’ve done to me.”

“I did nothing to you.”

“You had my wife.”

“Your wife left you, and you murdered her.” Killian’s voice is even, but she knows he’s raging inside. They don’t talk about Milah often, only on nights when Killian is near drunk and a little melancholy, but Emma knows Killian loved her and she loved him. “That happened years ago. An entire war has been fought since then. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to kill me. You could have shot me while I was walking down the street at any time. I half expected it every time I left my home. What are you getting from this?”

“Getting to see you suffer, of course.” Gold steps closer, his face becoming more illuminated, and though it has only half a year since Emma last saw him, he looks years older. “It was so pleasurable the last time, but you didn’t get your due then. No, no, that comes now.”

All those times Killian suspected that Gold let Killian live because he wanted Killian to suffer from uncertainty were right. That’s exactly what the bastard was doing, but the time of waiting has run out.

Killian’s hand flicks behind him, and she knows he’s trying to subtly reach for his gun. Emma regrets not having any weapons on her. She didn’t think she’d need any today. She didn’t expect this to happen.

Any of it.

The raid of the speakeasy and Gold showing up in their home are connected, and while Emma wants to know how he found them and why he waited until a day that was supposed to be about them celebrating their marriage, she knows none of that matters when he might kill them both.

“It’s so nice to see that the two of you have patched things up,” Gold giggles, maniacal. “I assume this means you know you’ll not be with a blushing virgin tonight, Jones. What a shame for you to have to deal with on your wedding day. Broken goods.”

“Keep your mouth shut about her,” Killian hisses, his hand flinching right over his holster. “This has nothing to do with her.”

Gold clicks his tongue. “That’s where you’re mistaken. It has everything to do with her. You took my wife. Now I think it’s time I took yours. It’ll be so much more satisfying than it was the last time.”

The glass shattering behind her comes to Emma’s attention before she realizes that shots have been fired. She doesn’t know who shot first, where any of the bullets landed, or if Killian is okay. The power has gone out in their home, the rain and the thunder have picked up outside, coating the world in darkness like she has never seen before, and when the lightning comes, she sees flashes of limbs moving. It’s not enough to know where anyone is or what’s happened, and Emma is pulled down to the ground as another bullet soars by her, crashing into a mirror. Emma covers her head and drops fully to the floor, careful not to cut herself on any of the glass.

She should run.

She’s been doing it for her entire life, but she can’t do it now.

She can’t leave Killian behind.

Grunts, groans, and curses mix in with the roar or the thunder and the pounding of the rain, and she sees more flashes of movement, hears more shouting. Killian lets out a loud hiss of pain, and Emma moves closer to where the noise is coming from, trying to find him.

She can’t find him, and her heart starts to pound.

One beat, two beat, three beats too fast until her cheeks are heated and her chest aches in pain.

Killian is still making noise, so he can’t be dead.

He can’t be, he can’t be, he can’t be.

She cannot lose him.

“Emma,” he groans, and she turns. He’s in the corner of the sitting area, his knee clutched to his chest, and there are visible red stains on his fingers and his shirt. “Emma, love, you have to go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” She moves quickly in an attempt to get to him, to heal whatever has been hurt, but then she’s being yanked back and can feel the barrel of a gun pressing into her temple.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, but she has a sinking feeling it will be the last.

“You should have listened to him, dearie,” Gold whispers in her ear, and that old familiar shiver at the sound of his voice comes back. “Better yet, you should have listened to me and not run away with a dirty gangster.”

“How is that any worse than having to work for a dirty politician?” Emma spits.

“Because with me, you don’t end up dead.”

Not dead but certainly not alive.

Emma hears him cock the gun. She feels him twitch behind her. It’s not enough and too much all at once, and Emma’s hand flexes, blood running across her palm and she takes the shard of glass she’s holding and jams it into Gold’s bad leg. It’s enough for him to fall back in pain, for him to lose his footing and stumble to the ground, and before Emma has a chance to do anything else, a bullet hits Gold.

One that will keep him from ever getting back up.

“Emma, darling,” Killian pants, dropping his gun to the floor. “Emma I need you to come wrap my leg, and I fucking need you to get me my rum. This bastard fucking hurts.”

If she wasn’t too busy crying, Emma would laugh at Killian’s words. Right now, all she wants to do is collapse to the ground, but she can’t. She has to help Killian, so she moves to the kitchen, stumbling over furniture and hoping her bare feet don’t get cut up with glass, and she finds Killian’s rum and some wraps before returning to him. She can’t see, but she thinks there’s a bullet in his thigh, and she already knows he won’t allow her to take her to the hospital for this.

“Are you okay, love?” he asks as he takes a large gulp of rum.

Emma laughs at the ridiculousness of his question. “I’m not the one who got shot.”

“But you could have.”

She yanks on the cloth and starts wrapping it around his leg. She won’t be able to do anything more than stopping the bleeding right now. “I didn’t.”

“I should have been more careful, love. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so soft.”

“Killian Jones, never in a million years could that happen to you.” He manages a lopsided smile, but from the way he grits his teeth afterward, she knows it’s taking more effort than he would admit to hide his pain. “Some wedding night, huh?” Emma jokes as she tightens the wrap. If she had been a nurse in the War, she imagines she would have been sent home almost immediately for her shoddy skills.

Killian laughs, this time genuine, and Emma leans forward to press her forehead to his and press her hand over his heart, thankful to feel it beating right along with hers. She can feel his smile pressing into her mouth, and she never wants to lose that feeling. “We’ll get there, my love.”

And they do.

In the morning light and with the help of one of Killian’s bartenders who was actually a nurse in the War, Emma gets Killian back to functional. He struggles walking for awhile and is stubborn enough to act like nothing hurts, but Emma knows him better than that. They know their time in New York is limited with everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, so after packing a few bags and Killian having his men here clean up the mess with instructions to return the house to livable condition as soon as possible, they make themselves look presentable for a few last goodbyes.

Emma buys Mary Margaret baby gifts, and Killian buys a pram to put it all in, his way of thanking them for everything they did that neither Killian nor Emma deserve. They don’t see them, instead leaving a note and promising to come back to visit when the baby is born, and Killian leaves a separate message for David about their work. It’s not the cleanest break, but there’s no way they could allow the Nolans to see them with all of their scrapes and bruises.

It would only break their hearts.

Soon after that, they’re at the harbor, Killian is buying them two tickets back home, and Emma can do nothing more than stare at the ocean, the one that she is ready to cross again when she spent so many months hating it.

Once again, it is her safe haven.

Though, she may have found another one, a man whose eyes mirror the ocean and consume her all the same.

Killian grunts as he sits down on the bench beside her. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes, wishing she could take some of the pain away. It won’t last forever, and soon, his scars will be another mark on his body, another story to be told. If Killian tells the story, she imagines he will embellish every detail. The thought makes her smile even as the cuts on her own two hands sting when they are hit with the mist of the salt water.

“I don’t want to run away again,” Emma admits. “I know we’ll never be traditional, but I’d like to stay in one place and be surrounded by our family. I think it’s time you took back your rightful place as the head of the Jones Corporation in Birmingham. For good.”

“As long as I have you by my side.”

“Always.”

-/-

-/-

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[swanslieutenant]

into the depths - part 1/2

Summary: Running out of options to save Henry, Emma and Hook venture to Mermaid Lagoon, to the dangerous and treacherous mermaids for a desperate attempt at their help. There is no assurance it will work, but to save her son, Emma is willing to do whatever it takes.

Rating T.

Written as a part of the CS Neverland New Year Event @neverlandnewyear. This is Part One of two, and Part Two will be up shortly. Hope you enjoy! 

Read on AO3 

PART ONE 

The night at the camp after the Echo Caves is quiet and subdued, everyone lost in their own thoughts. The initial discussion of retrieving Pan’s shadow had quickly faltered, the group deciding to wait for Regina to return before attempting that mission. The shadow is an entity all on its own, separate from Pan, and while Hook had seemed confident Emma was capable of securing it without Regina’s aid, her parents had objected to the danger and so, here they are, waiting around.

Yet again.

Emma tries not to be angry at this situation, knowing logically it is fine to wait for Regina to return, that it may be safer in the longer run. But it’s been several hours since, and she still hasn’t returned from wherever she went off to earlier. And so, the remainder of their mix-mash of a group sit around the fire, the silence amongst them anything but comfortable.

Emma almost wishes for Regina’s presence, not only so they can go after the shadow but for at least some snarky remark to break this tension. The Echo Caves are living up to their reputation, the aftershocks of its secrets leaving everyone in a strained silence that seems to fester and persist the longer it lasts.

Neal is sat on a log in the centre of the camp, munching on a pitiful dinner of leftover hardtack from the Jolly Roger and a handful of berries Hook has deemed safe, while Hook himself is sharpening his sword at the other end of the camp. Neither has so much as looked at the other since they returned and took their seats in their respective corners.

There is some history between them, something Emma doesn’t understand. She knows Neal spent time with Hook in Neverland previously – the cutlass leaning against her bedroll a reminder of it – but whatever occurred in that time is still a mystery. Though, it clearly didn’t end well, given the glares Neal sends Hook every so often, while Hook’s brow is furrowed in a twisted, painful expression unrelated to his work on the sword.

In the centre of the camp, David pokes miserably at the dying fire, casting mournful glances over to his wife every so often, who is already lying down on her bedroll, her back to the rest of the group. Mary Margaret hasn’t said a word since they left the Echo Caves – other than to object to finding the shadow without Regina – and it’s not looking like she will do so anytime soon.

Emma herself is at a loss of what to do now. She’s resorted to pacing the outskirts of the camp, her mind racing as she tries to think up their next steps to save Henry. But its hard to do so when her mind keeps returning to the Echo Caves and the secrets it has revealed. Even with Hook’s warnings about his crew, Emma wasn’t prepared. Not at all.

She glances over to Mary Margaret, silent on her bedroll. It was hard for Emma to hear that  David was poisoned and cursed to remain on Neverland too, but she can only imagine how that blow has landed with Mary Margaret. Emma feels like she should reach out to her, try to comfort her. But she can’t think of the words. Mary Margaret’s own secret from the Echo Caves is fresh in Emma’s mind, leaving her stunned and lost.

She’s all grown up.

We missed it, David.

I want to have another baby.  

Each secret was a whiplash, even her own regarding Neal and the wish that he was still dead, and Emma is beginning to understand what Pan’s game was. Make them reveal their darkest secrets to tear them apart, to distract them from the real reason they are here.

She hates to admit it, but it’s working. David and Mary Margaret’s secrets had hurt her perhaps the most, a form of abandonment all over again – David’s physically, Mary Margaret’s emotionally.

Emma finds herself glancing over to Hook, who is still silently examining his sword. His secret on the other hand …

Until I met you.

She would be lying if she said that it hadn’t made her heart skip a beat. The sincerity, the honesty, the truth of it. It knocked all the wind from her lungs. She’d wanted to reach out to him, to say something, anything, but before she could gather her wits about her, other secrets had been spilled, sending her spiralling all over again.

Emma straightens her back and forces all those thoughts away. Hook, Mary Margaret, David, Neal – they and all their secrets and their potential implications can wait. Henry is the only one that matters here.

“We need to discuss our next steps,” Emma says, marching to the centre of the camp, hands on her hips as she surveys the others. “We can’t just sit here and wait for Regina forever.”

“Agreed,” David says, and he drops the long stick he was using as a fire poker, sending sparks from the dying fire floating through the air. “Who knows when she’ll be back.”

Neal sets down his half-finished meal, and frowns. “Is Tink around here still?” he asks. “She could –”

“She won’t help us,” Emma replies flatly, a flash of irritation at the fairy who had so quickly fled at the first sight of danger. “We already asked her. She won’t help us get into Pan’s camp until we have a plan to get away from Neverland after saving Henry. And for that, we need to wait for Regina to get the shadow.”

The camp falls silent, then Neal asks, “Has Pan ever said what he wants with Henry? Like, what he brought him for?”

“No,” Emma admits. “He’s just been playing games with us. But maybe … maybe if we could figure that out, we could at least stop him before he hurts Henry anymore than he already has.”

Hook sets down his sword and the sharpening stone then, stroking absently at his face, brow furrowed in thought. “We could ask the mermaids.”

Emma turns to face him, taken aback by the suggestion. “The – mermaids?”

He nods, thoughtfully. “Aye. They may –”

“You want to ask the mermaids who attacked your ship for help?” David demands, interrupting with incredulity. “They nearly killed all of us, and Emma almost drowned because of them! There is no way they would help us!”  

“Perhaps not,” Hook admits, his tone calm in the face of David’s outburst. “But they may be our only option. The mermaids can travel this island in a way no one else can – through the water, and even Pan’s camp must be near a water source. Perhaps they will know why he’s brought Henry here.”

Emma’s heart is starting to beat faster, a chance of hope accelerating it. Neal is glaring at Hook with narrowed eyes, though he has leaned forward to hear better, and even Mary Margaret rolls over now, propped up on her elbow to listen.

“Did you say the mermaids attacked the Jolly Roger?” Neal asks, his eyes crinkling with a frown.

“Yes, and tried to sink it with a storm,” David adds pointedly, glaring at Hook.

“Aye, they did,” Hook says, shrugging. “But, as Emma so eloquently discovered, the storm was worsened by our squabbles. If we can keep our wits about us this time, a cursed storm will not be a problem.”  

Emma’s eyebrows raise. Hook hardly ever uses her first name, reserving her addresses to ‘Swan’ or the epithet ‘love.’ ‘Emma’ sounds different coming from his mouth, and then couple that with a genuine compliment with no flirtatious undertone … well, Hook is full of surprises tonight.

“I don’t think they’ll help us,” Neal says, his sour tone bringing Emma back to reality. He crosses his arms, leaning back on his heels as he frowns at Hook. “They were with Pan last time I was here.”

“Allegiances change,” Hook replies, meeting Neal’s eyes in a measured, even gaze, and something unspoken passes between them then. Neal’s expression contorts, from a quick flash of anger and betrayal and confusion. He scowls at Hook, his cheeks reddening slightly in a sign Emma remembers as anger, and looks away, kicking at the loose twigs at his feet.

David and Emma exchange a glance while Mary Margaret, oblivious, sits up from her bedroll, rising from her feet to join them around the dying fire.

“I knew a mermaid once,” she says, growing excitement in her tone. “She saved me from drowning, and then even helped save me from Regina. If these mermaids are anything like her, we can definitely count on them to help us.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Hook interjects rapidly. “Unfortunately, these mermaids may not be as helpful as any you met previously, milady. Neverland is a cruel place. The mermaids who live here … they’ve had to adapt to survive.”  

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma can only imagine what they’ve had to go through. She’s seen firsthand the way the Lost Boys and Tinkerbell have had to adapt to this cursed island, even Neal with his cave and its meagre survival tools.  

David, clearly recalling the mermaids influence on their arrival here in Neverland, shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, one hand lingering at the sword at his hip, as if challenging Hook to disagree. “The mermaids here are monsters, you said it yourself.”

“And they may betray us to Pan,” Neal adds, dismissing the conversation as he settles back on the log, ready to resume his meal.

Emma’s frustration bubbles over, her hands curl into fists at her side, arms stiff at the conscious effort to resist the urge to start punching things. Why are they all content to sit around, waiting for Regina to return, when this idea could help them save her son from a maniac?

“Pan already knows everything about us! He can appear wherever he likes on this island, do whatever he wants! If these mermaids could help us save Henry, who cares if they tell Pan? He’ll probably already know anyways! If this could help us, we have to try!”

David and Neal remain silent as they stare back at her, disagreement plain on their faces, though at least Neal has stopped eating again. Over the fire’s dying embers, Emma catches Hook’s eye. His expression is carefully neutral, but there’s a determined edge to his eye, and he nods imperceptibly at her.  

He clears his throat, making David and Neal glare at him. That doesn’t deter him, and he says, “They may be our best chance at trying to find out more information to save Henry.”

Neal scowls at Hook, and David throws his hands up in the air in dismay. Mary Margaret, however, seems intrigued.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” she says, breaking the unspoken tie. “Let’s go find the mermaids.”

David and Neal are not happy, dragging their feet, but Emma and Hook do not waste any time. They gather up several water canteens, Hook warning it may be quite the walk to reach the mermaids from their camp, while Mary Margaret leads the charge of gathering her bow and arrow and extra weapons for Neal.

Finally, they are ready to set off. The bright, full moon guides their path, filtering down through the jungle canopy in a scattered pattern, shadowed by the thick foliage above. Hook leads them, the rest following in a single file line through the narrow path that has been previously forged through the thick jungle.

Emma feels lighter than she has in a few days, the prospect of a task, of a goal, lifting her spirits. Though she is confident this is a good idea (better at least than sitting around while her son is suffering), the further they walk into the jungle, towards these potentially angry and lethal mermaids, questions of doubt trickle into her mind.

What if the mermaids don’t help them? They’ll have wasted all this time hiking to their lake or wherever Hook is leading them, when perhaps Regina may have returned in the meantime. What if this is just a waste of time, a useless delay, and it ends up with Henry suffering for longer?

Hook is several paces ahead of her, slashing at some fallen vines with his hook, and she increases her speed, scrambling over the loose roots in order to keep up with his hurried strides.

“Do you really think the mermaids will help us?” she asks, glancing back to the others. They are far enough behind that no one appears to have heard her question; if David or Neal got a sense that Emma was questioning this mission too, she’s sure they would be just as happy to turn around this moment.

Hook sighs, brushing his hair out of his face, and regards her with a somewhat sad smile. “I hope so, Swan. They are tricky and slippery creatures, who will parlay with us, if only for their own amusement. They have no regard for me, but neither do they have any love for Pan. He has not been kind to them.” Hook pauses, holding up a large leaf so Emma can pass underneath it, before adding, “To hurt him, they may help us.”

Emma can only hope he’s right.

They continue in silence, Hook guiding them through a small clearing to another long, winding pathway. This one is down a slope, steep and precarious, and at one point, though Emma is trying her best to keep an eye on her path, the dark night of Neverland bests her.

She loses her footing, skidding down several feet of loose rocks and damp leaves. Emma cries out in surprise, her stomach swooping with the sudden drop of gravity, and she braces herself for the fall, which is looking to be down several dozen feet of rocks and tree roots onto the rocky ground below.

But Hook, as if on instinct, reaches out to her as she stumbles past him, grabbing her arm with his hand and his hook catching a belt loop in her jeans. He tugs her back up to standing, jerking her upright fast enough to make her stomach squeeze with nausea once more, and swivelling her close to him.  

“Are you alright, Swan?”

His breath tickles her face, and Emma realizes then, just how close she is to him, practically in his arms. Even in the dark jungle, his features are in clear relief, and the last time she was this close to him … well, she kissed him.

“I’m fine,” she says, a bit breathlessly, which she absolutely attributes to the adrenaline rush, not Hook’s hand on her skin, the cold metal of the hook at the low of her back, or the sight of his face so close to hers once again. She steps away from him to more sturdy ground a few feet down the slope, brushing her hair back and out of her face, wishing again for the hundredth time she’d brought a hair tie with her to Neverland. “Thanks, um, for catching me.”

Hook nods and turns, continuing carefully down the slope. Emma follows him, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal as they head to the bottom of the slope. When they reach the bottom, pausing to wait for the others to come down carefully too, Emma turns to Hook.

“Hook,” she starts, thinking wisely of her next words. She’s been trying to think of how to say this for several days now, but with this latest suggestion on how to help save Henry and now just saving her from a potential broken leg or arm, it reminds her that … well, he’s here. He doesn’t have to be. But he is, and she’s not sure she’s able to fully communicate how much that means. “I wanted to say thanks for helping us find Henry. I don’t – I don’t think I’ve really said that yet. You didn’t have to help us to get here, and then help us since and I … I appreciate it.”

“Of course, love,” he says, his voice soft. He glances up the slope to the other three, slowly making their way down, and a dark shadow passes briefly over his expression. “There have been far too many boys lost to this island; if I can be of any help to save one more, it is my duty.”

Mary Margaret, David, and Neal reach the bottom of the slope then, and after checking in with Emma to make sure she is okay, the group continues their trek, through the dark jungle of sprawling roots, broken branches, and heavy, dew-soaked leaves. Emma is more careful this time, watching each step closely, but even still she slips a few times here or there.

This walk seems to be taking forever, Emma’s emotions fraught with both nervousness of approaching a group of mermaids who probably work for Pan and may not even help them, but also the general sense of anxiety and stress she’s felt since Henry was first taken. Her good mood has dissipated as quickly as it came, leaving her hollow with anxiety.

Finally, after they’ve been walking for at least an hour, Hook pushes through a dense crowd of bushes, leading them out onto a dark, sandy beach.

Ahead of them is an enormous lake, far larger than what Emma was imagining which, in all honesty, was essentially the pond from the Disney movie.

His voice grim, Hook announces, “Mermaid Lagoon.”

The term ‘lagoon’ is a misnomer, as this is a true lake, with black water rippling gently in the light breeze, water stretching far out into the dark horizon. Emma can only just see to the other side of the lake, where it meets the slope of a stony mountain, while the water disappears into the dark horizon to the west.

The water is mostly smooth and calm, but a dark cluster of rocks breaks the surface several hundred feet away, creating a small current and white tipped waves near its shores. The rocks are like a castle floating in the middle of the lake, with some rocks towering tall like towers and casting dark shadows out over the water.

“How are we going to find them in this huge lake?” Emma asks, disappointment already oozing into her thoughts. She wasn’t expecting this.

Hook looks to the sky, where the bright full moon shines faintly through a wisp of clouds, and gestures to the rocks with his hooked arm. “That’s where they’ll be. There are a few different clans in these waters, but they always convene on the full moon.”

It sometimes still surprises her how much he knows about this island, even though they’ve been here for days at this point and Emma realizes that he’s literally Captain Hook and this is Neverland. It’s a strange concept, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that he did spend two hundred years here, trapped by as much his thoughts of revenge as this cursed place itself.

Of course he’d know a lot about the mermaids and their habits.

“Okay, so how do we get over there?” Mary Margaret asks, as she, David and Neal join them at the tree line. She rubs at her face in exhaustion, her cheeks are hollow in the moonlight with dark shadows under her eyes. “Swim?”

“There will be a boat around here somewhere,” Hook replies, squinting around the dark beach. “This place is one of the only spots on the island that is protected against magic, even from Pan’s powers. He’d need some form of transportation to get over there.”

They spread out to search the dark beach. Emma’s feet sink into the soft sand as she keeps close to the gently lapping shoreline. Even with the full moon ahead, its dark here and after several minutes of walking, she doesn’t so much find a boat, as run directly into it.

Rubbing at her shin, Emma squints at the boat at her feet. It’s the size of the small rowboats Emma saw in Tallahassee several years ago, the ones with fathers and their kids eagerly packing their supplies for the day of fishing on the local waterways. This boat is made entirely of rough driftwood, sanded down to be smooth, with two benches facing each other constructed in the centre of it.

“Over here!” Emma calls, waving at the others, now scattered over the beach. “I found it!”

It takes several minutes for everyone to re-group near her, and Hook is the last to join them. He takes in the small boat and grins at her with delight.

“Excellent eyes, Swan. This will be perfect.”

Neal nudges the boat with his foot, sloshing the dark water, leaving the sand where it touches stained an inky black, dark even against the night. “You’re going to go across the lake in this puny thing?”

“Aye. Though I expect it only capable of holding one or two of us.”

David steps forward immediately, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll go.”

“You’ve done enough adventuring for one trip,” Mary Margaret says flatly and David deflates under her gaze, his hand unconsciously moving to hover over the now-healed arrow wound at his side. “Besides,” she continues, “the last time you got near a mermaid, you threatened to cut her throat.”

David steps back, his cheeks reddening in shame. Mary Margaret herself makes no move to volunteer, and Neal is standing off to the side, looking anywhere but at the rest of them. Its no matter – Emma has already made her decision, glancing to Hook. He meets her gaze evenly, determined and set.

“Hook and I will go.”

David exchanges a look with Mary Margaret, and gestures at the small boat, bobbing gently in the water. “No offense, Hook, but how will you row the boat?”  

Hook’s eyes flash. “I suspect we won’t need any oars,” he says simply, and he bends down, running his hand along the edge of the boat. “This is enchanted wood. Similar to the same wood in the Jolly Roger.”  

“Hook knows the mermaids better than any of us,” Emma adds, trying very hard not to glare at David for that comment. “He has to be one of the two to go. And,” she adds, before they can throw in any of their protective parent disagreements, “if anyone is going to get information that will help save Henry, it’s going to be me.”

She lifts her chin, hands on her hips, challenging anyone to disagree with her. Though her parents do not look pleased and Neal appears downright sour, no one says anything else in defiance. Mary Margaret and David set about filling several canteens of water from the lake. As they load them into the small boat, Hook examines it, inspecting for any signs of leaks or holes.

Emma steps away from the group slightly, fastening and tightening the cutlass straps that keep the sword tight and secure against her back, taking a moment to prepare herself for whatever she and Hook are about to face.

Neal wanders over to her, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks.” 

“Not just with the mermaids,” he continues, tilting his head in the direction of the small boat, where Hook is bent over it, his necklace brushing the edge of the boat.

Emma tries not to sigh too heavily at the implication Hook is part of the danger in this mission. She knows they have some dark history, but Neal wasn’t there with them on the Jolly Roger when they first arrived in Neverland, when these very same mermaids had attacked them, when Hook had helped save Emma from drowning in the churning seas.

“Listen, Neal –”

“He betrayed a lot of people when he was here last,” Neal persists, stubbornly. “Those mermaids are no different. You said they attacked the Jolly Roger when you first got here – why do you think they would do that?”

Her hand hesitates over the clasp. That’s a question she hasn’t really considered before …

Neal notices her hesitation, and he nods pointedly. “Like I said,” he continues, his voice low. “Be careful.”

Emma finishes tightening the sword and tries not to grimace when she smiles reassuringly back at Neal. “We’ll be fine.”

She walks back to the small boat before Neal can say anything else, joining Hook at its side.

“Any holes?”

“No, it’s ship shape,” he replies, straightening up. “Ready, Swan?”

Emma nods, and suddenly reminded of the last time they did something like this. Standing beside Hook, about to embark on an adventure, just the two of them – its like they are standing at the base of the beanstalk again, back in the Enchanted Forest. Then, Hook had had his own agenda, had been consumed in revenge and his own goals, and Emma didn’t trust him for a moment.

It’s surprising how different it feels now, regardless of Neal’s implications.

Now, Hook is the only person she would want to go with on this trip across Mermaid Lagoon, to ask a group of mythical creatures for their help in rescuing her son from a demented kidnapper. There’s no ulterior motive this time – Hook is here, in Neverland, the home of one of his sworn enemies, volunteering to travel across a black lake to face mermaids to help save her son. Who, if Neal’s information is accurate, he may have screwed over before.

There’s no benefit to Hook to go on this trip, and yet, here he is, standing opposite her, determined and ready to save her son. 

Emma sets her jaw resolutely. “Let’s do this.”

Hook clambers into the boat first, hand out to help Emma in. Normally she would ignore it out of principle, but the unsteadiness of the water underneath the small boat has her grasping out for it. She expects some snarky comment or perhaps a refusal to let go of her hand, but to his credit, he simply helps her into the boat, his palm rough against hers, and releases her hand once she has her own footing.  

As Hook predicted, the boat carries no oars or other ways to steer or propel them forwards. Instead, as Emma and Hook they settle into their seats, the boat gently pushes off from the sandy shore, gliding out into the dark lake.

“If we’re not back in a few hours, keep going, keep looking for Henry!” Emma calls. “Find Regina and get that shadow!”

The three figures of David, Mary Margaret, and Neal soon fade into small black dots against a dark shoreline, and then disappear altogether.

The tower of rocks in the centre of the lake looms ahead of them, and as they drift closer towards it, a cool breeze kicks up, sending goosebumps down Emma’s bare arms. Most of the time she is overheating in Neverland, with its oppressive jungle heat at all times of the day, hence her abandonment of her black peacoat the moment they arrived, but here out on the water, it’s the opposite. The dark water splashing over the edge is icy, chilling her to the bone. Emma wishes she had brought her jacket, but that is still folded up as her pillow back at camp, so she rubs at her arms, trying to bring some warmth back into them.

Hook, of course, notices.

“Are you cold, Swan?”

“I’m fine.”

He rolls his eyes at her and shrugs out of his large jacket. He holds it out to Emma, but she doesn’t take it, raising her eyebrow in a challenge. He lets out a huff of a laugh, laying it out over her knees instead.

“No sense getting a chill before we’ve even arrived. You’ll need all your strength and wits about you, love.”

The jacket is heavy and warm draped across her knees, and Emma lifts it up, slipping her arms through the sleeves, sheltering more of her body. “Thanks,” she says, begrudgingly.

“You’re most welcome.”  

They lapse into a silence as they cruise across the lake, the coldness of the air brushing against Emma’s face and making her shiver.

“So … mermaids, huh?” she starts, curious but at the same time hoping conversation will distract her from the cold biting at her skin. “I didn’t even know they existed outside of stories until we arrived here.”

He tilts his head at her, eyes narrowed. “Sounds like most of my world is simply stories in yours.”

She nods, thinking of the numerous movies and books on Snow White and Neverland and every other magical character she’s come across so far. “You’ve got no idea. But they’re twisted. I mean, the stories are different than …” She trails off, and waves her hand vaguely in his direction, unsure exactly how to put it.

He nods seriously but his eyes have a twinkle of humour. “Like your moustache and perm comment.”

Emma laughs, imagining the animated Captain Hook, with his exaggerated features and brilliant red coat, versus the man in front of her – almost unfairly handsome, who dresses entirely in black leather, with a loose cotton shirt lacking any effort at buttons. Lethal where the cartoon is a buffoon. Perhaps the only story in her world that had gotten a fact right was the original book, which described his dark hair and blue eyes, as blue as forget-me-not flowers.

Its far too easy for Emma to stare at those blue eyes, to be lost in them, and she shakes herself, continuing, rather hurriedly, “I mean, mermaids, for example. The most famous mermaid in my world isn’t a monster; she’s a curious adventurer and the hero of the story.”

Hook’s humour fades, and he frowns. “Aye, love. In that sense, our worlds are similar. Most mermaids are not monsters. But like I said, Neverland is not a kind home. To live, to thrive here … the softest among them are long gone and the remainder are dangerous.

Neal’s warning from the shore about Hook and the mermaids lingers in her mind, a trail of doubt creeping in.

“Hook, when we first got here, they attacked the Jolly Roger. Why did they do that?”

Hook fiddles with the end of his hook. “It was most likely on Pan’s orders. He has some arrangement with them. I’ve never been able to figure out what he has over them, but he probably had them out on patrol in case you showed up. Though,” he muses, “we had our fair share of disagreements when I was here, before. They like to hold grudges, these mermaids. It may as well of been my doing as Pan’s.”

Her heart sinks; perhaps there had been something to Neal’s warning after all. “What did you do?”

“Nothing too nefarious,” he says, with a wry grin that rapidly fades again into a dark, almost morose expression. “But you live in one place for too long, you tend to gather enemies, especially ones who like to hoard treasure and work for your enemy.”

They lapse into another silence then, and don’t speak again until the boat begins to slow. Emma twists her body as the boat slows its approach, to a rocky beach similar to the one at the other end of the lake, with dark sand and a gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.

This time, however, instead of a jungle framing the beach, it is all rocks, some jagged and sharp like knives, others low and flattened by the water’s erosion, and goosebumps rise on Emma’s skin as Hook jumps out of the boat, tugging it the last few feet onto shore.

“This place is creepy,” she comments, rubbing at her arms as she rises to her feet now, leaving Hook’s warm jacket behind. There is a faint breeze now, and though it is only a feeble wind, it is icy and cuts at her bare arms.

“Aye,” he replies darkly, straightening and glaring at the rocks around them. “This is Marooners’ Rock.”

“Marooners’ Rock?”

Hook is gazing out to the distance, and Emma follows his eyeline. A flat outcropping of rock hangs out over the water, a sheer cliff over the swirling waters below.

“So named after all those who left their crew here to die.”

Hook looks away from the outcropping, offering no more explanation, and continues, “Come, Swan. They’ll be on the other side, facing out into the lake.”

He holds his hand out to her, and Emma takes it, climbing out of the boat onto the soft, black sand. She glances to the outcropping, and this time when she shivers, it has nothing to do with the cold.

The small boat has dropped them off at the bottom of a set of cliffs, towering about thirty feet above them, with a carved staircase leading up from the beach into the rocks above. Though Hook called this a ‘rock’, its truly a little island all into itself, and Emma feels daunted by the scale of it all.

They leave Hook’s heavy jacket in the boat, along with the water canteens and head off, up the stone staircase. At the top of the staircase is a rocky plateau, with a stunning view of the jungle of Neverland all around them. Emma glances behind her, squinting back at the beach for any sign of the others, but the shore is too far away now. Only the thick black jungle stares back at her, oppressive and silent.

For whatever reason, it spooks her and makes her angry at the same time. Here they are, stranded in an unknown, hostile world, her son lost and in danger. It makes her blood boil with anger, anger at the sheer fact that this is even happening in the first place, and Emma turns back to Hook, who is watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What?” Emma asks, more defensively than she perhaps means it to be.

“You need another weapon, Swan.”

Automatically, Emma refuses. “I have the cutlass,” she says, shifting to show Hook the blade strapped to her back.

His eyes trace her movement, the turn of her body, and his voice is low when he says, “Never hurts to have a back up, Swan. Especially against these creatures.”

Strapped to his belt, slung low around his hips, hangs several weapons – in addition to his own sword, there are two short daggers in brown leather wrappings and a short black scabbard. He unfastens the black scabbard, and holds it out to Emma, an ivory handle gleaming at her.

“Here. Take it.”

Something lingers in his words, and Emma doesn’t argue again. She takes it from him and slides the dagger out of its scabbard, revealing a lethally sharp silver blade that gleams in the moonlight. She tucks it into the side of her boot, so that only the emerald tipped pommel shows and nods at him.

“Thanks. Where to from here?”

He gestures to the other side of the plateau. “They will be over there.”

She gestures for him to continue, and then follows him down another roughly carved stone staircase, into the darkness of the rocks below, to whatever and whoever await them.

[snowbellewells]

@kmomof4 You already know how much I love and adore this whole story, and this second part in general, because my “beta work” became a lot more flailing and squealing about all the parts I adored than much helpful comment or editing. Still, it definitely deserves to be reblogged and praised again.

I loved how you wrote Emma and Killian in whole form at the start of this, the reunion with her parents, their wedding celebration — seriously SO MUCH GOODNESS all in a single addition to the story!!! 🐺😍🐺😍🐺

And the Papa Charming welcoming his daughter’s True Love and true mate into the family fold? That was the part that seriously had me tearing up. Masterful from beginning to end!!! ❤️🐺❤️🐺❤️ Thank you for sharing it with us!!!

The Arena Ch. 2 CS Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo

I made it!!!! My first Bingo offering!!! I hope you enjoy this fluff-fest of an ending to my CSSNS24 fic The Arena! I'm so thrilled to join in this fall writing challenge where all the fics written so far have just been fantastic!!!! You can find the rest of the fics here.

Thank you to @hollyethecurious for the Bingo idea and for making the cards and collection on ao3 and thank you also to @snowbellewells for betaing this fic!! And finally, as always, thank you to @motherkatereloyshipper for her beautiful artwork that she made to accompany the fic last summer. It's still quite appropriate even though we're not actually in the arena any more... you can see her artwork under the cut.

Fic Summary:

The arena.

A place of fear. Oppression. Blood. Death.

A place of shattered hopes and dreams.

A place, for a very lucky few, of hope.

Ch Summary:

Emma and Killian return to her home.

Rating: M (for graphic depictions of violence and smut)

On ao 3 From the beginning / Ch2

On Tumblr

Words: 4600 of 7800

Tags: CSSNS24, Werewolves, True Love, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Happy Ending, Smut

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells  @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite

@jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779

@kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love 

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 2 Homeward Bound

Killian uncurled himself from his mate, his True Love, as the rising sun lit up the small cave they’d taken shelter in the evening before. He and Emma had been traveling together just over a month since they’d escaped the arena where they met - himself a willing captive, while his love had been kidnapped, restrained, and forced to participate in the depraved contest for the entertainment of the now forcibly deposed emperor. 

It hadn’t been long after their escape that they’d decided to return to Emma’s home many leagues to the east on the far edge of the empire. Staying in their wolf forms, for ease of traveling, they had nearly reached their destination at last. Emma recognized the forest that surrounded her small village in which her family’s farm was on the far side. After the very long day of traveling, in addition to the uncertainty of what they’d find when they arrived at her home, Emma had asked to rest overnight still under the cover of the forest. As her mate, her protector, and her True Love, Killian had of course acceded to her wishes. 

Now with the sun well into the sky, Killian lifted his head and turned his attention to the entrance of the cave. The small forest creatures had been awake for some time already, and he could hear their scurrying feet outside their resting place. Once Emma woke, they’d procure sustenance - much easier to do in wolf form than human form since they had no coin between them - and make their way to her home.

He could just detect a difference in her breathing that told him she’d soon wake. He began nosing and licking her muzzle, gently coaxing her into wakefulness. She shook her head and opened her mouth in a jaw-popping yawn before her gorgeous green eyes - that matched the forest outside - blinked open and settled on him. Killian nuzzled his snout, then his entire head underneath her upturned jaw, showering his mate with tender affection as his body curled around hers until he rested his head on her haunches and she laid her head across his back.

They rested like that for just a few moments before Emma raised her head and stood up, giving herself a vigorous shake. Killian grinned at his mate, not yet over the awe he felt beholding her beauty; anytime really, but especially in the morning light that made her white fur nearly blinding. If the gods did decide to strike him blind at that moment, he would have no cause to complain, and in fact, would be eternally grateful that his True Love was the last thing he ever beheld. He’d hold her in his mind’s eye until death parted them, even if that day was a hundred years hence.

Shaking himself as well, he stood and made his way to the front of the cave, peering out into the forest surrounding them. Looking back toward his mate to see if she was ready to head out, he took a great bounding leap into the deep green foliage, Emma right behind him. They raced through the woods, their keen eyes looking out for a deer that they might enjoy before traveling the last few miles to Emma’s family farm.

Luck was on their side, and once they’d satisfied their hunger, they took off toward the edge of the woodland that bordered the village in which Emma had been born and raised. When they finally arrived at the farm, Killian could clearly see that Emma’s fears of what she’d find when she arrived home were entirely justified. The fields of grain that she’d described to him were now nothing more than scorched earth in front of them. Emma stood next to him, still as death, until she raised her snout to the sky and released a long, mournful howl that he quickly joined.

The forlorn refrain carried over the decimated fields, their wolf song expressing their joint grief and sorrow for the destruction of her home. The place that they’d both hoped to be able to make a home for themselves and their future family. As the melancholy lay filled the sky, Killian suddenly heard two other bereaved voices join in his and Emma’s song.

Emma’s voice choked at the unexpected addition - her song cut off as if with a knife - and her ears twitched toward the other melody. Suddenly she streaked away, running faster than he’d ever seen. Killian wasted no time chasing after her and had nearly caught up with her furious flight when he could see two other wolves racing towards them. 

Killian stopped, somehow knowing exactly who these wolves were. Emma leaped at the larger of the two, who’d risen on his back legs to meet her, embracing her as well as could be expected in wolf form. The smaller of the two wolves stood nearby and transformed as the other two joyfully greeted one another, with yips, howls, and rolling around together on the ground. 

A black haired petite woman stood where the wolf had been, and Killian could see the resemblance between his Emma and this woman who could only be her mother. The only difference was their hair color and the age difference. She launched herself at the two wolves still entangled on the ground. Killian felt like his heart was going to explode with happiness as he watched the reunion between his True Love and her parents. He transformed, then waited patiently where he was until Emma and her father both transformed and she turned to him, tears in her eyes and beckoned him toward them.

“Mama, Papa,” she began, reaching out her hand toward him, “this is Killian Jones, my True Love.” The man and woman turned to him, the woman’s green eyes - so like his love’s - also filled with tears.

“True Love?” she asked, a watery smile lifting her lips.

As Killian moved toward them, he realized that her parents were utterly unconcerned with the state of their clothing, but he still felt terribly exposed with nothing on but the ragged breaches he’d been wearing the day of the contest. He was glad that Emma still had the cloak he’d given her wrapped around her. He’d hate for her father to see the rags she now wore.

“Aye,” Killian replied, coming close and taking Emma’s outstretched hand. “Emma was the prize in the arena I was competing in, and as soon as our eyes met, my wolf returned. I’d lost him when I was but a lad, when an angry shopkeeper cut off my hand.” He looked down at his restored limb, still not used to seeing it after living so many years without it. Emma’s mother grasped it firmly and pulled him to her, embracing him fiercely. He hadn’t felt the love and acceptance of a mother in almost fifteen years, and he wasn’t terribly surprised when his own eyes filled with tears of their own.

Finally releasing him, she introduced herself and her husband to him. “I’m Mary Margaret and this is David. We are so very pleased to meet you, Killian Jones.”

“You’ve brought our daughter home to us,” David said, placing his hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing we could say or do to repay the kindness you’ve shown us.”

“You owe me nothing,” Killian replied. “We wanted nothing more than to come here and find a home where we could raise a family.”

“After we woke to the fire,” Mary Margaret began, turning questioning eyes onto her husband when he gently placed his hand on her arm.

“We should probably return to town to find a place to stay before exchanging stories,” he suggested. “It will take some time before we’ll be able to rebuild and return here for good,” he continued, turning sorrowful eyes at the fields before them.

“Of course,” his wife agreed. They all turned toward the small village in the distance and began walking as Mary Margaret continued her story. “We knew the tales. The brutality of Arthur’s rule and how he wouldn’t hesitate to steal, kill, and destroy to keep his subjects in line. We just never really thought he’d bother with us all the way out here, so far away from the capitol. But when the fire woke us, and after it was out there was no trace of Emma, we knew what had happened. That she’d been taken as either an addition to his harem or as a prize for the arena. With the farm destroyed, we set out to search for her. We were willing to pay any price, do anything to bring her home with us once we found her. We hadn’t found any trace of her at the other three arenas and were finally on our way to the capitol when we heard a rumor that Arthur had been attacked and killed by a wolf in the arena.” 

Mary Margaret paused and brought her hand to her chest as more tears filled her eyes, a single drop falling down her cheek. David wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to his side in comfort, and Killian and Emma smiled gently, encouraging her to continue.

“When we heard the tale,” she resumed after a deep fortifying breath, “we couldn’t help but hope that perhaps Emma was the wolf, and since Arthur was dead, she’d be able to escape and come home. So instead of continuing toward the capitol - that was still about a week’s travel away from where we were - we decided to come home, in the hopes of finding Emma here.”

“Killian was the wolf in the arena,” Emma supplied. “I was the prize, but they’d put a magic bracelet on me that I couldn’t remove and that kept me from changing.” She squeezed Killian’s hand in affection and looked up at him, her eyes filled with love. “When our eyes met before he transformed…” she paused, her emotions overcoming her. Killian squeezed her hand in support and after another moment or two, she was able to continue. “I felt a connection with him that I’d never known before. None of the others even registered in my mind. I noticed he only had one hand, so I was stunned when he transformed, and if I hadn’t had that bracelet on, I would have joined him. But he took care of all the other competitors and then attacked Arthur. When he came back, he had both hands. So I knew the only way that could have happened was if he was my True Love. He wouldn’t have been able to transform with only one.”

By this time they had reached the outskirts of the village and were making their way down the main street toward the inn. When they entered, Killian looked around, taking in the rough but clean interior with an older woman behind the counter. As soon as her eyes landed on them, her rather severe countenance broke into a brilliant smile full of joy and affection.

“David, Mary Margaret, Emma,” she cried, coming around the counter toward them. It was only moments before Emma and her parents were engulfed in an enthusiastic and affectionate embrace that they all eagerly returned. “When you were all gone after the fire, we feared the worst. And it’s been so long now, we’d nearly lost hope that you’d ever return.”

“Emma was kidnapped to be a prize in the arena,” David began, “and we set out to look for her. When we heard about Arthur’s death, we came home, hoping that Emma would soon be returned to us.” He turned to Killian, and brought him forward toward the old woman. “Killian is Emma’s True Love and brought her home. He was the wolf that killed Arthur. Killian, this is Granny Lucas.”

Killian nodded in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lucas,” he said.

“Oh, no no no, Killian,” Mary Margaret interjected before anyone else could. “Everyone calls Granny Lucas Granny, and you’ll be expected to do the same.”

Granny nodded in agreement, her stern countenance back in place until Killian nodded in acquiescence. “A pleasure to meet you, Granny,” he corrected himself.  

At his words, he found himself caught up in just as fierce a hug as his companions had enjoyed only a few minutes before. Not used to such blatant gestures of affection, it took him a moment to reciprocate. Once she released him, David spoke again.

“We all just arrived back at the farm today.” Granny was obviously aware of the condition of their home, because the joy on her face abruptly turned to sorrow.

“There really wasn’t anything left for you to come home to,” she commiserated. Just as quickly, her visage turned serious and determined. “You know that you have a place here as long as you need it. All of you have a place here until you can rebuild.”

“Thank you, Granny,” David replied.

The lovable old woman directed David and Mary Margaret to a table and bustled Emma and Killian up the stairs to get decent clothes for them. Once she brought them back down in borrowed clothes from her granddaughter Ruby and her husband Graham, she sat them down at the table with David and Mary Margaret, and only a few minutes later, brought out a hearty noontime meal and fresh baked bread for the family. Business was steady, but not so busy that Granny and Ruby were not both able to visit with the small family as they enjoyed the warm food. Emma and Killian repeated their story whenever Granny and Ruby joined them and filled in the gaps that hadn’t yet been disclosed to David and Mary Margaret. Once they were finished, Mary Margaret responded.

“So you haven’t actually been wed yet?”

Emma and Killian cast shy glances at each other before Killian answered for them. 

“No, actually,” he said. “We left the arena in our wolf forms immediately, and I just followed her. She told me that she wanted to return home after being away for almost a year, and since I haven’t had a home since my mother died fifteen years ago, I was more than willing to go with her. It was much easier to travel in our wolf forms. We didn’t have to worry about paying for lodging or cooking meals - so that’s what we’ve done. Now that we’re here, and ready to settle down, we’ll be in our human forms.”

“We must arrange a wedding at once,” Mary Margaret enthused. The joy was clear on her face, and Killian could feel his cheeks heat as he glanced at his love and saw the same soft and loving smile on her face as he was sure was on his. “After losing you a year ago,” Mary Margaret continued, “I despaired of ever seeing you in love, married, and with a family of your own.” She reached across the table and grasped Emma’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Now that you’re here - that we’re together - we mustn’t waste a day.”

Killian looked down at his love and with that silent communication between them - further proof of their True Love connection, as if they needed one - expressed their own desires for that very thing. Staying in wolf form since the day they met, they’d not consummated their relationship in any way, and now that they were truly home, the thought of making love with his True Love made his breath catch.

“Archie can perform the ceremony,” Ruby said, Granny, and Mary Margaret voicing their agreement.

“And I can prepare a feast the village hasn’t seen since your wedding, Ruby,” Granny added. She rose quickly to go find Graham so she could send him to the forest to bring back the required meat for the planned celebration that evening.

Emma rested her head on Killian’s shoulder and sighed in contentment as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Once the rest of their meal was consumed, Mary Margaret and Ruby took Emma upstairs to prepare her for the wedding, and David and Killian left to join Graham in the forest.

Killian pulled David aside, not wanting to be overheard.

“We could bring down a few deer much easier as wolves than humans,” he began, when David interrupted him.

“Graham is a wolf too,” he informed him. Killian gasped in shock. Never meeting another wolf in his entire life, and then in the space of a month, meeting his True Love - who was also a wolf - her parents who were both wolves themselves, and now Graham… It was completely overwhelming. 

David grinned. “Our entire village is made up of wolves. That’s why we’re on the very edge of the empire.”

Killian couldn’t disguise his surprise if he tried. His mouth hung open, and it took a moment before he could think of anything coherent to say in response. “Before Emma, I’d never met another wolf. Besides my father,” he added quickly.

David squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll be in very good company here, Killian.”

Killian swallowed hard and smiled at his love’s father. “Thank you.”

David pulled him into a quick but tight embrace that expressed everything they couldn’t yet put into words. Pulling away, they both transformed and turned to see a tawny wolf moving silently through the trees. Hunting as part of a pack was an entirely new experience for Killian, and it took almost no time at all to bring down several deer, enough to feed the entire village. 

Once the men got the animals to the village, dressed, and ready for cooking, delicious smells were already permeating the air around the inn. There was an air of celebration in the village with David greeting his friends and neighbors he hadn’t seen in a year and telling them Emma and Killian’s story.

Hours later, Killian stood in the middle of what would be his and his bride’s room for their wedding night, dressed in the finest clothes he’d ever worn, even if they were borrowed from Graham. His head was almost spinning. His life had turned completely around in the space of a month, and this day alone, it had changed in even more unexpected ways. He was about to wed his True Love. The one fated for him by the gods, whom he’d never really believed he’d meet. He was about to join his life to hers, she would join hers to him, and they would join her family in a village full of wolves to raise a family of their own. Tears filled his eyes as David approached him and clasped his shoulder.

“I have nothing to say,” he began, his own eyes shining. “Seeing you together, it is clear to me that there is no one better suited for my daughter than you, Killian Jones. I know that you will love her, provide for her and the family you raise together, cherish her, and honor her to the end of your days, and there is nothing that I could desire more. Welcome to the Swan family, son.”

David pulled Killian to him in a tight embrace that Killian returned with fervor.

“Thank you for accepting me into your family,” he murmured into his shoulder.

It was a long moment before David released him with a beaming smile. 

“Let’s get you married!” he exclaimed happily, and Killian couldn’t agree more.

They came down the stairs and met Graham. The younger men exited the inn, turning toward a beautiful multicolored tent erected a little ways down from the establishment, where stood a thin man with curly red hair, that he assumed must be Archie who would perform the ceremony. Killian and Graham approached him, Killian barely noticing all the people gathered to celebrate the nuptials. 

As soon as they took their places, they turned back toward the inn to see David and Mary Margaret, with Emma in between them, emerge from the building. Killian caught his breath at his bride’s beauty. She wore a long cream gown that, in Killian’s eyes, put the setting sun to shame. Her golden hair only added to the glow that surrounded her. In that moment, everything and everyone else faded away, his full attention on his beautiful bride. 

The ceremony itself was brief, with both of them making vows to love, honor, and cherish one another until death parted them. Once their vows were spoken, the villagers cheered as they sealed their union with a tender kiss. Killian didn’t think he’d ever forget the deep love and happiness in Emma’s eyes as they parted, knowing they reflected exactly the same thing in his.

Granny, Ruby, and Mary Margaret immediately began setting out the prepared feast for the village as everyone else surrounded the newly married couple. After the meal was consumed and everyone was happy and relaxed, David sent Killian a significant look that he had no trouble interpreting. 

“Now’s your chance to leave,” David told him. “Everyone is still enjoying themselves and no one will miss you. The other men and I will be talking about rebuilding our home, and,” he continued when Killian opened his mouth to interrupt, “a home for you and Emma will also be discussed, I can assure you.”

“Thank you,” Killian replied. He turned to Emma to see joyful anticipation dancing in her gaze. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the knuckles. “Shall we, my darling one?” he asked.

“We shall, my husband,” she breathed.

With those words, he led her inside the inn and up to their room. He closed the door firmly behind him and turned to his bride. She was ethereal in her beauty. More breathtaking than anything in heaven or on earth. The thought that she was now his nearly brought him to his knees in profound gratitude.

“When they took me, I thought my life was over,” she murmured. “But instead it led me to you, my True Love.” Tears filled her eyes, and he silently took her in his arms and held her close.

“I never thought I’d actually find my True Love,” he replied softly. “When my mother told me my wolf was gone when I woke from my fever, she told me not to give up hope. That I would find her someday.”

He cupped her chin in both his hands and just stared into her eyes for a moment, getting lost in the love and joy he found there. Impatience tinged with mischief filled her gaze as she refused to wait any longer. She drew him down to her lips and claimed him with all the strength of the wolf inside of her. Killian chuckled against her lips and opened his mouth to her seeking tongue.

When their tongues met, a contented sigh fell from his love’s mouth, that he took full advantage of. The kiss at their wedding had been their first, and it had whetted their appetite for a full conflagration at the earliest opportunity.  A groan passed from his lips that she eagerly reciprocated as both of their hands roamed, utterly delighted to finally be able to touch one another.

Killian’s hands shook as he pulled back from Emma and gently pushed the gossamer fabric of her gown off her shoulders so that it cascaded in a whispered ripple to the floor. The moment she was bared to him, he drew her back into his embrace, his kiss possessive and passionate, showing her without words how much he loved her. 

Now that he held her in his arms again, she began her own explorations, undressing him quickly and efficiently until he stood naked before her. Her roaming hands and kisses were driving him mad with desire, and the wolf inside of him howled in enjoyment of her touch. 

The intrinsic True Love connection between them only heightened their passionate pleasure as they lay down together on the bed. Killian had never laid on anything so soft and comfortable as a human before - the closest he’d ever come to it was a soft pile of leaves he’d rest upon as a wolf - and the twin sighs that came from him and his love made them both grin in amused delight before bursting into laughter.

“It’s so lovely to have an actual mattress to sleep on again,” she observed once their mutual mirth faded. “It had been so long, I nearly forgot what it felt like.”

“I’ve never laid on anything so luxurious, so soft,” he replied, ducking his head slightly when her eyes grew round with surprise. Even with their True Love connection, they really hadn’t delved much into their respective pasts in the last month as they journeyed, so Killian worried for a moment that as he opened up to her just this tiny bit about his past, it might cause her to look at him differently. But as he looked into her eyes again, all he saw was sincere admiration and the same love he’d become accustomed to over the last weeks as they traveled.

“We’ll have the same, or even better, once our own home is built, Killian,” Emma promised him, a teasing smile now lifting the corner of her lips. “But for now, I think we should put this mattress to good use. Don’t you?” she asked.

His own smirk touched his lips. “I do,” he agreed, before claiming her lips once more. His touch grew bolder, his kisses more passionate, and she responded in kind until they couldn’t stand to be two individuals any longer. Killian positioned himself between her legs and made them one with a single stroke, a cry of ecstasy pulled from Emma’s lips that Killian would never tire of hearing as long as he lived.

She clenched around him as he drove himself into her, pushing them both toward that precipice that was just out of reach. Emma’s legs trembled, and Killian knew she was closer than he was, so he reached down and rubbed circles around her hardened nub until with a shattered cry she fell into the abyss of pure pleasure a second time, dragging him along with her.

It was several minutes before he was able to move and roll off of his love, drawing her into his arms as their bodies cooled. He kissed her forehead, tasting the sweat on her skin, and smiled tenderly at her.

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he whispered.

“Jones,” she corrected him, her eyes already shut and with a sleepy but sated smile on her face.

“Jones,” he agreed, smiling fondly down at her. “I’m so thankful that I am yours and you are mine.”

“Hmmmm,” she said, almost too quiet to hear, “me, too.”

“I will give you all of my life,” he vowed. “I will always be by your side. To the end of the world, or time.”

Emma didn’t respond, her breaths already evened out into the gentle cadence of sleep. As Killian drew her closer into his embrace, he was finally able to believe that this wasn’t a dream - the dream of a homeless street urchin who had despaired of ever finding true happiness, outside of his own death. 

He finally had a home. A home with Emma. A home with her family. A home within this village of wolves, just like him. He didn’t think it was possible to be happier, until the thought crossed his mind of the future children they’d raise together. But if the gods never blessed him in that way, he at least had his newfound family, and he’d be forever grateful for that.

His happy and contented thoughts ushered him into the sweetest dreams he’d ever known, and they both slept peacefully until the morning light, signaling the start of their new life. 

Together. Never to part. 

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to know what you think!

[flslp87]

Updated 12/30/2022 for New Year’s 2023

It’s been three years since I put together this little ficlit together. But every year, I pull it out and add to it. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll have a complete story.

Life has changed a lot for many of us since OUAT ended. While I’ve not been writing (or really even reading) fanfics, I haven’t said goodbye to writing, though. I’ve been writing small town mystery romance. My books are available in all Estores. You can check them out here.  Swan Harbor Books 

Some of my friends that I met through our love for CS @imagnifika  @duathadun @lfh1226-linda and Maggie for hanging with me through it all. 

My hope is for 2023 to bring peace and happiness to all. Remember - without hope, there would be no happy endings. 

This ficlet follows canon from my Season 7 Canon divergent -- A Happy Ending Begins with Hope. It can be found on AO3, FF, and tumblr with gifs. 

Summary: Hope has a date.  How will her family react?

Hope’s New Year’s Date

Words ~ 1500

During Hope Jones’ young life, Storybrooke had gone through many changes, and none more so than around the holidays. They had town Easter Egg hunts, fireworks and picnics in July, bonfires for Halloween, family feasts at Thanksgiving, and caroling at Christmas. 

Hope had memories of each one of them. However, there was one event that she had been looking forward to for years, and that was the Snowflake Ball. 

Held every New Year’s Eve, the Snowflake Ball was only for those who were sixteen and above. Everyone brought out their formal clothes and danced until midnight. And, if she was lucky, the man she was crushing on would ask her to go with him. 

Gideon Gold was ahead of her in school and so dreamy, he made her head spin. Plus, when he looked at her with his chocolate brown eyes, her heart raced, and her breath stuck in her throat. 

She’d been crushing on him for years, but it had only been in the last six months that he’d given her the time of day. Did that mean that he was seeing her as more than a girl? If so, was it possible she’d finally get to spend the evening with him — as his date? 

Two weeks before the New Year’s Eve Ball, Hope was at Granny’s with her best friends, Melanie and Robyn, bemoaning the fact that Gideon still hadn’t done as she wished. Her only saving grace was that he’d not asked anyone else either — of that, she was sure. So far, she’d tried everything she could think of to let him know she was available. At the speed he was moving, though …. 

“Earth to Hope.” Melanie snapped her fingers several times. “Earth to Hope.” 

“I’m sitting right here, Melanie,” Hope grumbled. “What’s the problem?” 

“You were staring off into space again,” Robyn replied. “Were you dreaming about Gideon?” 

“Shush,” Hope hissed. “He’s sitting right over there!” 

“He can’t hear us,” Melanie assured her. 

Hope glanced over her shoulder toward where Gideon was sitting with her uncle, Neal, and had to agree with Melanie. There was no way they could be heard from that far away. 

“You should have told your uncle to tell Gideon to ask you out,” Robyn suggested. “It would have saved a lot of circling around each other.” 

“Don’t you know circling around each other is part of the fun?” Hope grinned. “Or at least that’s what my mother says.” 

“You don’t believe her, though. Do you?” Melanie followed up. 

Hope glanced up from where she’d been pleating and unpleating her napkin. “Why would you say that?” 

Melanie nodded down at the table. “Because you’re nervous. If you were having fun, you wouldn’t be nervous.” 

Did she agree with her friends? She wasn’t so sure. Yes, she enjoyed flirting with Gideon. But it would be so much easier to enjoy flirting with him, if she knew what he thought of her. 

“You could ask him, you know?” Robyn offered pragmatically. “This is the twenty-first century, after all.” 

“I know,” Hope sighed. “But …” Again, her gaze was drawn over her shoulder to the table where Gideon and Neal were still involved in a deep conversation. Robyn was right. She could ask him. 

“Go on,” Melanie encouraged. “But what?” 

Hope shrugged. “My father is a little old-fashioned and well …” 

Robyn frowned. “But didn’t I see in the book that your mother asked your father out first?” 

“That was different,” Hope murmured. “My father didn’t think he was good enough for my mother.” 

“And you don’t think that’s an issue with Gideon?” Melanie asked. “After all, his father and your father have a history.” 

“Which I’m fully aware of,” Hope snapped. “But I want him to ask me. Do you think I’m expecting too much?” 

“I would say ‘have hope,’” Melanie grinned. “But something tells me you don’t need it.” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” Robyn tipped her chin slightly in Gideon’s direction, “ he’s headed this way.” 

“He’s what?” Hope squeaked. 

“On his way over,” Melanie whispered. 

Hope glanced over her shoulder, and when her gaze briefly met Gideon’s, her heart dropped into her stomach. 

Oh my! Oh my! Oh my! She leaned on the table. “How do I look?” 

Melanie rolled her eyes. “You look fine. Stop worrying.” 

“Hope,” Gideon’s aftershave titillated her senses, “can I speak with you for a moment?”  

Hope’s gaze slowly lifted until her blue eyes clashed with his dark ones. “Sure.” She wanted to roll her eyes at just how breathy she sounded. “Can I help you with something?” 

Gideon’s gaze touched on Melanie and Robyn, then back to Hope. “Can we speak alone? Would that be alright?” 

“Oh, Okay. That would be fine.” Then she wanted to roll her eyes at how ridiculous she sounded. 

“Can we talk now?” Gideon asked again. 

“Go on,” Melanie mouthed. 

Hope took a nervous breath and slid out of the booth. The butterflies in her stomach took off at once. It forced her to focus on putting one foot in front of the other as she followed Gideon across the floor. 

He led her around the building to a secluded corner and crowded her, pushing her to back up against the wall. Being close to him was everything she’d ever wanted, but now that it was happening, her heart was racing, and the urge to giggle was strong.   

“Is this okay?” Gideon asked hesitantly. “I noticed that—“

“—Everyone was staring at us?” Hope muttered. 

“Yes.” Gideon smiled. “Are you okay with that?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Well,” he went on. “Our fathers …” 

“Will never be best friends,” Hope replied. “Why?” She hesitated for a beat. “Are you scared of my dad?” Then she wanted to smack herself in the head that those words had fallen from her mouth. “Scared?” Gideon laid his hand on his chest. “Me?” 

“There’s no one else out here.” 

“I’m not scared.” Gideon propped one hand on the building next to her head and leaned in a little closer. “Should I be?” 

“It depends.” 

“On?” 

“Why you brought me out here?” 

Gideon’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then right back up. It caused her lips to tingle and made her wonder what it would feel like if she just went for it. 

“Hope.” He brushed her hair behind her shoulder and took a half step closer. His dark eyes mesmerized her, and his heat reached out. “I was wondering if you would go to the Snowflake Ball with me?” 

Her breath caught, and the words Be cool! Be cool! were on repeat inside her head. But having Gideon ask her to go to the dance had been her dream for longer than she could remember. “Yes!” She fought to keep from squealing. “Yes, I’ll go to the dance with you.” 

A slow smile crawled across Gideon’s mouth. “You will?” 

“I will.” 

His eyes twinkled, and before he even opened his mouth, somehow, she knew what he was going to say. “And you’ll protect me from your father? If it’s necessary, that is.” 

Hope giggled. “I’ll protect you.” 

“Good,” he replied in a husky voice. “I’ll pick you up at 8:00 p.m.”  

“I’ll be waiting.”  

Gideon brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “We’ll have fun.” 

Her breath hitched, and she fought to push the lump in her throat down. “We will.” 

“Shall we?” He inclined his head toward the diner door. 

In a daze, Hope followed him back inside and slid into her booth seat. “Well,” Melanie and Robyn cried simultaneously. “What happened?” 

“What happened?” Hope asked absently. 

“Did he ask you to the dance?” Melanie pushed. 

“Did you say yes?” Robyn followed up. 

“What are you going to tell you parents?” Melanie questioned. 

Hope glanced from one friend to the other. “What do you mean?” 

“You know the history between your fathers,” Robyn stated. “Will there be bloodshed?” 

“Bloodshed?” Hope giggled. “Aren’t you the one who said this is the twenty-first century?” 

“True,” Robyn sighed. “But that had nothing to do with the possibility of a duel.” 

Hope rolled her eyes. “There’s not going to be a duel. Everything will be fine.” 

“Good luck with that.” Melanie smiled sympathetically. “I’m glad I’m not you.”  

“Gee, thanks.” Hope glanced over her shoulder in Gideon’s direction again, and their gazes clashed. “I told him I’d protect him if I needed to.” 

Robyn waggled her eyebrows. “But who’s going to protect you from Gideon?” 

“Do you think I need to be protected from Gideon?” Hope murmured. “I’m not so sure.” 

“I guess it depends on what you want,” Melanie replied. “What do you want?” 

Once again, Hope’s gaze clashed with Gideon’s. What did she want from him? The memory of how he’d made her lips tingle when he’d looked at them had her turning back to her friends. “What do I want?” 

“Yes, Hope,” Robyn nodded. “What do you want?” 

“A kiss,” Hope sighed. “I just want a kiss.” 

***

Fin ... at least for now. 

Will she get it? Should the story be finished? 

Happy 2023! May all your dreams come true.  

Tagged a few people who were on the initial one.

@sailormew4 @annaamell @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven​ @charmingturkeysandwich​ @jennjenn615​ @kimmy46​ @snowbellewells​ @iamanneenigma​ @daxx04​ @nickillian​ @in-spirational​ @gillie​  @britishguyslover​ @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst​ @kmomof4​  @linda8084​ @golfgirld​ @captain-swan-coffee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @hollyethecurious​ @laughswaytoomuch​  @allyourdarlingswans​  @winterbaby89​ @facesiousbutton82​ @therooksshiningknight​, @lfh1226-linda​ @tiganasummertree​  @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic    @everything-person @girl-in-a-tiny-box @resident-of-storybrooke @qualitycoffeethings @sherifffjones  @countrybroadwayprincess    @tiganasummertree   @hufflepuffinstorybrooke   @kristi555    @nikkiemms @gingerchangeling @marcella2727    @idontdothatveryoften @lady-bell

[snowbellewells]

A Story Told at Last  {Part One}

(Here we are, much later than I had hoped, but hopefully still enjoyable!  Thanks so much to those of you who read, liked, reblogged, and sent encouragement on my prologue for this, my second CSSNS 19 fic.  This is the first full part, and I hope to bring you the second and final one before too much more time goes by.)

**Thank you again to @branlovestowrite for the totally beautiful story art. The banner for this just makes me so happy. I could not have wished for more!

**Thanks as well to @whimsicallyenchantedrose, my beta reader. I did not get all of this to her for beta-ing as I should have, but she greatly clarified and improved what I had for her to read over, and I very much appreciate it.

~Part One~

By the time Henry had returned to the Universitá di Bologna housing,where he and his team of advanced grad students were staying for the duration of their research trip in Italy, he was more than a bit anxious to reach his temporary quarters and go back through the copious research notes he had taken and goals he’d laid out in preparation before finally standing within the crumbling skeleton of his historical site - what remained of the once-stunning tower. Having now glimpsed it with his own eyes in the still shadows and dying light of evening, Henry was almost breathless with excitement and the desire to compare what he had seen with the numerous possible finds he had deemed likely. Already, he was itching to return at dawn’s first light with his team and equipment.

The heavy feeling in the air of another presence - of not being alone in the ruins, though his logical mind knew he must have been - had been easily shaken off once he returned to the city from the more remote location. The sound and bustle of the modern world - phones, cars, the press of crowds - melted away the icy shiver that had traced down his spine and put it well out of his thoughts. For several minutes now (nearer to three hours in point of fact, though his mind, caught up in more interesting details, had lost all track of time) he had been leafing through his reference manuals, maps and notes, packed and then unpacked again meticulously upon arrival, when a soft rapping on his door roused him from the fevered state he’d slipped into.

Shaking his head, and hazily pulling himself back into the present time and place, Henry drew a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was a skilled and credentialed professor of historical literature, not the teenage fanboy he’d once been and currently felt like again; he should show a bit more composure to whomever waited to speak with him in the hall. Opening the door, however, his eyes widened momentarily, in spite of his recent resolve, to find his brightest and most accomplished research assistant facing him.

Violet Clemens had actually graduated from the university’s history program two years before, but knowing the particular interest she would have in this research opportunity, Henry had contacted the museum he knew she now worked with when there had been spots left to fill in their group. Violet, with her pale, dewy complexion and ebony hair shining as it rested on her shoulders, not to mention her effortlessly elegant and tasteful way of dressing and carrying herself in a sea of her contemporaries wearing shirts cut so low and pants and skirts so tight that they left little to the imagination, had always stood out and seemed a bit of an old soul out of her time. Despite her keen intellect and quick wit, Henry had always been glad her degree focus leaned more toward historical art and architecture rather than his historical literature. While her complimentary knowledge would serve well in this venture to supplement his own, he had at the time feared becoming completely charmed by her if he’d had her in class on a regular basis.

Trying to shake all those thoughts from his frazzled and rather unfocused mind, Henry gave her a curious but friendly smile before speaking. “Miss Clemens, what can I do for you this evening?”

Violet flushed prettily, her cheeks pinking as her gaze fell to her toes for a moment before glancing back up to meet his. “I’m sorry, Professor Mills. I know it’s late. I was just wondering...I mean…” she finally blurted the rest out in a rush “...you went out to see it already, didn’t you? What was it like?”

Henry truly couldn’t hold back his wide grin at her question. Another person who held the same enthusiasm for the princess and the ruin of her family’s legacy, was not someone he came across often, and a part of him basked in having someone to share the thrill with - someone who just might understand. “You’re not a student anymore,” he offered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Professor. But, to answer your question, yes I’ve been out there and it was incredible. Even with the light failing, it took my breath away.”

Violet merely nodded, taking his words in with an awed smile on her lips. “Oh, I can’t wait to see it for myself,” she murmured. Then a twinkle of mischief flitted into her eyes as she added, “but if you no longer want me to call you Professor, then you’d better just call me Violet.”

“Deal,” Henry affirmed, reaching out a hand which she took to shake on their agreement. The moment their hands were clasped together, a tremor of awareness caught him off guard, running up his arm with a heat and intensity that surprised him. Though he’d heard of such reactions to another many times in the books he’d read and stories he loved, he had never experienced anything so arresting in real life.

“Well, then, Henry,” Violet added, taking her hand back, though he didn’t think he was imagining the sudden breathiness of her voice and the way she shook her head as if to refocus, causing her dark waves of hair to shimmer. “I guess I should leave you in peace for now. We want to get an early start tomorrow after all.”

“That we do,” Henry agreed, seeing her to the door and hoping he wasn’t smiling wide enough to make him look giddy. Once she was gone, he leaned back against the solid oak, shaking his head in disbelief.  It would seem this adventure was going to bring about more than one incredible discovery.

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

The next morning dawned all too early for Henry’s taste; his alarm waking him from such a solid sleep that for a full minute he was too bleary to remember where he was at all. Between the jet lag and staying up another two hours pouring over notes and manuscripts to be certain he was prepared for their first day cataloguing finds onsite, he wasn’t sure he would even be able to pry his eyes open without coffee. It was almost funny to think back now on the days when he used to laugh at his mom and stepdad for their need to have a hot chocolate and black coffee respectively before they could face their days. He understood all too well as an adult.

Once he got himself moving, saw himself down to the continental breakfast provided on the first floor, and was waiting at the van to make sure all his assistants and fellow scholars were on time for the ride out, Henry did begin to feel more awake and alive. It wasn’t long before their small group had gathered, all had been accounted for, and they were loading onto the van. Rolling out of the city proper and into the Italian countryside, Henry began to lay out his game plan for the day, and the rest of his lethargy was swept back by excitement and purpose. 

When they reached the ruins, gathered the tools, instructions, and research which would guide them, they all stood a bit awed, gazing up at the remnants of the tower walls before them, quite possibly full of clues to be discovered. His travel mug providing a further jolt of caffeine as he took a last sip, he then stepped forward to begin directing the tasks to various assistants.  Those with him moved out with care through the ancient, crumbling bricks and mortar, leftovers from an exiled life, off in the directions he had indicated. Undeniably, her felt more than a bit of pride wash over him at the gravity and industry his little group displayed in tackling their assignments. The members of his team were clearly well-chosen.

He wasn’t, however, too selfless to have left one particular team member for last, to work with him one-on-one. Henry firmly fought down the urge to fidget with the hem of his shirt or stutter nervously as Violet edged closer to his side once they stood relatively alone. Her eyes were shining as they drank in the sight before her, more than a bit stunned and affected if her hushed voice was any way to judge. “It’s… splendid…” she nearly whispered, clearly struggling for the right words.

Henry nodded wordlessly, then turned to explain what he hoped to get her help with, just as Violet looked up to him and they bumped into each other awkwardly, both stumbling away a step and chuckling. His hand darted out to catch her elbow, not wanting to knock her to the ground, and Violet wavered closer at the touch unconsciously.

“Oh, Profess - Henry… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

He waved her off gently, “No apology needed. I bumped into you just as much… Vi...olet…” His tongue tangled on her given name as if he were still thirteen and worried about it squeaking. “I mean, there’s no harm done. As long as you’re alright?”

The young curator flushed prettily and nodded with her reassurance of “Absolutely, I’m fine. What did you intend for the two of us to work on?” She was clearly anxious to shed her embarrassment - and to explore this place they both had fallen in love with before even reaching, but for a moment Henry was stymied. He couldn’t speak or think, so struck was he by the intelligence and enthusiasm shining in her eyes and the classical beauty of her face. He wondered helplessly how visitors to her workplace could appreciate any of the art hanging on its walls with Violet standing before them.

Her light touch on his forearm finally brought him back to the moment as she asked again, “Henry? Was there someplace in particular you wanted to start?” Even as those curious words escaped her, Violet’s chocolate-y brown eyes widened noticeably, this time unmistakably also feeling the same jolt of electricity that ran along Henry’s skin where her fingers touched.

Valiantly seeking to ignore the attraction fighting for his attention, Henry redirected his focus to the curious detail he had noticed the evening before, leading his partner toward what still stood of the column that had once been part of the support to a vaulted ceiling. It seemed obvious to him, again if the details of the legend he had heard were true, that this tower had once been an incredibly lovely haven - even if to its inhabitant it had proved a gilded cage. Which was why an oddity in the surface had caught his attention upon first look. There appeared to be a spot where the join between the two sides of the arch didn’t match up - a strange and careless anomaly in a building that otherwise had the look of careful and exquisite design in the other parts that remained.

Pointing up to the spot he had seen, Henry directed Violet’s eyes to the same strange seam that he had noticed. Hearing Violet’s surprised little intake of breath and the way she immediately stepped forward, tracing careful fingers along the obvious malformation in curiosity, told Henry he had indeed been onto something. Soon Violet nodded to herself, drawing closer yet, both hands now up to help in her exploration, and seemingly forgetting Henry, the bustling site, and everyone else around in her rapt focus. 

“Often times,” she murmured lowly without looking away from the movement of her fingers on the old stone, now gingerly but determinedly probing and prying, “in buildings of this age - especially ones which would have belonged to families of importance - an inconsistency like this might often indicate…” she paused for a moment, wedging her finger into the impossibly small opening she had managed to pry, the very tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration adorably (to Henry’s mind at least).

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed in a breath of triumph, the arch giving enough for what appeared a hidden panel to fall open and a still dully glistening bronze object to fall into her open palms. “As I was saying,” she continued proudly, “might indicate a hidden compartment for items of value.”

Beaming with excitement, Violet held her prize up for Henry’s inspection. In her hands lay an ornate, yet solidly constructed compass on a chain. The piece appeared to have some definite age on it, and yet its quality and beauty still shone through. It looked like an instrument which would have been used for ship navigation on sea voyages prior to the advent of modern navigational systems, and Henry’s thoughts could not keep from flying to the princess’ lieutenant of the stories and tales. Might this artifact serve as his first major proof of the legend that had captured his imagination?

His gaze lifted from the compass to meet Violet’s expectant one, ready to speak his hopes. But, even as he did so, the sound (or so he could only imagine) of a sword at someone’s hip as they moved and the creak of leather arrested Henry’s ear. He turned, startled, at such an incongruous noise for a research site, only to find that no one stood anywhere near he and Violet, as if the sound had come from nowhere beyond his own imagination.

Uncertain eyes flew to his companion, who looked back at him in concern, but Henry forced himself to swallow the strange impression he’d had, sure he would sound crazy if he brought up what he’d heard. Instead, they wrapped and catalogued their find properly for transport back with them, talking about what it could mean… and to whom they both had to wonder if it might once have belonged.  Even in the elation of success and discovery, the feeling of lingering over his shoulder did not leave Henry easily, staying with him for the rest of the morning.

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

That evening after dinner, once more in his quarters for the night, Henry’s thoughts were still on the compass as he plunged back into his accounts and stories, all the information on the Princess and her legend, and though he had mostly committed to memory all that was before him, he still pored over the details in hopes of a mention of the compass they had found in order to confirm his suspicions.

As the team leader, items discovered and picked for transport or further research had been logged and stored with him. And though Henry attempted to reason the need away, tried to convince himself that there were no details he had missed, nothing else to see, and that he needed to go to bed, to not spend another night with too little sleep, and instead be rested and well-prepared for the next day’s work, he was still impelled to stand and go over to take out the compass once more; the need would not be denied.

Once the instrument was cradled in his hands, the weight of it steadying to a surprising degree, Henry sunk down on the side of his bed, scrutinizing the relic with focused curiosity. What was he still missing?  Several deep breaths, a few pounding heartbeats, went by as he pondered the instinct guiding him.

Then, with a disconcerting effect that shook him and sent a tremor down his spine, the air around him seemed to waver, undulating dizzily and clouding the borrowed room before his very eyes. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Henry blinked, in hopes of clearing his sight, only to find his perception unchanged as they opened again. The lightheadedness forced Henry to lie back on his pillow, a rather clouded grey beginning to close in on his awareness, vision tunneling to his fingers still clutching the compass tightly - until it was all he could see.

His eyes closed, as surely as if he had been suddenly put to sleep, and then he felt as though he were floating, moving through space even as he knew he was lying still. And then, though he couldn’t fathom how, he stood in the tower of his dreams - whole and shining new as it had not been for some hundreds of years - unseen and right next to a stunning, golden-haired woman who could only be Princess Emmaline…

“Killian, go! You must be away from here before they come with my evening meal,” her voice is quick and urgent as she tries to push him toward the window of her cell, through which he had climbed not even an hour before. “If they catch you, you’ll be arrested. You’re wanted for piracy.”

The dark haired young man, lean and strong, despite appearing more long haired and less neat than he had as a royal navy lieutenant stands firm, well-muscled enough from days spent steering a ship through wind and rain and all other obstacles besides, impossible for her to move unless he allows it. He has waited too long to see her again, and he is not anxious to relinquish the sight of her beautiful face now that it has been restored to him.

“Easy, lass, easy,” he soothes, looking for all the world as if soldiers and guards, arrest and punishment, holds little concern for him.  In truth, he would face those and more as well for her sake, but he has also changed much in the months since his flight from royal service. He is a captain now, not the uncertain, eager-to-please junior officer he had been. Now he gives the orders, his crew (those loyal few who’d followed him into exile) follow his lead and go where he sees fit. “I’ve plenty of time yet… and...I wish to spend every second that I can with you.”

Only here, when addressing his true feelings for his princess, his first and only love, does he show a moment’s hesitance and a lingering sign of the shy young man he once was. Truthfully, he does not know whether or not there is a price on his head, or if he is being sought after diligently; Emmaline’s parents themselves did not agree with the steps taken to hide their daughter away. Whether they truly view him as a dangerous criminal to be apprehended, or more of a rebel with the freedom to act where they could not, Killian Jones is not sure. The King and Queen are constrained by duty to all of their people, where he is loyal first and foremost to his Princess above all others.

Unfortunately, their time is drawing to a close. He can hear the muffled tread of booted feet hurrying up the winding staircase, and knows that soon those who stand guard over Emmaline’s safety, but also make sure she remains in her prison, will reach her room. Much as he loathes leaving her behind again, he knows she is right. He dares not remain and have to fight people who are on the same side, compatriots in service of Misthavia, even if they interpret their orders much differently than he.

Turning to her once more, taking Emmaline’s hands in his, and gazing into her wide, green eyes and her tense face full of worry for him, Killian voices the question he has asked every time he steals back to her side in this long year past. “Come with me. You don’t have to stay locked away here. We could sail the world and be free.” It kills for her to be trapped and alone, paler with each visit he manages, dark purple bruises from sleepness beneath her eyes. Though he knows what her answer will be before he finishes speaking, Killian still has to ask.

His brave, bright angel shakes her head, yellow-gold hair flying around her like a halo, even as a slow tear makes its slow trek down her cheek. “You know I can’t, Killian. My place, my destiny, is here. Though my people fear me now, they need me… My parents need me… I can’t desert them.”

Much as he regrets it, Killian knows her honor will allow her no less. Sadly, he bows his head over their joined hands to kiss the back of hers, murmuring, “As you wish, my Love,” against her skin. Before he turns to climb into the window frame and grab the rope he had used to climb once more, he presss an object into her grasp - the compass he had received upon his naval promotion to lieutenant. “Hold onto this for me at least, aye?  As promise of my return.”

His Emmaline nods tearfully, letting him go and stepping back, but pressing the compass to her breast. “You always return, Killian,” she replies. “I know that.” 

His blue eyes brighten the smallest bit at her faith in him, allowing them both to hold onto hope. “And I always will,” he vows. Then he grasps the rope, swings from the window, and is gone.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @branlovestowrite @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @optomisticgirl  @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @therooksshiningknight @laschatzi @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @darkcolinodonorgasm 

[seriouslyhooked]

The Best Bad Idea (Part 3)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Part Two Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Well… it took more than a year, but at last I am back with an update to this story. I have to be honest, there were times in the last year when I doubted I would ever write a fic again. I felt that I had written the stories I wanted, and with my graduation and a new demanding job, I couldn’t find time to sustain the hobby. But with summer fast approaching, I have had a little time to look back and to search for inspiration. I knew I needed to finish this short story. I HATE that I have left it this long, but I hope, if you’ve liked it so far, you’ll reengage and revel in the conclusion of this sweet little fic. Re-reading the first two chapters, I remembered the mix of humor and pure fluff I was going for. It made me smile so big, and if part three does that for any of you, I will be more than pleased. Thank you so much for continuing on, and I hope you enjoy!

Six months later

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, Thump. Unsteady, loud, and reminding him at every quiet moment of how much he was missing his Swan. This was the state of his heart since rising this morning, leaving the bed he shared with the woman he loved and clutching at cold sheets. 

The action of waking up alone, while regrettable, hadn’t been the issue that set his cardiac system into full blown assault. Much as he hated to be parted from Emma, it was a somewhat natural occurrence. They weren’t always blessed with aligning shifts. Still, she had the day off today, and he’d imagined the morning going rather differently… 

Facing the start of a new dawn with Emma in his arms made the hours to come more than bearable, and though it may mean fatigue down the line, he always began the day just as he ended it, reminding her of how remarkable she was. He’d start with soft touches, taking her in and tracing the lines of her lithe figure. His eyes swept over every part of her, from her golden hair to sun kissed skin and the freckles on her arms that became more prominent with warmer weather. At first, he’d always forget that this was now normal. He had to remind himself that she was real, and his process of remembering meant using all his senses, brushing kisses on her skin as she slowly came awake. 

Every time Emma woke up smiling, the goodness in her heart radiating as she did. To see her happy was the best part of his life, and the only other thing that came close was the feeling he had of worthiness when she finally met his gaze. Her love was open and true, never shy and never guarded.  Despite the pain of all she’d known as a child and beyond, in spite of scars he’d borne for years and tried to hide from others, they found new meaning together and the world felt as it should. Love would turn to lust, and lust to soulful fire. Soon touch was not enough to sustain either of them. To convince himself this was more than a night’s blessed dreaming, he’d go further: tasting her, marking her, claiming her.

Memories of what had been many times, but what alluded him today merged with the beating of his heart, pulling him out of the delicious remembrance and grounding him in longing once again. 

I can’t wait anymore. I simply won’t survive it.

His eyes moved instinctively to his watch, and again he was downcast at the time displayed. The hours were creeping far too slowly. It felt like the shift would never end, and he was barely halfway through. To add insult to injury, he’d been plenty occupied the past few hours. Killian and his team had worked rounds this morning, seen numerous patients, and performed a number of consults. He’d helped David in the ER with one demanding emergency already, and started a complicated surgery of his own while waiting for Locksley to take over on the pediatric case. This would normally give the sensation of the day flying by. But not today. Not when he was so fixated on something he had to wait for.

Of course, while he was actively working, Killian was mostly fine. Maybe Killian wasn’t fully himself, but routine came easy to him, and he remained alert in the ways the job demanded. Medicine required him to be clear headed, task oriented, and to consider all outcomes no matter what plagued him. Lives were on the line, and he took that responsibility seriously. It was an honor to serve others as he did, and he had a legacy of loss to thank for that. Saving others in ways his own family and dear friends couldn’t be saved had always been his drive. But now, the beating of his heart drummed for different reasons. 

I’ve got to ask her. I know that she loves me, but what if she’s not ready? What if I push too soon? What if…

“Let me guess, woman withdrawal.”

The assertion came from beside him, and though it took him by surprise, Killian didn’t flinch. Years of active duty and trauma fieldwork had steeled his senses. Thankfully the particular damages of war were behind him, but chaos was his calling. Or rather, seeing people through the chaos. Trauma surgery filled the gaps and made something from nothing. It was about stemming the tides of terror and giving people a fighting shot when time was of the essence. Some days it felt futile, fighting against a world that took just as much as it gave. But most of the time it grounded him. Every life he saved touched countless others and, he hoped, made up for some that he’d had to take over the years.

The voice that deemed it necessary to tease him was also deeply familiar, and it prompted no fear or agitation. At least nothing more than mild annoyance.  Will Scarlet stepped into Killian’s peripheral view. They’d known each other since first enlisting years ago, had served together and trained with the naval medicine unit for a substantial block of time. When Killian came to America months back, it made sense that his best mate would join him. They neither of them had anything tying them to the land that once was home. Family connections had long since passed, and loss bonded the two men well before warfare. Now though, they were moving beyond that, retired with honors and on to new chapters. Killian was running his unit and putting down roots, and Will was doing the same as Mist Haven’s new head of ICU. 

When he finally acknowledged his friend with a look, Killian had to bite back an audible scoff at the sight before him. Will’s white coat was thrown on him haphazardly and slightly askew, rumpled and creased, and baring the feint outlines of a few dirty footprints varying in size. In some ways it wasn’t surprising. There was just something about Will. He was a brilliant doctor, a fierce and loyal friend, but he tended to look like he’d just been caught in a windstorm. If he were a betting man, however, Killian would give his last dollar to the cause of the current disarray – one Belle French, a friend of Emma’s, and Will’s… well, that remained to be defined at last recount. 

“I’m not that bad,” Killian replied, but his heart wasn’t in it. His irritability wasn’t helped by the responding laugh from his friend.

“Right. Let’s just pretend you haven’t made that ridiculous claim, which can only be called a blatant and reprehensible falsehood.”

“Blatant and reprehensible?” Killian asked. “What is this a court martial?”

“Hardly. It’s a friendly intervention. Seems reasonable since you’re scowling and staring into space in the middle of the hallway. Honestly, you need to stop sulking, mate. Whatever’s wrong with Emma -,”

“Nothing is wrong with Emma,” Killian quipped. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Will said, this time smiling in a sign of true affection for Killian’s choice of love. “Let me rephrase. Whatever you’ve mucked up, you’ve got to get a handle on it. Find it, fix it, and let it go.”

The phrase would be seen as benign to many, but spoke to their time in the navy. In that world, speed was essential, and so was definitive response. From their earliest moments in uniform, they’d been trained to find the problem, treat the issue and ship it off to others. It was a stop and go kind of life, never fully engaging, designed to disconnect. But the motto still worked with other things, like self-doubt and overthinking. He appreciated Will’s efforts, but it still felt all for naught. 

“It’s not about what I’ve done. It’s what I want to do.”

“Should I sit down for this? Seriously, mate, I’ve never seen you in such a state. What could possibly be that bad?”

Wordlessly, Killian pulled a small black box from his scrubs pocket. His eyes stayed glued to the tiny parcel as he handed it to Will. His friend opened the clasp and let out a low whistle. Killian knew what he was seeing: a large cut diamond in a delicate shade of yellow sitting on a white gold band. Like sun turned to stone, and flanked with smaller diamonds, it was the one ring Killian found that he knew was most like Emma. He couldn’t look at it without envisioning it on her finger and the need to obtain her acceptance was all he could think about. 

“You know I love you, Jones, but I just don’t see myself settling for your cranky arse long term.”

The jest prompted its intended reaction. Killian laughed as he shoved his friend, stealing back the box. The ring had been close at hand for a few weeks now, despite the risk. It had cost more than many would ever dream of paying, and deserved proper protection, but he couldn’t run the risk of missing the right moment. He dreamed of the life he and Emma would have together, and as soon as he was able, he intended to propose. 

“I hate to make light of your clear distress, but as far as an explanation, this is still rather lacking. I fail to see the problem.”

“It’s fast. Some would say too fast.”

“Rubbish.” Will shook his head, completely rejecting that logic. “Who gives a damn what anyone else has to say. What do you say?”

“She’s it,” Killian admitted. “She’s everything.”

“Aye. That’s clear to anyone with eyes and half a lick of sense. Meanwhile, it’s just as clear that Emma is in this with you, mate. The hearts and roses and general bliss are a shared experience. So again, I ask you, what’s the hold up?”

“I can’t lose her, Will!” Killian didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he caught himself and remembered where they were, close enough to others walking up and down the corridor to be overheard. He straightened his stance and tried to reign it in, lowering his tone. “If I’m wrong – if I push too soon -,’

“Paging Dr. Jones for a code 20 – 12. Dr. Jones for a 20 – 12.”

“Was that…?” Will trailed off, looking to the speaker for clarity.

“Emma,” Killian replied. Before her name had passed his lips, his head pivoted towards the nurse’s station. There was no denying it was his Swan, and the pages always came from the nurses. Had she heard him? Was she here? He was panicked and elated all at once.

The Trauma wing’s nurse manager on shift, Anna, smiled sweetly. It was clear as day she’d anticipated his frantic search, but to his dismay she shook her head. At the same moment his phone buzzed. His hands shook as he reached for the device. Blast it all, he was a schoolboy at the prospect of his Swan. But damn if he cared. The grin on his face, despite the unknown, was undeniable, and his heart continued its staccato symphony as he read a text from the woman he loved. 

‘You know where to find me, xo’ 

“Scarlet -,”

“I’ll hold down the fort, mate.” Will offered the assist preemptively, failing to hide his mirth at the prospect. “You’ve got a woman to propose to.”

“Did he say propose?” one of the aids on the floor asked, but Killian didn’t bother with a reply. He was speeding down the hallway, pushing through the doors and into the depths of the hospital.

He made record time winding through the maze that was this building. Past the ORs and offices, other specialties and more, he made it to the great hall. He still had a ways to go, crossing through the sea of people and taking stairs two at a time. Eventually he was at the nursery, but he only spared the newborn babes a glance before soldiering on. His destination was familiar at this point, but it was also a strange suggestion. Their little oasis would no doubt be crowded at this hour with children and their families making use of the day’s soft light. No matter. Killian was hell bent on seeing his Emma, no matter the audience.

Rounding the corner to the final stretch, Killian noticed the lack of people in the hallway. Curious. Definitely curious. The closer he got the stranger it became. There was no one here, and only the quiet hum of machines and monitors. No children laughing, no babies crying. It made him stop and think. Was there an issue? An alarm of some kind?

When the windows came into view, the door that would lead to Emma bore a paper sign. The closer he got, the clearer it read. ‘Temporarily Closed.’ Beneath it, in a child’s handwriting was something unrelated. ‘Magical moment happening. Do Not Disturb!!’ The bright color crayon and questionable spelling only stopped him for a moment, then he looked outside and his heart stop. For there was Emma. And she was… simply a marvel.

Time seemed suspended as he slipped outside, the feint clicking of the door echoed out behind him. The sounds of the city came through at once, but all he saw was Emma. Wearing a red dress, with her hair down and curled, she was a vision, the same vision she’d made for on their first date. It nearly stole his breath, and certainly stole his sanity to see her like this. In seconds he was on her, taking her hand, holding her close.

“Emma,” he said, the pain of the morning released as he held her close. “God how I’ve missed you.”

Her laughter filled his entire being with warmth, the subtle gravel of the tone washing over him. It swirled in time with the light in her eyes and the humor at her lips, giving him hope in ways only she could.

“I missed you too, but I kind of had a lot to do.”

His brow furrowed, and only when she gestured at the space around them did he take it in. Hundreds of paper flowers were positively everywhere. Some were hanging from tasteful strings, fluttering in the breeze. Others wound up the benches and swings and slides. Most looked familiar. They were gifts he’d given her every day they’d been together. Some days he made only one, some days many more, but he always found a way to bring her flowers, knowing how much she loved them. Unbelievably, for each of the hundreds he’d made for Emma these past six months, there was one perfectly matching pair, and no flower stood alone. He knew in that moment she had made them, and they were all for him.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s a kind of crazy story,” she murmured, drawing his eyes back to her beautiful face. “Once upon a time there was a girl. She’d been… let’s say disappointed by life and by love.”

Instinctively his hold on Emma tightened. He hated the burdens of her past. Growing up alone as she did, having to fight so hard to survive. She was a miracle made real, and she’d become that way despite the odds. If he could take away everything that had ever hurt her he would. God above, he would. But she always reminded him that things happened for a reason, and the roads they’d traveled, both rocky and hard, had led to this, the two of them, together. He continued to listen to her heartfelt plea. 

“In fact, her missing those things set the girl on a very particular path, fixing the hearts of people in need, with a lot science and a little love. She was alone a long time, and even when she found friends and success, she often wondered if her heart would really beat in time with someone else.” She brought his hand above her chest and she brought hers to his. Sure enough, the rhythm was identical. “And then one day, she saw him and the whole world stopped. Her heartbeat skipped and on that day, she knew. She knew she would love him forever. She knew she’d found what she’d been looking for.”

“I knew too, Emma,” he promised, running his hand along her cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of her lips. “From the first moments, I knew you were the most precious jewel the world over.” 

Emma smiled, radiating the joy that he felt. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but this was not the product of heartache. Instead it was possibility and promise that couldn’t be contained.

“Some people might call it a bad idea, these two hearts choosing each other. They may think the story not so smart. It might get messy. They worked together after all, and there’s always risk when letting someone in.” Killian let out a displeased grunt and his mouth hardened a bit. Unwilling to let that linger, Emma kissed him again, bringing in goodness, and calming the storm. “Those people would be wrong, Killian. So totally and completely wrong. We’re not a bad idea. We’re good and we’re certain, and the thing is, this story? It’s only just begun. 

“The past six months have been the best of my life, and every day I fall deeper and deeper in love with you,” she said, pulling back slightly to reach for one flower in particular. The petals were a delicate cream, etched in his favorite shade of gold. It matched the shine of her hair and the flecks of gold in her jade eyes, and there, in her delicate script was the question he’d been desperate to ask her: Will you marry me?

“I know it’s fast. I know it’s crazy. But sometimes, when you know you know, and I have never known something to be more true. We’re two imperfect people, but our world combined is perfect. You make it perfect. You and your thoughtful, caring, sinfully sexy tendencies. So, Killian Jones, would you-,”

Before she could finish the statement, he took back some control, tasting her and taking her in a way that completely abandoned the setting of this moment. He wanted to show her just how proud he was to claim her heart, to leave no room for questions. For as she loved him, so too did he love her. For always and so much more beyond that.

“That wasn’t exactly a yes,” Emma said minutes later when they pulled back, her eyes dazed with a look of passion, and her lips tender from his expression of love. He chuckled, taking one more small taste before stepping back. 

“Forgive me, love. My answer should be plain enough to see, but I find I can’t speak those words without being slightly selfish first. You see, I’ve been waiting an awful long time to ask you that very question, and I’d be remiss to miss the moment.”

With one swift motion he dropped down to one knee and pulled out the ring he carried with him. The shock in her eyes was clear, and then the tears at long last fell. He barely had his proposal out before she said those perfect words: ‘Yes, Killian. Yes, I will marry you.” 

“Thank God for that.” In a moment the ring was on her finger and his woman was back in his arms. This time though, their kiss was cut short by the sounds of an opened door, the shuffle of many feet, and some unexpected commentary.

“Nurse Ruby, is that the handsome prince? Mommy said there would be a prince,” a little girl asked. Killian looked over to the glass doors and felt when Emma did the same. Her gasp gave away his feelings. For it turned out they had an audience and there were dozens of people filtering in. Many of the faces belonged to their friends, but there were also a half a dozen little ones from this floor sharing the magic as well.

“It sure is, honey. And you know what happens next?” 

“They live happily ever after?” the girl asked. 

“Aye,” Killian said, loud enough for all to hear, but with only eyes for Emma. “They live happily ever after.”

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know it is a bit shorter than the other two chapters, but I just wanted to wrap this up with the cuteness and love I thought this story deserved. The world is a crazy place, and life has been hectic, but it meant the world to me to find this peace again even for a few short hours. Writing this fic this afternoon and returning to this pairing was like coming home in many ways. This has always been an outlet for me to be hopeful and grateful and in touch with the joy that does exist in my life and beyond. It has also reminded me that I have many friends who made my time writing for CS so beautiful. I miss you all. I hope you’re well. I’ll try to stay a bit more present this summer, but just remember you are appreciated and wonderful and epic. Thanks to all of you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day! xE

Just tagging a few people I know were reading this story and always showed such support: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke

[snowbellewells]

@whimsicallyenchantedrose Oh my goodness! Alice and Henry are being so adorably sneaky - I was practically giggling along with them as they reported back to each other. Still, they have their parents’s best interests at heart. And we all know Emma and Killian really will be happy enough with each other in the end that I’m sure they’ll forgive the “parent trapping”. 😂🤣

I loved their decision to buy the book 50-50 and discuss possession elsewhere so Leroy didn’t cart them out of the bookstore! Their conversation over coffee and hot chocolate was true perfection. I am really adoring this one!! 😍😍😍

Thanksgiving Reruns--Day 4: Black Friday (2/3)

Title: Black Friday—Chapter 2 of 3

Rating: G

Words: 1713

Summary: CS as single parents AU. As the holidays approach, Emma’s son Henry and Killian’s daughter Alice ask for a specific storybook which will ONLY be available for purchase on Black Friday.

 Other chapters: 1 2 3 5

 Black Friday—Chapter 2

“Um excuse me,” Emma said with a frown, “this book is mine.”

The person standing before her didn’t relinquish the book in question, and Emma glanced up at him…and then promptly wished she hadn’t.  This guy was hot.  Like middle-of-summer in Phoenix hot.  Like compared-to-him-the-sun-was-kind-of-warm hot.  No one had a right to look that damn good this early in the morning.  She should just arrest him and haul him off to jail for that alone.

Very much against her will, her heart swooped and her breath caught at his very proximity.  She saw the exact moment he noticed her reaction.  A sly, maddening, delighted (sexy) grin came over his face.  Emma frowned thunderously up at him, as angry with herself at her reaction as she was at him for his…well, his very existence.

“Much as I hate to contradict a lady,” he drawled (Oh gods, even his voice and accent were hot.  She was in serious, serious trouble), “I believe this book, in fact belongs to me.  I was here first.”

Her frown deepened.  “I don’t think so.  Give me my item before I punch you in the face.”

He chuckled, leaning forward and crowding her space. (Her stupid, traiterous heart picked up yet again.)  “Oh Darling, I can think of some far, far more pleasant ways we can spar than a bout of fisticuffs.”

Was it suddenly hot in here?  

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” she said with a sigh, her voice beginning to raise.  “Just stop being a jackass and give me the book.”

Suddenly a small man with a brown beard, a grumpy look on his face, and a hat that read “security” stepped forward.  “There a problem here folks?”

“None I can’t handle,” Emma gritted out.  “Soon as this guy admits I got here first and gives me my merchandise I’ll get out of your hair.”

“On the contrary,” the man said.  “I was the first one to claim this particular prize.”

The security guard, who wore the name tag “Leroy”, glanced back and forth between the two of them for a moment, and then shrugged.  “Look, I won’t have any fighting in this store.  Work it out among yourselves, or I’m kicking you both out.  Then neither one of you gets the stupid book.”

For a moment Emma merely glared at the man, and he looked back at her, a look of steely determination on his face.  Finally he sighed.

“Look, love, the security guard’s right,” he said. “While quite enjoyable, our standoff will get us nowhere.”

Was the (hot as hell) guy going to actually be reasonable and give in?

“So here’s what I propose,” he said.  “We purchase the book and then adjourn elsewhere to discuss the particulars of whose prize it will be.  Perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you a cup of coffee at Granny’s?”

She crossed her arms across her chest.  “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

He chuckled, and the sound did things to her, things that brought the color to her cheeks and stole her breath clean from her lungs.  He leaned even closer, so close she could feel his minty-fresh breath against her cheek.  “Sadly no.  I was merely proposing a parlay of sorts, a chance for us to settle our differences like adults.  However, if you’re hoping for a romantic evening out on another occasion, I could certainly accommodate you.”

“In your dreams!”

He wiggled his eyebrows.  Actually wiggled them!  “Perhaps.”

Emma growled.  “Are you kidding me right now?  It’s too early for this!”

He seemed to sense he’d pushed her as far as was prudent, and he sighed.  “I vow to be the perfect gentleman.  IIf we at least secure the item, we can then decide later who is the victor.”

She gave him a quick look and could see the sincerity in his eyes.  She was good at spotting when someone was lying, after all.  Finally she sighed.  “Fine.  But we both buy it–split the cost fifty-fifty.  That way neither one of us can claim ownership of the book before we get everything ironed out.”

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

“Here you are folks,” the perky brunette waitress said half an hour later.  “One black coffee and one hot cocoa with cinnamon.

Killian heard the waitress lean whisper “Emma, he’s hot” to the woman on the other side of the booth.

She growled and whispered “Ruby, shut it!” back.

He chuckled.  This was turning into one of the most delightful mornings he’d had in ages.  When the waitress had flitted over to another set of customers, Killian leaned back and grinned at his companion.  “She’s right, you know,” he said.  ‘I have been called devilishly handsome.”

“I’ll give you the devilish part,” she said with a wry quirk of her brow.  “Look…what did you say your name was?”

“Did I fail to introduce myself?  How very rude of me.  Killian Jones, at your service,” he said with a bow.  Her cheeks colored alluringly at his formality, and Killian was delighted at her reaction to him.

She was utterly captivating, and the truth was, he hadn’t been so quickly, completely and charmingly smitten with anyone since Milah.  Though he very much wanted to attain the fairy tale book for his Alice, he couldn’t say he regretted the complications this morning had brought.

He didn’t know what possessed him to ask this woman to coffee.  All he knew as they stood facing off in the bookstore was that he did not want their time together to be at an end anytime soon.

“Emma Swan,” she muttered.

A fit of pure devilishness came over him, and he reached over, took her hand and brought it to her lips.  “Enchanted.” he whispered.

Her quick, indrawn breath made his grin widen, and she quickly pulled her hand back and busied herself with taking a sip of her beverage.

“So, Killian Jones,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “what are we going to do about this book?  I don’t mean to be a jerk about it, but I really need this book.  My son…well, this is the only thing he’s asked for, and it’s been a rough year for him.  I just…I just want to be able to give him this one thing so maybe I don’t feel like such a failure as a parent.”

His heart turned over.  He could tell she’d said more than she’d intended.  Emma Swan didn’t strike him as someone who let her walls down quickly or shared her feelings of inadequacy with strangers.

“As a single parent myself, I can relate to the feelings, love,” he said, “but I’ve no doubt book or no book, you’re hardly a failure as a parent.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, glancing uncomfortably aside.  “I feel like it.”

Killian was silent for a long moment, taking a sip of his coffee.  If it weren’t for Alice, he’d give up his claim on the book in a moment, but it was for Alice.  Was there any way they could both get what they wanted?

“I don’t wish to be intransigent either,” he said finally, “and my behavior today is not a matter of mere stubbornness.  My daughter also has her heart set on this particular book.”

Her eyes softened at his statement, acknowledging their dueling claims as parents wanting the best for their respective children.  “Yeah, I get it, so that brings me back to my original question.  How do we decide who gets the book?”

Suddenly an idea struck him.  It was unorthodox to say the least, unorthodox to the point of being downright bizarre, but it did have it’s merits–namely the fact that, should she agree to it, they’d be forced to see each other again on a fairly regular basis.

“I do have an idea,” he said slowly, “but it may sound positively daft.”

She gave him an assessing look, taking another dainty sip of her cocoa.  “Okay, I’m listening.”

“What if we share the book?” he blurted out.

“Share it?  What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, “what if we trade off?  Your lad gets the book one week, and then my Alice gets it the next, and so on.”

Her brow furrowed.  “You mean like…joint custody…of a book.”

He shrugged with a grin.  “I told you it would sound daft.”

Killian was encouraged by the fact that Emma didn’t outright shoot down his (odd) idea.  She seemed to consider it, staring into space for several moments, before briefly nodding.  “It is a weird solution, but I think it might be the best way we can both get what we want.  Can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have a deal.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

"It worked!" Henry said excitedly he following Monday morning as he got off the school bus and sprinted over to Alice.  "My mom told me all about it.  Your dad and my mom decided to share the storybook!"

"I know!" Alice said, smile wide and delighted.  "My papa explained the situation to me.  I could tell he felt bad that he didn't get the book, and I wanted to make him feel better, but then I thought maybe it would be better to act kinda disappointed."

"Good thinking," Henry said with a nod as they reached their classroom and headed for their desks.  "If they feel guilty, then they'll make sure to always make the drop off, and then they'll have to meet every week.  We'll be brother and sister by Easter!"

"I hope you're right," Alice said with a sigh.  "I know my papa gets lonely sometimes, and it would be nice if he had someone besides me in his life."

"Exactly," Henry agreed. "And my mom needs to know that not every guy's like my dad.  Not every guy's gonna leave her.

Henry busied himself setting his backpack on the floor and getting out his books and then he looked back at Alice with a troubled look.  "You don't think they'll be mad at us, do you?  You know, for being sneaky and everything."

Alice shook her head vehemently.  "They'll be too happy together for that.  Sometimes adults are just too busy to see what's right in front of them.  That's when their kids have to step in and parent trap them."

Next Chapter-->

[kmomof4]

I posted 2,210 times in 2022

102 posts created (5%)

2,108 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@jrob64

@cssns

@hollyethecurious

@snowbellewells

@pirateherokillian

I tagged 2,199 of my posts in 2022

#cs ff - 551 posts

#captain swan - 299 posts

#killian jones - 234 posts

#otp forever - 161 posts

#captain hook - 147 posts

#enchanted swans - 139 posts

#colin odonoghue - 130 posts

#cssns22 - 118 posts

#krystal writes - 91 posts

#kwistowee - 76 posts

Longest Tag: 100 characters

#yeah emma… cos the natural thing is to grab someone by the waist and pull them tight to your body 👀

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Dance With the Gypsy: A Red Hunter story in the Universe of A Family Affair

I wanted to get Ruby and Graham posted in January, and here I am slipping it in just under the wire!!! Yay, me!!!

As you can see, Dance With the Gypsy is dropping as its own fic instead of simply a chapter in Love Between the Pages. When I saw how long this fic was and how long the OQ and Snowing portions were shaping up to be, I thought it’d be much better to make it a series instead. The series is named A Family Affair and will include the love stories of all the siblings introduced in LBtP. I cannot BEGIN to express the joy y'all have given me with all the love shown this verse. It means more than I can ever say!! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

And now to give credit where credit is due. DWtG wouldn’t be here without the love, care, and attention of @snowbellewells​, @jrob64​, and @hollyethecurious​. Both for the fic and for me. They were there to lend me their eyes, their ears, and their unending support. Thank you so so much, ladies!!

And to all of you readers. Thank you again for all the love you’ve already shown this verse. I hope you enjoy this new offering and let me know what you think!!

Summary: Graham Humbert swore off love long ago- determined never to fall in love, never to marry. And that worked great. Until he met Ruby Lucas. What's he supposed to do when she sets her eyes on him? Maybe falling in love isn't so bad after all...

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 11k

Tags: Inspired by Dance to the Piper of The O’Hurleys by Nora Roberts, Broadway, Smut

Fic on ao3

Series on ao3

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

From a young age, Ruby was a dancer. When she got her first pair of tap shoes at the age of four, she began dreaming of a time when she would be a star on Broadway in New York City. All these years later, she was finally here.

She had come to New York at the age of eighteen, not long after Emma had left the family to marry NASCAR darling Neal Cassidy. Ruby supported herself by waiting tables in the theater district, in between dance classes and auditions, falling into bed in the wee hours of the morning before getting up and doing it all over again. She survived on Starbucks and reduced or free meals at the restaurants where she worked. She finally got her first chorus line contract after being in New York for three years, and her first lead about four years after that, allowing her to finally quit her waitressing job for good. Now she was on her second leading role after being in the show Six for two and half years.

Secrets would be opening in Philadelphia on the 4th of July weekend, bankrolled by Humbert Records, the producer of the soundtracks for legacy Broadway shows like Cats and Phantom of the Opera, as well as more recent hits like The Lion King and Hamilton. Ruby was thrilled to be a part of a show with that kind of clout behind it. Of course, there was no guarantee a particular show would be a hit, but with the kind of track record Humbert Records had, and her own instincts as to the viability of the show, she was pretty confident it would have a very long, very successful run. And would only open more doors for her down the road.

~*~*~

Graham Humbert was a second generation recording mogul in New York City, having taken over after his father finally retired from the business seven years ago. His father, Maurice had founded Humbert Records as a young man in the early eighties, when Andrew Lloyd Webber decided to take a chance on a young unknown with his new musical Cats. Humbert Records had been a powerhouse in the business for decades when Graham stepped into his father’s role, and that status had been confirmed when he’d landed the soundtrack for Hamilton not long after taking the helm.

Graham loved and respected his father tremendously and wanted nothing more than to make him proud, so when his father had come to him late last year with a recommendation for a new musical and a prospective leading lady- I have a good feeling about this one, he’d said with a grin and a wink- Graham hadn’t hesitated to pursue the recording rights. Now the musical was cast and in rehearsals, so Graham had decided to drop in to watch a portion of the rehearsal with the principals of the musical.

As he sat in the darkened theater with the director and choreographer, he watched as Ruby Lucas spun across the stage in a series of small turns before leaping into the arms of her co-star, Peter Wolffe, who’d just appeared onstage for a beautiful pas de deux. Graham knew who she was, of course, he’d seen her in Six and had personally approached her to offer her the starring role after his father’s recommendation, but watching her now, her strength and beauty took his breath away.

Once the rehearsal was over, Graham was invited on stage to meet with the stars of the show. He tried to school his features as he approached them and could only hope his nerves weren’t as obvious to Ms. Lucas as they were to him.

“Graham Humbert,” the choreographer, Cora Hart, began, “I understand you’ve already met Ruby Lucas,” she said, nodding at the star before turning to her partner. “May I introduce Peter Wolffe?”

He shook hands with Peter, commending him on the scene they’d just been rehearsing before turning back to Ruby. “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Lucas,” Graham said, extending his hand for her to take. She was gorgeous, and he hoped his palms weren’t sweating. She smiled broadly, Graham was sure he could see every one of her teeth, and took his hand. Her green eyes sparkled and he couldn’t help but return her smile.

“Call me Ruby,” she countered with a wink.

~*~*~

Over the next few weeks, Graham made several appearances at rehearsals, and every time he did, Ruby’s heart beat double time. But she was a professional and couldn’t let this little infatuation interfere with her work. It took a few times, but when Graham made his fourth appearance in the space of about a week and a half, Ruby was finally able to put him in the back of her mind and concentrate fully on her rehearsal instead of half on what was going on around her and the other half on the handsome producer sitting in the front row.

She wasn’t blind to the way he looked at her, though. Every time she snuck a glance at him, he was entirely focused on her, sending a shiver of feminine pride down her spine. And when she was dancing with Peter, his stare about drilled a hole in her head. Since it appeared her attraction was not one-sided, Ruby decided to do something about it.

When rehearsal was over, Ruby approached him.

“Checking up on your investment?” she asked him with a grin.

See the full post

40 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

#4

Hotel Neverland: A New Fic for CSSNS22

Hello everyone!!! I am so thrilled to share my entry for this years @cssns​!!!! I’ve had this in my head for a while, and I’m so excited to finally post it!!!! 

All the love and thanks to the mods for hosting another FANTASTIC event, @hollyethecurious​ who helped me get it plotted back in May when I visited, and to @profdanglaisstuff​ for her beta services and her expert advice on how to make this a little more unsettling, a little more creepy, just a little more all the way around... Thank you all so much, ladies!!!

And finally, to my artist @thesschesthair​. Mandy is an ACTUAL SAINT for her GORGEOUS artwork for this fic and I am absolutely BESIDE myself for ALL of it!!! Please go give her heaps and loads of love for her work!!! She did several banners for the fic that I had a hell of a time choosing between, so I decided, why not use them all? And then, at the eleventh hour, she did another piece of work that sent me into TOTAL SCREAMING FLAILING CONNIPTIONS. It’s a bit spoilery, so it’ll be at the end of the fic.

But now, without further ado, here we go!

Fic Summary: A CS story for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer ‘22

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 6611

Tags: CSSNS22, Inspired by Hotel California, Ghost Story, Smut

On ao3

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

See the full post

41 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#3

Filming start June 6!!!!!! I can’t WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT!!!!

47 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

#2

Apologies, Dr. Jones- A New Fic by @kmomof4

Happy birthday @zaharadessert​!!!!! It’s not quite your birthday here yet, but I wanted this posted before you woke up on your special day, so here you go!! You are a dear friend and I’m so glad this fandom has brought you into my life!! I hope this fic makes your birthday even better! Love you, babe!!!

All the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious​ for encouraging me to write this in the first place and to @jrob64​ for an incredibly fast beta and for her help with the artwork! Thank you so much, ladies!!! Love y’all!!! 😘

From a post here on Tumblr by @lifeinahole27​ 

How do I explain to my professor that the reason I didn't show up to class is because in my dream I woke up and checked my email and saw that class was canceled and I believed it?

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 3865

Tags: Teacher-Student Relationship, No Power Dynamic Issues, Consensual Sex, Smut

On ao3

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

 “Where were you?” Ruby asked, sitting down across from Emma at their usual coffee and breakfast spot. They always came here after their 9am British Lit class for the food they never had time to eat before class. And more coffee. Much more coffee.

“What do you mean ‘where was I’?” she asked, taking a bite of her bear claw.

“You weren’t in class,” Ruby said, incredulously. “Where were you?”

“I went back to sleep for a little while after the alarm went off, then came here,” she informed her friend. “I figured since you weren’t home when I got up that you must have gone to the library or something.”

“Nooo,” Ruby drawled. “I was in class. Where you should have been.”

Emma’s eyes got wide, as understanding dawned. “Class wasn’t canceled?” She pulled out her phone and frantically searched through her email.

Ruby grinned. “Did you dream that class was canceled?”

Heat flooded Emma’s cheeks as she looked up at Ruby. “I could have sworn…”

Ruby clapped her hands and threw back her head, laughing loudly. “Oh, Emma,” she howled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “No, class wasn’t canceled. And Dr. Jones stopped me after class to ask where you were. He seemed quite concerned about not seeing your face this morning, or the rest of you, for that matter.” Ruby’s eyebrows wiggled salaciously. “Mm mm mmmmmm,” she hummed. “If I were you, girl, I’d get me some of that…”

More heat flooded Emma’s cheeks at Ruby’s comment. “He’s my professor, Rubes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s not gonna happen.” Until the end of the semester anyway, she thought, trying to hide a smirk at the thought.

But Ruby wasn’t fooled. She knew Emma too well and wasn’t blind to the attraction between her best friend and their professor that’d been simmering all semester long.

Emma dropped her head into her folded arms on the table between them. “How am I supposed to explain this? It must have been a dream. I woke up, checked my email and saw class was canceled. So why wouldn’t I go back to sleep? Ugh!”

“Well,” her friend tried to console her, “at least you’re not gonna be penalized for missing class. And you can copy my notes.”

Emma looked back up at her. “Yeah, but I was so looking forward to today’s class. You know how much I love Tolkien.”

“And you can tell how much he loves Tolkien, too,” Ruby informed her. “I’ve never seen him so animated during a lecture. And you know, that’s saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, thinking about her hot professor and how she’d never had another that kept her attention so easily, no matter what time of day the class was held, much less first thing on Monday mornings. He obviously knew and loved his subject and it translated into his lectures. But today was the introduction to several lectures on Tolkien himself, and Emma wanted to kick herself for missing it. “I’m gonna have to go and apologize to him,” she said standing and checking the time on her phone. “He’s in his office for another hour. I’ll see you later.”

Ruby smirked at her. “Uh huh,” she murmured, “an hour’s plenty of time.”

Emma rolled her eyes at her friend. “Shut up, Rubes.”

See the full post

72 notes - Posted February 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

A One Time Thing? A new fic for the CS Neverland New Year!

I am so excited to finally be sharing my new fic for @neverlandnewyear​!!!! This is a canon divergence from the kiss and was basically just an excuse to write Neverland smut. I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!! 

Thank you to the mods for hosting another great event this year!! I’m thrilled to have something new to contribute! Thank you to @hollyethecurious​ for outstanding beta services and all the ladies of the CSNLNY and CSMM discords for their support and encouragement!

Summary: A canon divergence from the Neverland kiss

Rating: M

Words: 2,220

Tags: Neverland, Smut, Canon Divergence

On ao3

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

A One Time Thing?

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he said, a sultry smirk on his face and popping the T.

Emma inhaled sharply at the way his voice dropped into a sexy croon, wrapping itself around every syllable the way she wished he would wrap around her. He made no move toward her, however, other than to hold her gaze, always letting her lead, his own eyes hooded, his cheeks and lips flushed red.

It only took a moment for her to make her decision. Grabbing the collar of that damn coat he always wore- how he didn’t melt in the Neverland heat with that blasted thing on, she’d never know- she hauled him to her and captured his lips with her own.

His stunned surprise melted as she released one side of the collar to wrap her hand around his neck, holding him to her. Her fingers buried themselves into the softness of his hair as his own hand tentatively brushed her long golden strands. The moist heat of his mouth tasted of rum with notes of leather, the sea, and sweat as their tongues tangled.

Oh, god.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no, no, noooo.

Oh, yesss…

Killian’s own thoughts were barely coherent, simply losing himself in the moment. Oh, yesss… Oh, Swan… gods above, below, and all the realms between. Emma Swan, the gorgeous and bloody brilliant woman he’d follow to the ends of the earth, and had, was in his arms and she seemed determined to kill him with the way she fully possessed his mouth and held on to him as if she was drowning and he was her savior instead of the other way around. He pulled her closer into him, his hooked appendage wrapping around her waist and drawing her into where he was quickly hardening. She wasn’t relaxing her grip on his collar, her movements jerky and desperate, so he slowed his own movements down, determined to enjoy this brief interlude as much as possible in this hellscape.

Emma grabbed his collar again, her shoulders rising as she sucked in some desperately needed air before diving back in. His hook circled behind her and pushed her hips into his own, drawing a positively obscene moan from her mouth. His hard length was hitting her just right and it was all she could do to keep from grinding against him.

Her kiss grew more desperate, breathing him in as he tried to slow the pace down, his tongue caressing hers rather than dueling.

No, no, NO!!

This was not happening. She couldn’t allow it. He may be helping them find her son, he may have saved David’s life, but she would not fool herself into believing this meant anything. This was nothing more than a flirtation for him. She’d been burned before and she’d be damned if she let it happen again. But god, she really wanted him...

She grabbed his collar tighter as their lips barely parted. Killian couldn’t open his eyes yet, but their heavy breaths mingled in the space between them. Once he forced his eyes at least partially open, he couldn’t look away from her red swollen lips and heaving chest.

“That was…”

The words were barely a whisper against her lips. If she’d been any further away, she probably would have missed them. Their mouths were only millimeters apart, his nose brushing hers in the perfect position to dive back in, to hell with the consequences. But Emma couldn’t let that happen. She had to get away. She had to put some space between them.

“A one time thing,” she murmured into the moist air between them before releasing him and taking a small step back. In an instant, Killian’s gaze hardened.

“We’ll see about that, darling,” he all but growled, catching Emma off guard. He’d never been that forceful with her before, always letting her set the pace in their little dance. Sure, it didn’t stop him from flirting, but with her declaration, she would have expected him to back off, not assert himself like that.

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77 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

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FINALLY!!!! Only took 2+hrs for the Post now button to light up...

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[snowbellewells]

CSSNS22 fic update: “Believing Impossible Things” {part two}

This update took so much longer than I intended, and I can only beg your patience and hope you will still be interested in the newest happenings in this CS Victorian ghost-y AU with KnightRook (and SwanRook?) feels. Here’s hoping I can be more prompt in finishing up - either one or two more parts to go!  

A million thank yous once again to the @cssns event for always being such an exciting and fulfilling thing to be part of, and to @o-wild-west-wind for the stunning cover art that I just LOVE <3

Summary: Miss Emma Nolan needed the governess job badly enough to ignore the gossip about the old mansion and the chilly reception she got about the lady of the manor. And when she met young Alice Jones, she knew she had made the right choice. But some rumors are rumors for a reason, and maybe the little girl who drew her there isn’t the only person on the estate in need...

{Part One can be found HERE or on AO3, whichever you prefer}

by: @snowbellewells

part two: the man in the shadows

The next morning came all too soon after Emma had spent the night rattled by the strange visitation and near tumble from the roof she had weathered in the dark, still hours before dawn. Though the man must have been an apparition - how else to explain his sudden appearance and disappearance, and the way her hand had passed right through his form? - her nerves were jangling, and she had tossed and turned uneasily for quite some time before rest ever came, just as the deep purples and blues of midnight began to lighten into the lavender gray before sunrise. Emma was certain she could have kept on sleeping once she finally calmed enough to allow it, if not for the soft tapping on her bedroom door.

Blearily sitting up, Emma tried to smooth her riotous sleep-mussed waves of hair and gather her blankets around her torso to hide her thin nightgown as much as possible, then hoped she sounded at least somewhat wakeful and pleasant, before she bid the visitor at the door ‘good morning’ and granted them entrance. Needless to say, Emma was exceedingly grateful to see Alice alone when the girl peeked her head around the door, hair tousled and eyes wide with wakeful excitement as she beamed and greeted her in the chipper trill of a morning person. “Hullo there, Miss Emma! Did you sleep well? I could hardly wait another minute to see you!”

Emma chuckled good naturedly and shook her head, making a mental note to remember that the child clearly woke up ready and anxious to start the day, and to make sure she herself went to bed early enough to be rested and set to greet Alice accordingly. Throwing back the sheet and covers, Emma rose from bed and quickly slipped on and tied at the waist the robe she had left on the straight back chair just beside it. Grateful that it was her young charge rather than her boss finding her still abed when she was needed, Emma hurried over to the small dressing table where she had set her travel case the evening before, found her brush, and began to pull it through her hair impatiently to take out the snarls, then tied it back without too much difficulty. Thankfully, Alice seemed nothing but happy to see her; neither impatient nor put out, and plopped down on the edge of the bed to watch her governess’ movements studiously.

After a few minutes, and once Emma had begun to pin her blonde locks up in a twist with tortoiseshell combs, Alice breathed appreciatively, “Your hair is awfully pretty, Miss Emma. Shiny like silk, it is.” She frowned slightly before plucking a ringlet of her own honeyed wheat color hair between two fingertips and holding it out from her head for Emma to see, “Not like mine, all dulled and curling everywhere out of control.”

Emma smiled, touched that Alice would be so excited to see her. Though the girl might still be young, and it Emma’s job to care for her, she still easily adored the child. In the almost thirty years of her life thus far, few people had ever waited breathlessly to speak to Emma, looked forward to spending time with her or hearing what she had to say, wanted badly to be in her exact company. Pleased beyond what she could put into words, Emma found herself hurrying through her morning preparations, not wanting to keep the sweet girl she grew more attached to each day waiting too long.

As she put in the last pin to hold up her hair and smoothed out her light day dress, Emma was surprised that Alice had not said anything more; most often, her words spilled out like a river (that much had become clear already) tumbling over each other in a rush as running water did over rocks. Turning to see what must have arrested the youngster’s attention, Emma’s breath caught in her throat. There before her sat Alice Jones on the edge of her still-rumpled bed, Emma’s woven baby blanket on Alice’s lap, small, careful fingers tracing the purple yarn of Emma’s name stitched into it, with eyes wide and entranced.

“It’s so lovely, Miss Emma,” Alice breathed with gentle awe. “Did your mother make it for you?”

Emma blinked, swallowing hard as she thought quickly to respond. It wasn’t that she wished to keep the truth from her charge, but she did not wish to introduce something painfully close-to-home into Alice’s awareness, not when - all things concerned - Alice seemed so well-adjusted and free from bitterness, despite her lack of family and a guardian who left much to be desired. Not only that, but it wasn’t an easy subject for Emma to broach. There was so little she truly knew about her parents; only the fond memories Granny had shared over the years. She had been so young when they died that all she was left with were the vague impressions of a broad-shouldered and sandy-haired man’s easy, charming smile and the solid strength of a chest against her cheek and pressure of a large hand cradling her head when she snuggled into him for a hug. She sometimes thought she could hear the echo of a voice singing sweetly enough to coax birds from the trees  and shining black hair that smelled of lavender, but other than that, she had only the blanket and an empty gaping void where her parents ought to have been.

Shaking her head, Emma crossed the small room to sit facing Alice on the bed. Her own fingers brushed along the comforting soft pattern of the blanket as she readied herself to speak. Offering Alice a tremulous smile, she replied, “No, my mother didn’t make it, though it was a gift she had made for me. An older friend of my mother and father sewed this. They always called her Granny, as do I, for that matter, though that cannot be her given name.” One corner of her mouth turned up slightly at the bit of humor, hoping to lighten the moment before carrying on. “Granny had to give this to me herself when she finished though. My mother and father had…” she swallowed again, drawing in a couple of quick breaths, only to be startled when Alice’s small hand reached out to take hers, interlacing their fingers as if it were the most natural response in the world. Offering the child’s hand a grateful squeeze, Emma finished, “My mother and father had both passed away before they could give it to me themselves. Granny took me in after they were gone… even though she didn’t have to. She wasn’t truly my grandmother, but she raised me as if I was her own.”

Alice’s guileless face shone with sympathetic understanding as they sat together quietly for a minute or two. Then, she sighed, shrugging her slight shoulders and looking to her new friend and governess as if for confirmation. “It’s strange how much we miss them, isn’t it? People we hardly even knew?”

Emma’s mouth hung open, flummoxed by the astute observation, even if she knew the girl before her had lived a similar sort of lonely life. Really, there wasn’t much else to do but nod in agreement and open her arms to Alice, who leaned into her comforting embrace gladly.

~~~*~~~

As first days, and then weeks went by, Emma found herself growing ever more comfortable and at home in the house perched atop the hill like a sentinel over the seaside village upon which it presided.  Not only that, she grew ever more attached to the young lady who had been entrusted into her care and found herself as protective and proud of young Alice Jones as an older sister or doting aunt would be, rather than simply an employee doing her job as governess. Thankfully, the imposing Ms. Gardiner seemed to be long gone; at least for the present. Alice communicated through stifled giggles and scrunched-up button nose - as if well aware and somewhat delighted with the knowledge that she was being naughty - that her so-called guardian often disappeared for long stretches of time without warning or explanation, ‘like a witch in a puff of smoke from a fairy tale’, the child proclaimed dramatically. Emma didn’t let herself forget that the unnerving woman could return at any moment, but she breathed more easily the longer her employer remained gone.

One early afternoon as the two were in the garden, enjoying the sunshine on their skin and the breeze rustling through the trees overhead, Alice came up to Emma almost shyly, holding something clutched tightly in her hands. Emma had found a large rock near the bordering grass of the garden rows of hollyhocks, sweet peas, roses and clematis, where she could bask in the warm rays from above and enjoy watching Alice so engaged and content, close enough to her to answer any question she might call out, without having to get down on the ground herself and soil one of the few dresses she owned with dirt or grass stains. Alice seemed more than happy just having company nearby. Her inquisitive mind studied and played with everything she encountered - muttering curiously to herself as she wondered about new discoveries or playfully speaking to the ladybugs and red-breasted robins alike, as cheerfully as if they were fond old friends.

As she stood before Emma that afternoon however, there was a flush of pink to her cheeks which Emma had not noticed before; a proud little tilt to her chin as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her governess was naturally curious at what Alice seemed so anxious to reveal, having noticed her going over to a large tree by the hedge some minutes ago and reaching into the wide open knothole in its trunk to retrieve some secret treasure she must have stored there. It would seem she was about to discover what that treasure might be.

Grinning at her governess sweetly, with a look of such keen understanding and poignancy it made her appear wise well beyond her years, Alice held her hands out before her and opened them to reveal the contents cradled in her palms to Emma’s sight. Lying there, pretty but rather innocuous after such a weighted unveiling were a small assortment of seashells. Two or three scallop shells spread like fans in buff, cream and peach, were joined by a bone-white spirula shell, and a single, slightly larger conch shell, miniature to the ones people often used to listen to the ocean, but still appealingly pretty and recognizable with its smooth inner whorl of pink.

Slightly nonplussed, but unwilling to hurt her young friend’s feelings, Emma quickly complimented them with earnest kindness. “Those are lovely shells. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

A brilliant trill of laughter pealed from Alice’s throat, and she shook her head wildly, her curls flying out in all directions. “No, silly! It’s more than that!” she giggled. “I mean, they are pretty…but these shells are special.” The girl looked around them surreptitiously, as if she expected a shadow to fall or an unseen thief to snatch her hoarded possessions away. Leaning in closer, she confided to Emma in an undertone, the secret’s import clear in every line of her bearing. “My Papa brought them to me. He carried them on his ship from halfway around the world. He knew I’d love them, and he brought them all the way back here just for me.”

Emma’s brow furrowed, not sure what to make of the child’s fervently uttered words. Her lips were already parted to question, “His ship?”, but she bit the inquiry back. She remembered Elois Gardiner alleging that Alice’s father, whomever he might be, had done little more than leave the child on the doorstep of this mansion and disappear. Even at the time though, she had felt something not quite right in the account, and the way Alice’s eyes shone in wistful remembrance as she spoke of ‘her Papa’ told a much different tale.

“Your Papa did?” Emma reiterated instead, repeating the question cautiously to make sure in conveyed gentle curiosity and not doubt as to whether or not such a thing could be true.

Meeting her eyes steadily, without a hint of uncertainty or mischief, the child nodded vigorously, her entire countenance alight with joy and excitement, seeming to have been waiting for someone with whom to share her prize. “He really did,” she assured, carefully placing the shells in Emma’s open palm to let her hold and look at them more closely. 

Emma dutifully looked down to study the items in her hand, giving them the consideration she knew Alice felt they deserved and commenting on their uniqueness and beauty until her charge was beaming even more proudly. Once she had at last returned them to the girl’s eager grasp, Alice slipped them into the pocket of her pinafore, surprising Emma by not returning them to the hiding place from which she had fished them. Patting the spot gently, as if reassuring herself of their safety, Alice turned back to the row where she had been crouched, looking for particularly pretty pebbles and picking a bouquet of garden flowers. Watching her, Emma could only feel  happy for her that she didn’t concern herself with smudges of dirt on her clothes, how her hair was styled, or whether on not her current occupation was ladylike. Much as Emma herself had been allowed to do growing up with Granny and helping the older woman in her diner, Alice was simply enjoying being young, rather than being schooled in proper decorum day and night - bored to the point of tears, made into a coquette by the time she reached adolescence, and hemmed in by her lack of other options. Someday it might be hard to lose such freedom once she grew up and had to enter society, but Emma would never take these precious moments from the girl, however rude an awakening it might be later.

It was rather humorous that when she was often out of doors and playing rough and tumble, she would be dressed in such fanciful and whimsically old-fashioned clothes. All the same, Emma supposed the wealth of pockets in the particular ensemble Alice wore had proven useful. And, in truth, as much as she was playfully uncontained in her boundless imagination and exploration, Alice had a feminine side as well, one that enjoyed ruffles and curls and dainty bits of detail. She might not concern herself with keeping them in pristine condition, but in some ways the rather datedly intricate style of much of her wardrobe somehow suited her.

Reaching out to take the armful of purple, red, blue, orange, and pink blossoms from Alice so she could carry her collected skipping and wishing stones, Emma smiled down at her beneficently, charmed once again by this thoughtful, beguiling child of contradictions, who was already so far ahead of most by knowing who she was and acting as her heart lead, rather than how others might dictate. Still, as they returned to the house to put their flowers in water and remove their muddy shoes, enjoy their tea, and return to lessons for the early afternoon hours, Emma couldn't help her lingering curiosity - if only in her ever-growing desire to protect her charge from heartache and disappointment. Alice Jones must surely have already weathered her share, in spite of her youth.

Holding the door open so that Alice could enter before her and place her gathered pebbles along the weathered ledge of the wash basin before later cleaning so they could be added to her collection, Emma spoke carefully, weighing her words to sound as innocent as possible, “How did your father bring the shells to you, Alice? I’m happy to know that he has visited you, if that is the case, and that he brought you such a well-chosen gift. But, I must admit to being a bit puzzled. Ms. Gardiner made it seem as though he had been absent for quite some time, as if he had not been back for years even.”

Alice plunked herself right down on the hardwood floor of the sun porch to work loose the laces of her older outdoor boots, and for a moment seemed occupied enough that she might not respond to her governess’ question. However, once she was in her stocking feet, she stood before Emma again, cocking her head slightly as though she couldn’t quite fathom what her governess must be thinking. At last, shaking her golden mane and scattering the confusion loose from the corners of her mind, she moved toward the passage into the kitchen, shooting a knowing smile back over her shoulder. “Well, naturally she would say that, wouldn't she?” she countered, her light voice far from being harsh or angry, but also pert and certain, challenging the assumption that Emma couldn't help having come to, at least in part, with the information that she had been given.

“Why, Alice!” she sputtered, following the child into the main part of the house, retrieving a fine china vase from one of the cupboards and beginning to fill it up with water as she continued, “Whatever do you mean?” She waited for the answer this time with almost bated breath, wondering if the girl harbored her own suspicions of her guardian’s trustworthiness and motives, just as Emma herself did, or if she actually knew more than anyone realized, had seen something others had missed.

Once Emma had filled the vase, placed it in the center of the large table where they enjoyed their meals, and then arranged the flowers to her satisfaction, Alice gripped her hand tightly, the look in her eyes imploring as she steadily held Emma’s gaze. “I mean that it isn’t as simple as Miss Eloise says. She wants you to believe he abandoned me without a second thought.”  She bit her lip before plunging on, each word growing more fervent, more desperate to be believed. “But he didn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t. I know it… whatever anyone else tries to say.”

Emma nodded her understanding, finding her throat stinging and fighting to blink back the tears which tried to well up in her eyes. She wanted to tell the child that of course she was right, that no parent would willingly leave behind a daughter as wonderful and lovable as her. And yet, life seldom went as it ought. Life was no fairy tale, and just because a person deserved love and happiness did not mean it would come to them as it should. She knew that better than most. She had no problem reconsidering Eloise Gardiner’s words either; they had smacked of false self-righteousness anyway. The fact remained though, that Alice had spent most of her life sequestered in this gorgeous but lonely and deserted house and its grounds. If her father hadn’t abandoned her, why was she still here with a governess and a cold, disinterested guardian as poor substitutes for his presence? If he hadn’t left his daughter in the hands of virtual strangers to pursue his own amusements and desires, would he not be here now with Alice? 

Yet, no matter how much these questions trembled on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked along with several more, Emma held them back. Instead, she simply cradled Alice’s cheeks in her palms, stroking her thumbs lightly over the baby-soft apples of Alice’s cheeks before she smoothed the girl’s curls back off her forehead and softly bid her go and wash up while she got their tea ready.

Nodding her agreement, Alice turned to do as requested, but not before offering solemnly. “I can see you don’t think he’s been here - that he’s left me behind. But you will. I know you will in time. Things aren’t always the way they seem.” Turning lightly on her heel, the child flitted silently from the room with a skip and a bound like some fairy of woodland lore, no doubt off to find a new hiding place for her shells’ safekeeping before returning to the kitchen with clean clothes and washed face and hands.

Emma meanwhile stood gazing after her for a moment, once more trying to understand what the girl’s cryptic words could mean. It wasn’t defiance, threat, or anger, merely what Alice saw as fact. But what might she be missing? She would know if someone had been there. She lived on the estate with her charge, and they spent nearly every waking moment in each other’s company. And if the man, this Jones she knew little of beyond the fact that he had managed to help bring one of the most delightful children she had ever encountered into the world, were still returning with gifts, why did he not stay? And what did Ms. Gardiner gain by lying about it?

None of her whirling questions made any sense - together or separately, nor did any answers come to her. She was forcing herself into motion: putting the kettle on to boil water and retrieving the iced lemon cakes Alice liked best from the pantry when the troubling memory of her near-tumble from the widow’s walk flashed into her mind once more. She had managed - more or less - to put the incident from her mind in the intervening days since, but in the moment, she could almost feel the wind whipping against her, the strong grip on her arm pulling her back to safety, the wild, searching eyes questioning what she could have been thinking with such foolish recklessness…. Her breath caught again remembering inky dark hair ruffled by the air around them, her own fear and curiosity leading her to reach out, only to have her touch pass through the stranger’s form and him then vanish before her very eyes.

Shaking the thoughts away, Emma tried to steady herself and use some sense. That had been an unsettled imagination, a dream rooted in anxiety. There couldn’t be any connection… could there? And yet, the beseeching blue of that quickly lost gaze seemed to linger on her every move until Alice returned and they sat down to their afternoon repast.

~~~*~~~

Later that evening, while day darkened into lengthening shadows in corners and the world outside went ever more quiet and still, two voices were speaking heatedly in one of the unused upstairs rooms of the large and winding old house. If Emma Nolan could have heard them, she would have been all the more confused by the vision she was trying to ignore and been set to doubting her ears as well as her eyes.

The fervently hissed voice, tensely uttered by a tall, dark haired man who paced restlessly from one end of the room to the other, lamented, “It’s infuriating, Liam! I do not know how much longer I can abide it! She clearly did not believe our Alice. She must have bought into the poisonous falsehoods Eloise spouted at her hiring. It would be no matter; she can think what she will… but if she leads Alice to doubt my affection….. I will not be able to stand it, Brother. We are already kept apart by her evil plottings, but Alice, my sweet girl, has never faltered. She knows I would never choose to leave her. I’ll not have her made to feel foolish!”

His companion, another man with lighter, more riotously curling hair, and broader shoulders, sat at a desk in the center of the room watching the first gentleman pace, appearing wholly sympathetic but also bemused. “Come now, little brother, you know if she hasn’t doubted you yet, she won’t start now. This is why I did say we should scare her off when she first arrived. We can more than see to Alice’s needs ourselves.”

The darker haired man shot him a withering look, raking his one hand through his hair almost violently, before shooting back, “Liam, we’ve lived untold years now, on some plane other than the natural world. We couldn’t even know our own ages for certain any longer. Must you still insist on calling me ‘little’ brother?”

The elder chuckled good naturedly, even as he nodded in affirmation, much to the other’s consternation. “Come now, it’s what I’ve always called you.”

“Much to my dismay,” he shook his head and finally sank into the other seat. After a minute, he spoke again more earnestly. “And to answer your earlier point, no, we cannot simply run her off. Alice clearly adores the woman, and she has been good to our girl…”

“Well then,” this Liam returned pragmatically, shrugging nonchalantly, even if he would have been at immediate attention were his dear and only niece truly in danger. “Perhaps we will merely have to make her understand that our girl has the right of the situation. Not everything is as simple and obvious as this Miss Emma Nolan has been led to understand.” He arched a brow over eyes as equally blue and persuasive as his younger sibling’s with a blatantly speaking look as eloquently expressive of his intent as any words could be. 

The darker haired man, indeed Killian Jones, Alice’s own father and the stranger who had saved Emma from falling that first night she had stayed in the home, paused, seemingly mulling the possibilities before them and considering the suggestion. Something still held  him back; he remembered the softness and open vulnerability when he had clutched her slight frame so she wouldn’t fall to her death, and also how she had seemed more drawn to him - concerned and curious - than he had experienced in ages… perhaps ever. Frightening her was far from his goal and design, if there were some other way to reach her and get his message across. True, Liam had looked out for him and advised him well all his life - and afterlife - but in this his elder brother was also protecting their domain and their only yet living family, rather than considering what might truly be best for Alice. Somehow, even in their very limited interaction, Killian sensed that thai Emma Nolan cared deeply for his precious little girl, wanted to do right by Alice and see her well and happy even as he had wished to do himself. He hesitated to take from his child someone who could give her the connection and comfort he no longer could.

No, what he needed was some way to communicate with the lovely young woman, to speak with her as he had so briefly that night on the widow’s walk, but also to convince her that he was real and needed her to understand his message. Shaking his head slowly in consideration, he turned his face back to his brother’s once more, speaking with measured deliberation. “As you say, Brother. They have formed an attachment - one that has been good for our Alice. We don’t need Miss Nolan gone. We need a way to reach her…  to make her believe.”

He beloved elder sibling, level headed, wise, the anchor he had always known to look to, sharpened his gaze slightly, as if trying to see into Killian’s thoughts - or his soul. There was no hiding the strong and heady mix of confusion, intrigue, and attraction he felt pulling him toward the new governess. It had been all he could do to keep his distance and avoid showing himself to her again ever since saving that pretty neck. That she hadn’t run from the place screaming, nor had she revealed him to anyone else, told him she was made of sterner stuff than her delicate, porcelain features would indicate, or she felt a true dedication to Alice, which only endeared her to him further. He found himself hoping she could be made to see and believe the rest, and there was no sense in attempting to deceive or hide it from Liam - maybe his brother would even have an idea that could help him.

Knowing comprehension dawned in the elder Jones’ eyes as he nodded in confirmation, seeming to assure himself of the conclusion he’d come to. Before Killian could speak again or attempt to explain his reasoning for the feelings that must have been clear in his eyes, Liam quietly acquiesced, offering to let him take the lead. “You may be right,” he murmured, tilting his head in Killian’s direction, then letting his gaze move pointedly toward the window where they could look out and see the very subject of their conversation playing with her charge. “Heaven knows our girl deserves some happiness and the maternal affection she’s never known. You’re only thinking of her. I shouldn’t have been so quick to expect the worst.” 

Killian’s tense face broke into a chuckle at that, his head shaking as he accepted his brother’s reconsideration gratefully. “In fairness,” he returned, a touch of rueful jest in his voice, “you’ve had trouble enough to cause such a reaction to be your first response.”

Liam attempted to look offended, but the effect was lost when his own guffaw escaped, seeing the twist of tragic humor in the situation, despite himself. It had been countless years - there truly was no way for them to measure it exactly - that Liam had lingered haunting these halls, not knowing why he could not pass on to peace and rest. He had almost resigned himself to the endless, empty half life of invisible wandering in this strange, unknown place until Killian had arrived - confused, angry, desperate to return to the daughter who had been ripped from his arms. Together, with Killian’s much clearer memories and rabid urgency, they had reconnected some of the dots between how they had been unexpectedly reunited against any sense or odds. Though Killian’s situation was different than his own, and his unwilling presence here was not at all right or fair, he could remember crossing Eloise Gardiner - a more powerful threat than he could a have possibly known until it was too late - and they had been searching for a way to right the wrong and see him freed of her trap ever since.

The companionship of his younger sibling had eased the loneliness for Liam and given him some sense of purpose. He was grateful to feel somewhat more like himself again after so long, but it made him all the more wary, sure that bit of comfort would be snatched from them without warning as it was before. To see Killian dragged through the torment and uncertainty he had weathered was its own unique sort of punishment, even as it was a gift as well, and he hated it as much as he loved it. Whatever else there was going on, he would be right at Killian’s side, willing to do anything to see him reunited with his daughter and back in his own life - the real living one he deserved - whether that was threatening, cajoling, or anything in between.

“Maybe I should reveal myself to her again… let her see me and explain what we’ve discovered,” Killian mused. 

Liam tilted his head in a bit of challenge and a bit of true thought. “If only you were certain how you did it before,” he cautioned, reminding Killian that it might well be more difficult and less straightforward than he hoped. The night he had physically manifested had not been a concerted effort on his part; he had seen her about to go over the railing, and even without knowing her at all, his concern had led him to leap forward in an attempt to save her from a fall she might not survive. He was drawn to her powerfully; he was man enough to admit that. Though he was not at all sure that did anything other than make him more urgent, more motivated, and more desperate to reach her - for Alice’s sake and for his own. She had reached out for him, in those few moments after he had pulled her to safety, those precious mere seconds when he had been once more corporeal and visible on the same plane she inhabited. Could she have felt a similar pull to the one which had gripped his insides? Killian had found himself holding his breath as her delicate fingers neared his chest, only to have them pass through him and his time run out.

It was a strange feeling, going insubstantial again; the whole encounter had been so fleeting he hadn’t registered feeling differently until physical sensation rushed from his limbs once more, like sand pouring from an hourglass. She had gasped, and he knew this Emma Nolan could no longer see him, the curse escaping his lips before he could pull it back.

And as Killian had watched them since, longing so deep and aching it hollowed out whatever was left within him as she followed Alice through the gardens, encouraging his child’s stories and play, or as he listened to Emma patiently impart Alice’s lessons in the afternoons or tuck her in and kiss his daughter’s forehead each night, Killian felt gratitude to the newcomer swell in his heart, despite wishing he were there for Alice in her place. It was clear that Miss Nolan had somehow managed to dismiss their encounter, to reason away what was deemed impossible, as people so often did when it could not be explained. He couldn’t even fault her for it. Until this strange half-life had been visited upon him, he would have done the very same.

Regardless, he would find a way to speak with her a second time, to use whatever connected them, which had allowed him to break through before, to do so again. He would return to his Alice; the hope thrummed in his heart as it had not done in years with the mere possibility. After all, as Liam had taught him long ago - even if the afterlife he had endured since had made his elder brother doubt the lesson - if he were unwilling to fight for this, what he wanted above all else, then he would deserve what he got.

~~~*~~~

The next morning, in the upstairs playroom of sorts next to Alice’s bedroom, the girl and her governess sat cozily tucked into the large window seat facing each other, a beautiful, large and richly detailed chessboard between them, balanced on their knees. It was raining outside, and so Alice had been convinced to stay in with the promise of roasting marshmallows over the fireplace and numerous cozy indoor amusements rather than splashing in puddles gleefully but quite probably catching cold and being confined to bed. 

Emma had never learned to play chess, having never had much spare time for parlor games nor anyone to teach her one as involved and time-consuming as chess played well could be. However, when Alice had proudly and reverently produced the game from its cupboard, the young girl had been thrilled at the chance to be teacher, and had proven adept at doing so, as they were now well entrenched in their match.

Taking up one of the knights, Emma fingered it wonderingly, marveling at the craftsmanship in curiosity before asking Alice where she had gotten such a lovely chess set.

Alice’s finger stilled, resting thoughtfully atop the rook she intended to move as she tilted her head to the side and studied Emma wordlessly. The sensation her concerted look caused within Emma rattled her, as if her nerves were jangling in alarm beneath her skin, but she forced herself to stay still and meet the child’s eyes in return as she awaited a response. Then, Alice shrugged as if her decision mattered little and glanced back down to the carefully carved playing piece in her hand and finally picked it up to move. Her light hearted little shrug as she gave Emma a tiny, hopeful smile, belied her previous weighted consideration. Even before the bright twinkle sparked once more in her eyes, Emma could almost predict Alice’s answer as she placed her rook stoutly in its new position. “It was a gift from my Papa,” she explained fondly. “He gave it to me the last Christmas we were together.”

Once more, Emma felt impelled to ask Alice how she could remember that far, what she knew about her father’s whereabouts, if she was sure, and if so, why he would be away so long from the daughter he loved. The words were on the tip of her tongue in fact, finding herself unable to hold back longer, hating to see the child cling to false hope if hope were truly long gone. If Alice had indeed been deserted as Emma herself was,  it was a heartbreaking fact to come to terms with, but the sooner it was accepted, Emma would be there to help Alice heal and rebuild.

She watched the girl sit back into the window seat after finishing her move, completely unperturbed and waiting for her governess to take her turn. Watching the joy and confidence lighting Alice’s eyes, too secure in her faith to ever doubt the father she very clearly did remember and treasure, Emma couldn’t bring herself to shatter the illusion. Even if it did turn out to be ill-fated and naive, it hurt no one for the girl to hold onto at present.

Sighing, Emma lingered with her hand hovering indecisively over the board, wanting to give some sort of caution or word of warning, even if not as clearly obvious as she had first intended. “You do know that you aren’t alone, don’t you?” she finally managed, a tentative question that came out sounding more quiet and worried than she had meant. “Rather, if your father continues to be kept by whatever business has drawn him elsewhere. Even if he remains unable to return, you… you realize you have others who care for you. You’ll be just fine, Alice.” Emma found the words harder to force out than she had expected, having to stop, wet her lips, and swallow over a large lump in her throat before she could finish. After all, she was more aware than most that though a person could survive and even thrive without the most basic bond between a parent and child being present in one’s life, it did leave a hole that didn’t ever fill in completely.

With the glimmer of almost adult understanding that often took Emma aback when talking with her young charge, Alice merely nodded solemnly, reaching out to take her governess’ hand and intertwine their fingers for a moment to press momentarily to her chest. “I do know that, thank you Miss Emma,” she replied with dutiful seriousness. “And I appreciate the thought behind it as well. But I have never felt that he is all that far away. Even if Papa isn’t here at this very moment. I know he will return. He promised it, and he never lies.”

Squeezing the girl’s hand before she released her grasp, Emma then thoughtlessly picked up a pawn, only to move it right into Alice’s path and promptly have it taken with a giggle and shake of the head.  “Silly goose!” Alice chortled, the heaviness of their conversation forgotten in her good humored glee at besting her opponent. “You had better worry about your own situation. I’m doing quite well for myself.”

She winked to assure that it was only a jest with no hard feelings meant, and Emma took it as such, shrugging at her own lapse of concentration to their match and a huff at her own inattention. “Right you are,” she acquiesced easily enough.

For several more rounds, they moved the chess pieces wordlessly, intent on their play. Yet Emma still felt she should try again to temper Alice’s wild hope, already pained at the thought of seeing her crushed if this absent father never came through. No matter how she tried, though, she could not seem to bring any words to the surface where that situation was concerned; it was as if something stoppered her tongue each time.

Once Alice had eventually claimed a sound victory, and they were packing the board and pieces away, Emma was rather suddenly startled by an abrupt chill in the air around them. The temperature dropped so drastically that Emma found herself looking about anxiously to see if somehow a window had been left open, or if someone had arrived through the little-used side entrance just off the hall from where they sat and let in a draft. Strangely, nothing was open or amiss, though Emma felt a definite shiver run through her and reached for the shawl she had worn outside earlier in the day, draped over the back of a nearby chair.

She had just turned to question her charge, curious if Alice was cold as well, when the lights overhead and in the lamps on the sideboards all flickered at once, fitfully as if struggling not to die out and plunge them in darkness. Guttering as if they were all candles burning low, blown out by some unseen breath, the room dimmed and brightened by increments for several hushed seconds.

Emma’s lips formed an equally quiet “W-what was that?” as the glow of the room returned to steady normalcy at last. Not that she necessarily expected an answer from Alice, but more to assure herself she hadn’t dreamed the strange occurrence in some flight of fancy.

Before Emma could fully regain her wits, or even form further questions, Alice nodded in the affirmative, shrugging with blithe unconcern and offering a mischievous smile. So mischievous in fact that the twinkle in her young eyes nearly gave Emma pause. Could she know something more about what had just happened? How could she? It must have been a dip in the electrical power or some sort of weather-related fluke. There was no other explanation that made sense. 

With an airy shake of her head, Alice chirped brightly, “Oh, there’s not need to worry. It does that sometimes.”

That this wasn’t an isolated incident actually stirred Emma’s worry more rather than assuaging it, and she had to convince herself that there was no possibility for a cold gust of wind to have been blown through the room following Alice’s pronouncement. She was merely letting her nerves get the best of her.

What Emma couldn’t see, nor would she have understood even if she had, was the pleased, anxiously hopeful expression on the girl’s face as her eyes traveled around the room expectantly, seeking something not yet apparent. She even gave a little wink as she closed the cupboard with her precious game inside, a silent acknowledgement to some unseen cohort whose presence she felt nonetheless.

If a person hadn’t known any better, it would almost seem she was communicating with her Papa, invisible though he might be.

~~~ * ~~~

Later that night, well past time to sleep and long after she had seen Alice to bed, tucked her in and wished her sweet dreams, Emma Nolan still found herself unable to rest. Questions plagued her mind, concerns and curiosity which did not add up, and the uneasiness she had felt amid the flickering light and chill in the game room hours before, keeping her from peaceful slumber. Tossing and turning fruitlessly was only worsening her tension until finally she flung the covers back and stood, beginning to pace in the dressing gown she had grabbed and thrown over her shoulders.

If this mysterious father of Alice’s were as doting and devoted as the girl believed, then where was he? Why was he not with her now, instead of off somewhere leaving his child alone to miss him and wonder? And how could he possibly have chosen such a cold and unsuitable guardian for her? It made no sense that Emma could work out, and she did not like being misled - nor did she like seeing those she cared for hurt. Alice was the one who stood to be crushed one way or another - either eventually when Ms. Gardiner dampened her unique and whimsical spirit, or when someday her father proved to be as shiftless and unfaithful as the dour hag had suggested, or they learned he had met some dire end and could not return.

At any rate, Emma decided suddenly, she was getting to the bottom of such troubling mystery. Waiting and observing was getting her nowhere; she only became more puzzled and more concerned for her charge. There had to be something she could uncover, some digging or sleuthing she could do, which would bring more clarity to the situation.

Lighting a three-pronged candlestick and holding it aloft, Emma resolved to start immediately. She already knew she wouldn’t sleep that night, and better to search and poke about when Alice was unaware. The last thing she wanted was to raise the young girl’s hopes or to force herself into the uncomfortable position of deceiving her caretaker whenever she might next return. Nevertheless, the place she knew her exploration must begin had come to her, and slipping through her bedroom door into the hall, Emma began her venture on silently slippered feet.

That morning as they had finished their chess game Emma knew she had felt something uncanny; something strange and otherworldly had occurred; whether she could pinpoint just what was of little consequence. The large, open playroom, now silently deserted in the midnight hour was where she had to return. A real part of her wanted to wait until morning (and the comforting light of day) to peek into the space. The tremors she felt running up her arms were not only from the chilled air. Whatever entity had caused the odd sensation she had felt before could still be present, and it could prove malevolent - it actually seemed more likely considering the mistress of the place was Ms. Gardiner.

Emma crept down the stairs gingerly, without incident and hardly making a sound. Her small candle’s light flickered tremulously, but it was enough for her to see the way ahead clearly. All the same, she felt her steps slow as she neared the room, almost holding her breath, hoping desperately not to disturb the quiet. 

It was only as she came near enough to hear a hushed murmur, then another in response, followed by a warm, rumbling chuckle, that she drew up short just beside the door. She had yet to look in, quickly flattening herself to the wall and making sure she had not been seen instead. However, as she forced herself to remain, not flee, gathering her wits and courage about her, she realized the voices were light and affectionate - as far as possible from angry and threatening - and also that another light from within the room flickered out to where she stood. Her candle was not the only one in the dark house.

So who was speaking?

Leaning out to peer around the doorframe cautiously, Emma barely managed to swallow a gasp of shock. Holding her breath for several long seconds, she forced herself to calm and even sharply pinched the inside of her elbow with the fingers of her other hand, needing to make certain she had not dozed off and entered a dream. When nothing changed, her eyes focused once more on the carpeted hall where she stood. Emma blew out a breath of resolve and squared her shoulders. She needed to look again, if just to be sure.

Leaning out again, she slowly peered from her unseen vantage point, eyes traveling the distance across the spacious playroom lit with the candle’s wavering glow. Sure enough, the same tableau still greeted her, this time somewhat mesmerizing her with its feeling of gentle comfort rather than rousing alarm. It seemed impossible, but there before her eyes, ensconced in the very seats she and Alice had occupied only hours before, sat her young charge with her beloved chess set across from the handsomely dark stranger Emma had seen only once before.

Alice’s happily prattling little voice tickled Emma’s ear, telling her that the girl was clearly at ease and not in the least frightened or troubled by this gentleman companion. He must be far from the unknown entity Emma had assumed him that night on the widow’s walk. He had appeared from out of nowhere in the windy dark, saved her life, then vanished again before she could ask any questions. But now, rather than the tidy dream or hallucination she had tried to convince herself he must be, the stranger sat blithely playing chess in the middle of the night, with the child in her care.

Half ready to hustle into the room and demand an explanation, Emma was halted by the chortle of laughter which pealed from Alice’s lips just then, sounding so happy, so carefree, that Emma bit her tongue and held back, loathe to disrupt the pleasant moment. Alice appeared to be in no immediate danger or distress, so perhaps she could afford to linger and keep watch for a moment more rather than shattering the illusion and upsetting the girl unnecessarily.

As she continued to watch noiselessly from the shadows, Emma’s heart warmed at Alice’s victorious crow of pride and her piece’s successful counterstrike, and the subsequent warmth and affection radiating out from the man’s face as if to wrap Alice up and gather her close. That face was weathered and careworn, framed by dark, tousled hair and scruff along his chin and jawline, equally dark but interspersed periodically with strands of both ginger and grey. Those eyes were fathomless and deep, seeming cool and wild enough to drown in met that night atop the house alone, but now they gazed on Alice with a look that spoke of painful longing at last partially assuaged - a devotion that could only be paternal.

Emma’s musing was confirmed moments later when Alice chided playfully, “Papa! Whatever are you thinking? You’ve put yourself just where my bishop can take you if you aren’t more careful!”

Feeling her pulse pound at her temple, Emma fought for understanding, even as she watched the gentleman shake his head to clear it from distracting thoughts and give Alice a sheepish smile while moving his piece from its apparent danger. If this was the long lost father Alice had such faith in, what did his presence mean? Why had he not come forward and announced his return? How could this be?!

Not long after asking herself that question, the solution presented itself. As Emma remained looking on unseen, her candle’s light caught the man’s profile in such a way that she realized with a startled sinking of the heart that his form was not completely opaque. Once the realization was made, her eyes could not unsee the fact that the stonework of the fireplace, the gleam of the windowpane, the surfaces just beyond his seated body were visible through him, as if seen through a dense veil. She remembered the same impression that night when she had been wrested from calamity, gripped in strong arms, but then detected that they were not fully corporeal. He had been gone before her mind could grasp the paradox, as she had convinced her mind it was all imagination - until this very moment.

Her hand clutched the candlestick so tightly in her confused distress that the small beacon wobbled slightly. To her dismay, though Alice with her back to the door continued blissfully unawares, the stranger’s visage rose and caught her eyes with unerring accuracy. His stare, now that it held her rapt, was intense and unwavering. As if allowing some well-worn façade to slip, the sharp bravado fell away and she saw the well of anguish in those cobalt pools. One dark brow arched wordlessly, to beseech her ‘Now do you see? What else would you have me do?’

Emma stumbled back to lean against the wall, hand clutched to her chest and unable to maintain the near-electric stare between herself and her mysterious rescuer. For a moment, she focused merely on steadying herself, regaining control of the shaking in her limbs and the pounding of her heart. Was she going mad? Was the place as haunted as rumor had always alleged? Was Alice in danger in that very moment? This last thought propelled her forward, turning back to the scene by the fireplace.

It appeared that their game was over, and both man and young lady were standing to leave the room. Indecision gripped Emma. Should she attempt to hide and continue her observation? Should she charge in and confront the stranger? The possibilities whirled together dizzyingly, and she deliberated a moment too long.

The pair of chess players came close enough to the hall door that Emma’s light was glimpsed by her delighted charge. Upon seeing that her governess was awake and present with them, Alice’s face split into the widest grin Emma had yet witnessed on her winsome face. “Miss Emma! How lucky that you are awake!” She rushed forward the last few steps between them to clasp her new friend’s hand in both of her own smaller ones, squeezing tightly in her enthusiasm. “To be honest, I was not sure how to make this happen… though I had wished for it.”  Her sweet eyes glittered in innocent happiness as she turned to the handsome, dark-haired gentleman just a step behind her, lingering awkwardly at best, though he gave the girl an affectionately acknowledging half-smile. 

“Miss Emma Nolan,” Alice practically beamed, a playful formality in her tone as she gestured introduction. “Allow me to introduce my papa… Captain Killian Joens.”

To Emma’s surprised, the stranger stepped forward with all proper correctness, as if humoring Alice’s gracious ‘hostessing’, and bowed smartly to her, eyes once again searching her own and causing a crackle along Emma’s skin like she had been touched by blue flame.

Alice looked back and forth between them in eager curiosity as Emma carefully reached out once more, not sure if he would vanish again as he had at their last encounter. This time rather than attempting to make contact, Emma merely offered her hand to shake, holding it out between them.

“You can genuinely see me?” he, Killian Jones it would seem, whispered in a soft rasp heavy with stunned disbelief.

Her own voice seemed to have left her entirely, so Emma merely nodded in affirmation. What breath she had gathered rushed out again as he bent his dark head over her hand, which he took in his and brought up to his lips to press a kiss at her knuckles.

Standing again, the look on his face was a mix of so many emotions that Emma couldn’t decipher them all. “After all this time,” she thought he murmured, her brow crinkling as she tried to understand the strange response.

Alice grabbed both of them where their hands were joined, wringing them up and down in her exuberance. “Papa?” she asked, her tone alight as her shining face. “It is time at last? Can you finally be free?”

Tagging a few who might be interested: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @cosette141 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @elizabeethan @shireness-says @drowned-dreamer @ineffablecolors @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @justanother-unluckysoul @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit @resident-of-storybrooke @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @xsajx​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ 

[snowbellewells]

@searchingwardrobes The conclusion of this is equally stunning- you’re just swept up in it from the word “go” and can’t stop until you’ve reached the end!!! The fact that Emma isn’t herself is beyond clear, and though it’s so frustrating that others can’t see it, it’s so lovely that Killian just absolutely knows. And is determined not to take advantage no matter how much it hurts him.

Henry believing him and being so eager to help is perfect!! And I love that Belle gets in there, believing and offering knowledge and support made me supremely happy too. ♥️ The way that Emma fights through and comes back to herself, making sure Cora can’t use her to hurt Killian, is brilliant!!! And the way you end it with very much the tone of a continuing slightly supernatural local gossip is truly inspired!!! I loved digging into this one all over again.

An Education in Southern Gothic: 2/2

Here it is, the second chapter where things heat up and then take us full speed to the dramatic finale! Much thanks again to @snowbellewells for being an awesome beta and @hollyethecurious for the art. I also thank my fellow @cssns writers for all the help in the discord chat. “Ya’ll bloody wankers” ;) You know who ya’ll are!

Summary - Fact: there’s a graveyard between the football field and the science building. Debatable: A ghost haunts the halls of Misthaven Hills High. Emma Swan is about to get an education. Killian Jones is about to get a whole lot more.

Rating: T

Chapter one on tumblr. Also on Ao3.

Tagging the usuals: @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @wellhellotragic @optomisticgirl @distant-rose @shireness-says @xhookswenchx @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @gingerchangeling @mythologicalmango @vvbooklady1256  @ultraluckycatnd @revanmeetra87 @resident-of-storybrooke  @tiganasummertree @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @spartanguard @thejollyroger-writer @nikkiemms @courtorderedcake

Chapter Two: Theories of Exorcism

Killian sits in his classroom, a stack of essays on the Roman Empire in front of him, his red pen tapping pensively against his jaw.

He’s not thinking about the papers.

Emma has been worrying him since Friday night. He tried to brush off the odd way she was speaking, the slightly unnatural way she was holding herself. She had been camping out with twenty one teenage girls in a cafeteria, after all, and it had been the middle of the night. But the next morning, she had scooped a few pieces of fruit from the tray they had picked up at Chick-fil-a and completely ignored the chicken biscuits and the hash browns. Emma Swan choosing healthy food over greasy food was cause for genuine concern. When he made a joke about the hash browns she had twisted his arm for, she had looked at him in utter confusion.

Killian sighs as he looks down at the essays in front of him. His planning hour is half over, and he told his sophomores he would have their essays graded by tomorrow.

Suddenly, his door flies open and Killian startles, dropping his red pen. And his jaw. He feels like one of those old cartoon characters when their jaws hit the ground and their drooling tongues go rolling across the floor. He’s never denied that Emma Swan is attractive - he would have to be blind and a complete idiot for that - but he’s never seen her quite like this. Her usual ensemble for work is casual and professional - some slacks and a blouse - and her hair is normally pulled up. Today, her golden locks are carefully styled and tumbling over her shoulders. And her dress …

It’s tight. It’s red. It short. It shows off her cleavage. It’s completely inappropriate for a high school teacher.

And his body is reacting whether he wants it to or not.

Keep reading

[seriouslyhooked]

The Bast Bad Idea (Part 2)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to start with a huge thank you to all of you who have reached out about this story. The response was so far beyond what I was expecting, but I am thrilled to know that all of you enjoy a CS Doctor AU as much as I do. As someone who grew up watching Grey’s Anatomy, it’s essentially engrained in my DNA to love a medical romance, and this story is one I have wanted to write for a long time. I’ve had more than a month away from writing thanks to my busy schedule, but finally my muse came to play and add a bit of fluff to this sweet short story. Chapter two picks up with a critical question – what was Dr. Jones going to propose to Dr. Swan…? Without further ado, here is our answer. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

His eyes strayed down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from Killian. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across a summer sky. The instant attraction was breathtaking. It felt almost out of time and space.

“We could…” she continued, nudging him along and hoping he would elaborate. She wanted so badly for him to say aloud what she herself was wishing for.

Yet where Emma expected words, she was instead met with action, tantalizing and surprising, but inspiring something in her she never expected. Before she knew it, Emma was in Killian’s arms, aching for this moment, kissing him and knowing she was positively senseless. All that existed was this kiss, this touch. It was electrifying and invigorating, a blaze rushing through her blood stream that emboldened a part of her she’d always held back. Desire. That was what this was, and it was luscious and intoxicating.

Following his lead, Emma broke away from the kiss only to gasp for air as he crowded her body against the wall. The hardness of the cement blocks behind her, coupled with the heat and definition of Dr. Killian Jones was too much to handle. She arched into him, striving for contact, and reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. The only problem was these damn clothes between them. Never in her life had she been irritated at this doctor’s coat she’d worked so hard to earn. For years she studied and poured everything she was into medicine, all for the authority this coat portrayed, but she practically purred when Killian stripped hers off and tossed it to the ground. Pushing his off of his body in return made her mind race. The muscles of his chest and arms were driving her to distraction. Then they flexed, and she swallowed harshly, earning a deep, decadent chuckle from this man who drove her crazy.

“See something you like, Swan?”

God that cockiness. They’d never had any kind of real conversation before now, but the way he smiled spoke volumes. His air and his persona were dripping in assuredness. Emma used to think that she hated so much confidence, but when it came to Killian, she craved it something fierce. It was somewhat infuriating, the way his eyes shone with mischief and conceit, but it was also hotter than anything she’d ever known. Still, part of her would rather die than admit that aloud. She had her pride, no matter how wrapped up in this moment she may be.

“It’s hard to say,” she replied, her voice sounding out with a shredded silkiness that she’d never heard before. “I haven’t seen much of anything yet.”

“My apologies, love. Allow me to rectify the situation.”

Emma watched as this ridiculously attractive man purposefully teased her. With deft fingers he reached for the base of his scrub top, inching the material higher up his body. The trail of dark hair he revealed was evocative, but it held no candle the shape and tone of those abs underneath. Sweet Jesus, were those real? Emma bit back a groan at the sight, her lip pressed tight between her teeth. It took everything in her to keep her hands from reaching for him. She lay them flat on the wall behind her at her sides instead, but they balled into fists unconsciously as Killian eventually tossed the shirt away.

His black hair was mussed now, both from removing the scrubs with that always-present swagger, and from her fingers having run through it during their never-ending kisses. His eyes were dark navy blue, but still they shone with hunger and delight. His grin was a mix of charming and predatory, but instead of inciting a fight or flight response, Emma only wanted to surrender. This was a man who knew he was in complete control. He had hooked her, totally and beyond any shadow of doubt, and all she wanted was for him to have his way with her.

The curses he whispered while helping her shed her own scrubs were like prayers on high, a sweet song to her ears that only added to his allure. Killian’s eyes never strayed from her, but his reactions were so open and transparent. He hid nothing, allowing her a glimpse to the world inside, and it caused the power between them to shift. If Emma was being hunted, then she was also hunting in return, and Killian seemed ready to be caught.

“Emma, I -,”

His voice faded out, and she struggled to hear him. Instead, there was a blaring alarm. Was this a fire drill? Why had the light in the room gone hazy? Still, Emma heard herself whisper his name.

“Killian?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screech of the sharp, incessant chiming by her ears wrenched Emma’s eyes open, and immediately she groaned in disappointment. All of that – every exquisite moment – was a dream. Ugh, of course it was! Because this was her life now: fantasizing about a hot trauma surgeon ceaselessly and wishing that her memories of him were more than mere imagination.  

“Damn it,” she muttered aloud, covering her eyes with her hand in frustration. With her vision blocked, Emma was more aware of the feeling that her body was wrapped up in her sheets. She’d obviously been tossing and turning through the night, restless in ways she rarely was before seeing Doctor Jones. These freaking dreams just felt so real, and they’d only gotten worse since officially meeting him.

That was three days ago now, but things had been chaotic in the meantime. The level four trauma that came in when they’d been formally introduced totally swamped the ER. Emma was called down for consult on multiple patients, needing to give life and death assessments and treatment plans for half a dozen people. While down there, Emma had the chance to see David and Killian in action. She was struck, even in the grips of adrenaline, by their cohesion and capability. They were cool and collected, battling odds that were dire to say the least, but they prevailed. Emma had worked for years to hone her craft, to heighten her skills, and to meet the moments of medicine that her work provided. But the energy in the ER had shifted, and she felt her own abilities elevated by the camaraderie and collectiveness of everyone in the hospital.

That shared experience only lasted a short while, for after initial inspections and emergency consults, Emma was quickly rerouted to the surgical wing. For 16 hours straight she worked to save the lives of four people, and through something that felt like magic, or maybe divine intervention, she was successful each and every time. That good fortune held, not only for her, but for all of her colleagues as well. The hospital had managed something next to impossible – they had saved every victim of the horrible accident, but the work had been backbreaking. When she’d finally scrubbed out of her last procedure, Emma admitted defeat, heading home and sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Her next shift was markedly slower, and Emma had the chance to see the progress of her post-op patients, and to connect with the others in her unit. It was critically important that the doctors, nurses, admins, tech teams, and other staff were all feeling strong and secure. Patients needed everyone working as a collective whole, and Emma took it upon herself to monitor that. It was unusual for a Doctor, especially one who wasn’t overseeing daily operations, but it mattered to Emma. Saving lives took so much more than her medical degree and steady hands. She needed each and every person in the cardiac wing to be successful, and she valued every one of them for what they brought to the team.

Unfortunately, while Emma’s day was slower and steadier, there was also a favorite element now lacking. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d willingly joined Ruby on the daily trip to the coffee cart. Actually, she’d been the one to page Ruby this time, earning more than a bit of teasing from her best friend, but Killian and David never showed. Only later, when Emma was at the tail end of her workday and helping with a consult in the ER, did she learn why.

“He was here for sixty-eight straight hours,” David said bluntly, after having confirmed his diagnosis for a patient presenting with a blood circulation issue.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused for a moment at David’s turn of topic.

“Killian,” David said, prompting Emma’s face to heat. Here she was, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that she was looking for a man she hardly knew beyond imaginings, but David had seen through her in a matter of moments.

“Oh, um – that’s, well that’s… crazy. Sixty-eight hours?” That beat even her record, and she’d been called a workaholic on more than one occasion.

“Mhmm. We were on the end of a twelve-hour shift when the call came in and he stayed, until every last patient in the trauma department was seen and attended to. I left for eight hours and was dead to the world the entire time. Still felt laggy when coming back. Meanwhile, he caught maybe four hours sleep total interspersed between rounds, crashing in on call rooms. You’d never know though. He was totally unfazed. Brilliant as ever. It was like being back in the field again.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, amazed at that. She was no stranger to long shifts, but to work that hard for that long was a herculean feat. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to hear Killian had pulled it off.

“Yup. I had to force him to go back to his hotel. Actually, Regina had to. I tried, but until the Chief said something, he wouldn’t budge. She had to spew all sorts of protocol and legal jargon at him to get him to go. Even then, I could tell he was debating whether to stay or not.”

“He has a real connection with his patients,” Emma commented, vocalizing a fact she’d ascertained by watching him in action. Killian cared deeply, and while his main job may be all about stemming the flow of crisis, and bouncing around from one case to the next just to keep people holding on, he kept track of all those he helped, and invested in each patient no matter what.

“Maybe. I think it had more to do with the fact that it was only eight am and you wouldn’t be at the coffee stand yet.”

Before Emma could respond, David was paged for something else. He’d left her with a polite goodbye, but also a knowing smile. Another time, Emma might have tried to fake that she wasn’t interested or deny that there was something between her and Killian, but instead she was too busy fixating on what she’d just heard. Emma carried David’s assessment around with her for the rest of the day, well after leaving the hospital and heading home. She spent the night wondering if what David said was true. Was Killian as interested in her as she was in him?

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

“We could what?” she whispered, getting out of her car, heading inside to her next shift. “What was he going to ask me?”

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma jumped at the unexpected question, senses on high alert as she stood before the elevator in the parking garage. When she found Mary Margaret only a few feet from her, and clearly the orator of the previous question, Emma relaxed slightly. She tried her best not to show her embarrassment, but it was difficult. Now she was talking to herself? Jeez, she was truly losing it at this point.

“Oh, uh, nothing. How are you today?” she asked her friend. Mary Margaret smiled widely. Her excitement was palpable, filling up the elevator car as the two of them stepped inside.

“I’m great! Just eager to get to work.”

“Any interesting cases on the schedule?”

“Oh, uh, sure, there’s a few, I guess. Well really most of my day is going to be in consult with the Chief’s office.”

“Wait a second, you have to spend a prolonged period of time with the Evil Queen and you are smiling? Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret?” Her friend now looked flustered, clearly trying to grasp at an explanation and then it dawned on Emma. “This is about David isn’t it?”

“David?” Mary Margaret asked, her pitch higher than it had been just moments ago. Emma laughed at her friend’s terrible play acting. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t about David Nolan was a lost cause. Eventually Mary Margaret realized that, and she sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she exhaled. “Okay, yes, I am seeing Dr. Nolan today.”

“Let me guess, he’s also going to be at the admin meetings.”

“They’re about coordinating long term therapies better with our emergency protocols and treatments. So yes, the head of the ER is likely to make an appearance.”

“I see,” Emma said, biting back a smirk so as not to make Mary Margaret too uncomfortable. In the end though her curiosity won out, and she had to ask. “So, any movement there?”

“Movement?”

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“Not exactly.” Emma waited for her friend to explain herself. Mary Margaret held off for a few seconds before blurting out the truth. “I actually asked him.”

“Really?” Emma was shocked. Not because she thought any less of Mary Margaret. In fact, quite the opposite. She was proud of Mary Margaret for going for what she wanted. She just had never ever seen Mary Margaret step outside of a comfort zone like that, and certainly not with a hospital colleague. “Good for you. And he obviously said yes.”

“Why is it obvious?” Emma rolled her eyes, but in a teasing way.

“Come on, you know you two were making heart eyes at each other the other day. There was a definite spark. We all saw it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you noticed since you had your own, what did you just call them? ‘Heart eyes’? Well, you definitely had heart eyes for a certain trauma surgeon.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to blush, and what perfect timing, because the elevator doors had just opened to the lobby. They exited the quiet of the elevator to a hustle and bustle found only at a top tier hospital. It felt like a swarm of people, buzzing every which way, on their own individual paths.

“David and I going to dinner tomorrow,” Mary Margaret said quietly, looking around and finding no eavesdropping colleagues. When the coast was clear, she smiled, looking back at Emma with excitement all over her face. “That’s all I know though. I may have asked him out, but he made it very clear he had plans for how our first date was going to be.”

“I have a good feeling about this guy,” Emma said, referring to David. She had known Mary Margaret for a long time, and she knew how much her friend wished for a real and solid love in her life. Few people desired and deserved that kind of connection like Mary Margaret, and for Emma, there was a real satisfaction in seeing her friend’s instant connection with a stand-up man. Based on past experience, there weren’t too many of those to go around.

“Which one?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma stammered something non-committal out, causing her friend to laugh once more. “And that right there is all the answer I need. See you later, Emma. Oh, and when you see Killian again, just go for it. Believe me, it’s so much better than waiting and wondering.”

With that, Mary Margaret headed towards the wing of the hospital where the Chief and her admins worked. At the same time, Emma turned her attention to the cardiac unit.  She had a ways to go to get there, but while still in the main entrance of the hospital she was stopped short by a gruff, and somewhat uncertain voice.

“Excuse me, Doctor Swan?”

“Yes?” Emma replied, looking to the young man who approached her. Taking in his features, she realized she knew him peripherally. He was one of the new interns cycling through the hospital this year, but he hadn’t worked in the cardio wing or in a surgical capacity. Taking in his lanyard, which bore his ID card over plain clothes, she saw he was an ER intern. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“This is for you.” The young man offered her a paper box. Emma accepted, thoroughly confused before the intern elaborated. “Curtesy of Doctor Jones.”

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly incredibly interested. Unable to resist, she opened the box. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but what she found made her smile widely. “These are flowers. Paper flowers.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not entirely sure of the significance, but Doctor Jones told me there is a note inside as well. He wanted me to be sure to mention that.”

Emma was more than excited to read what this astonishing man would write to her, but something the intern said reminded her of the awkwardness of this situation. Had Killian used his authority over the interns to have this delivered? It wasn’t a crazy assumption. Many of the residents and attendings here saw interns as the low rungs on the ladder. They were meant to be learning and training, but often they were sent on coffee runs and foolish errands. Emma never believed in that though. She found it unkind and unnecessary.

“To be honest, it was hard to convince Doctor Jones to let me bring these,” the intern said, perplexing Emma further while eerily reading her mind. “I had to offer about a half dozen times. My shift was ending, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way to thank Doctor Jones since he got here. You know he created extra hours in the ER skills lab? He’s working with first years too. We get very little access usually, because the third years are prepping for exams and stuff, but he convinced Doctor Nolan to extend the hours. He’s even hosting classes himself. Cool right?”

“Very cool,” Emma said with a nod, and another smile. She breathed out a sigh of relief, genuinely happy to realize this man she’d been thinking of was good to others. It also made accepting this thoughtful gift so much easier.

From there, Caleb said goodbye, heading out for whatever interns did with down time these days. Oh, who was she kidding? Sleeping. That’s what she’d done, and no doubt that was what all interns still wanted most of all. Emma though, felt more awake now than she had in a long while. She found a quiet corner in one of the corridors leading to the cardio unit and took a seat, opening the box away from prying eyes.

Inside the box there were six different types of what looked like origami flowers. They were beautiful and delicate, and she wondered where he could have bought them. Only when she opened the note did she realize the truth.

Emma,

As you know, I’ve been away for quite a while, out in the field in a completely different world. In the desert there’s not really that much to do, except survive and keep as many of your people as well as you can. The downtime is long and hot and quiet. I picked up these tricks from a fellow soldier. It kept my hands at the ready and my mind clear, and there’s an honest beauty in them that reminds me of you. 

Truth be told, there’s a flower for each time I’ve tried to catch you at the coffee cart since our meeting. Clearly my missions have been unsuccessful, so this calls for a change in tactics…

Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness and felt the pull of butterflies low in her chest.  He thought she was beautiful, and he said it without fear. Had a man ever said so much? Had it ever mattered? Certainly not like it did now. Reading on, Emma laughed at the lightheartedness of the note and the bit of cheeky humor that accompanied it. His easygoing candor and transparency enchanted her, drawing her in even more than she already was. Then she memorized the time and place he suggested that they meet at the bottom of the page, knowing nothing and no one was going to keep her from this meeting.

Only after reading through his handwritten thoughts three or four times did she realize an added layer of perfection: these flowers weren’t just handmade and crafted with intention. They were also safe for her to take with her to her ward of the hospital. Being in and out of the ICU and cardiac units, Emma couldn’t bring real flowers into her offices without putting some patients at risk, but she could have these. From within the box she selected a bright yellow blossom, beautiful and intricate and folded to perfection. Wordlessly she tucked it away in her pocket. The others were deposited for safe keeping in her office as soon as she arrived back in the East Wing, and displayed on her windowsill, brightening the space.

The hours between the start of her shift and the time she was meant to meet Killian passed by slowly. Her rounds usually distracted her, but not today. While she still gave all due attention to her patients, Emma had that sense in the back of her mind that this afternoon would bring so much more to the forefront. The promise of seeing him again kept her heart pattering faster than it should be, and by the time the clock was minutes from their meeting, she was positively bursting with anticipation.

“Okay, usually I would give you a hard time and pretend to tag along, but even I can’t mess with a smile like that.” Ruby’s words snapped Emma’s focus back to the hallway where she was standing, pretending to read a chart. As she looked to her friend, however, she would never be able to recall what was on the screen in front of her. Ruby grinned when their eyes met. “He gave you the flowers, didn’t he?”

“You knew?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“Yup. Ran into him at the cart a couple of times. He was really starting to piss off the kiosk guy with all his loitering. Had to give him a hundred dollars just to shut him up.”

“He didn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t let him. I told Boris to shut it unless he wanted a hospital wide nurses strike. Guy knows better than to cross me. He just acts tough for clout.” Emma laughed, knowing her friend truly ran this place in most ways. But then the apprehension of the moment caught up to her again, and Emma’s brow furrowed in worry. “Oh no you don’t. No doubting this, Ems. I’ve vetted this guy. Run all the background, checked all the sources. He’s a good one, a one in a million, needle in a haystack, diamond in the rough kind of man. And, to top it all off, he’s crazy about you.”

“You think?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“I know, but that’s all I’m saying. Let Killian speak for himself, okay? And, even though it’s hard, try and trust this.”

“I think I already do,” Emma whispered. “Trust him, I mean. But that’s crazy, right?”

“Love tends to be that way.”

“Ruby.”

“Emma,” her friend parroted, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Just go for it. Go for it and see for yourself.”

With a nod, and the validation that she needed to hear from a trusted friend, Emma headed off. It felt natural and expected to make her way towards the center of the hospital once more. This time though, she passed the coffee cart, with only a fleeting glance. Killian wasn’t meeting her there today. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where they were meeting. She followed the directions he’d given her, up a few more flights of stairs and through the wing with pediatric patients and newborns. She had been here many times before, for consults and comfort. It was a draw here in the hospital – the cuteness of babies just starting their journeys in the new world. Emma looked at them today, noticing the vibrancy inside the nursery, but didn’t linger. Instead, she followed the last of the route that Killian had given her and ended up somewhere she’d never been before. A place that must have just finished being renovated.

“Wow,” Emma whispered, walking into the sunlight on the open terrace.

With the glass surroundings and the plant life everywhere, this place was beautiful. There were pergolas and hanging vines, topiaries and flowering plants, daffodils and tulips, all breathing in the spring. It felt like a park, floating in the air, with the sounds of the city barely audible below. Emma could imagine the kids and the families who would come here someday. She hoped it would be a space for them to find some peace and happiness while staying in this unfamiliar and often stressful place. Hospitals were rarely any fun for patients, necessary as they may be, but this space was beautiful enough to distract from that.

“You made it, love.” The deep rumble of that familiar voice sent a shiver through Emma’s whole body. She cast a glance over her shoulder, finding Killian, leaning against the stone façade of the building behind them. In his hands were two coffees, and as he moved towards her, he offered her one with a boyish smile. “This is for you. Didn’t want you missing a routine caffeine fix for my sake.”

“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, feeling his fingers brush across hers, sending a zing of awareness through her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she knew he felt it too. Suddenly she had no want or need for this coffee. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing on. “Where exactly are we? And how, might I ask, does the new guy know about it before I do?”

“It’s the Hubbard Family Wellness Gardens, gifted by one of the hospital’s most loyal benefactors” he said, full of knowledge. Emma was shocked that he actually knew what this place would be but then he smiled, gesturing to the plaque bearing that information. She bit back a laugh. “And as for how I found it, that’s easy. I never leave well enough alone, and I’m curious by nature. I’ve been nearly everywhere in the hospital now, but this place seemed the best for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Emma asked, her voice hitching up as she repeated the words.

“Aye,” Killian murmured, his tone dipping sensually low. She swallowed harshly as he entered into her space, and he tracked the motion. She felt the heat of his closeness, and caught his scent in the air, clean, and male, and with a hint of spice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through,” he said, close enough to kiss her. God, how she wished he would kiss her. Emma vocalized her first thought.

“Really? I did. Like a lot.”

His smirk told her she’d said that aloud even though she never meant to, but before she could react, he took hold of her cup once more.

“I meant these,” he gestured to the coffee in her hand. Oh, right. “May I, love?”

Emma nodded, and shakily let go of the cup she forgot she was holding. With deft hands, Killian  placed their drinks back on a table beside them with far more poise than she could muster at the moment. When that was done, he stepped towards her again, looking at her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart skip. His hands came to her body, one to her hip, the other to cup her cheek. The rightness washed over her, and so did the realization that none of her dreams could actually prepare her for real intimacy with Killian Jones.

“Last time we spoke I intended to ask you something. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from wanting this so badly. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and he caught the action, letting out a groan that mixed pain with passion and pleasure. Then he cursed, a totally British ‘bloody hell’ falling past his lips before dipping his mouth to hers and giving them both a taste of temptation.

The kiss was… beyond incredible, but Emma was so deep in it she had no ability to comprehend anything at all. She was consumed with the moment, arching against Killian, feeling the silky strands of his dark hair and the scruff of his beard. His kiss was assured and passionate, dominant and indulgent all at once. She succumbed to the sensations, and let the rightness surge within her, not caring at all that they were outside or at work or that they’d just met. Instinct took over, and her gut, which Emma had always trusted, was telling her that this man was even more than she imagined, and someone she should choose to let in.

Pulling back from the kiss, Emma and Killian stayed close, and Emma took stock of all the places they were touching. His hold on her was firm but caring, like she was precious, and he wouldn’t let her slip away. In his eyes she saw so much emotion, and again she was struck by his transparency and trust. He wasn’t shying away from her or the moment. He was in the depths of desire with her, and their kiss, that perfect, sexy as all hell kiss, had left him tongue tied. The quiet wasn’t awkward, but assuring, and Emma felt secure here, safe even, while also being filled with more unknown wonder than she’d ever been before. Like someone at the start of a glorious adventure, she took a next step born of passion and hope.

“I’m off at six tonight… so, you want to pick me up at seven thirty?” she asked, referencing a date he hadn’t actually asked her out on. She feigned ignorance even though she could read him like a book. “Unless you were going to ask me something else…”

His hold on her tightened, and he shook his head immediately. She was right. He wanted a date – and she saw no reason to wait when she wanted one just as badly. She grinned at him, loving how the tables had turned. This time he swallowed harshly, and she was oh so tempted to kiss him again and see if he’d stay shy or rise to her challenge.

“It’s a date, Swan,” he said dazedly. 

Emma hummed out her agreement, going in for one last fleeting kiss. But where she meant to only tease, he took the reins again, kissing her senseless and leaving her breathless when they finally broke apart. Only when her pager beeped with an incoming call did they end their inevitable interlude, and as they did, Emma felt a pang of longing, wishing this moment could last so much longer than this.

“Tonight, love,” he whispered, running his thumb against her lips. “Far away as it may seem, I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Good,” she replied, nipping his thumb ever so softly, and bringing the fire back in his eyes, before taking a step back. And with that, and just enough presence of mind to grab her coffee, Emma headed off, back through the hospital to the work that awaited her, knowing she could and would get through anything today for the promise of tonight.

Post-Note: Ah!! Finally!! I got the words on the page!! I did the thing!! I wrote the story!! And honestly, it’s such a relief. It felt, at some points, like I may never get this chapter written, but finally today it came. I know many of you were waiting, and I cherished every comment and review and message along the way. I hope all of you who wrote me, and those who read along with chapter one, all enjoy this installation. I write these stories for me and to brighten my world ever so slightly, but also in the hopes that they’ll spark joy for others too. In a time like this, a little joy goes an awful long way. Anyway, thank you all for reading, sending you the best, and hope you’ll join me next time for the final chapter of this CS AU! xE

[cshistfic]

Get-To-Know-Me: @sailtoafarawayland

We’re excited to introduce the authors and artists who will have signed up for this event! Stay tuned in September, and make sure to give them lots of love.

Tumblr/Ao3 handle: @sailtoafarawayland/Farawayland

How long have you been involved in fandom? I published my first story on FF in fall 2015, and was probably lurking for quite a while before then. It's been a wonderful journey and experience across each of those years, and I'm so happy to still be a part of this fandom!

What draws you to this event? I've always loved reading historical fiction, but I've never written any myself. It just so happened that when this event was first being promoted, I was remembering a book series I loved when I was younger, and I wondered if I would be able to create my own Captain Swan story set during that same time period and do it justice, so here I am! (I love a challenge!) 

Do you have a favorite historical period to learn or read about? Hmmm, I love history, so really, I'm game for learning about any time period. As for reading, there hasn't been one I've ever passed up, but I'm a sucker for CS frontier stories and anything set during the fifties era.   

Why do you like historical fics? I am such a goner for Killian and Emma that I want to read about them falling in love over and over during every time period I can get. I think it really comes back to the fact that these two are True Love, and no matter what generation, what period, what place, they would have met and fallen in love and gone to the ends of the world and back for one another.  

What is the inspiration behind your story? My story is inspired by an older series of books I don't think many will remember - The Clan of the Cave Bear series by Jean M. Auel. I won't be using any characters from those books, or any story arcs for that matter. I'm merely borrowing the time period and creating my own story around Emma and Killian. I always loved the far-off magic those books held - the glimpse into a time long past - and I'm hoping I can recreate some of that on my own while still capturing the things we know and love about Captain Swan. 

Do you have a sneak preview or summary you’d like to share?

I won't promise these are the final words, because I'm sure I'll be reading and editing this right until it drops, but here's a quick glimpse....  

She's as beautiful as he'd first thought, her cheeks sweeping high beneath eyes that glisten like new grass in the moonlight, her lips parted in what he thinks might be the start of a smile. Small freckles dust her skin like stars pulled from the sand, and as the wind dries her wild mane, he can see that it curls in golden strands around her face. She's the most stunning woman he's ever laid eyes on, and somehow he knows with certainty that his totem spirit led him to her – that he was meant to be here, on this night, at her side.   

 He can still see the tracks from her tears that mar her skin, the salt of them drying in the night air, and he steps forward, his fingers feeling as rough and heavy as stone while he brushes them gently away.

Forget about historic - @sailtoafarawayland is taking us PREhistoric! I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in fic before, and I can’t wait to see how it turns out. 

Her fic will be dropping on Tuesday, September 21st.

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Things We Don’t Say (modern AU - Actors)

Summary:  No one is perfect, and sometimes, two people are just so perfectly flawed that those pieces fit together and make something beautiful. When sparks fly between two leads of a new hit show, is there a happy ending in sight, or will their own mistakes overshadow any chance they had at something worth fighting for.

Rated: Explicit    

Warnings:   This is a joyfully Captain Swan story, but there are a few warnings. It does start with Emma/Neal and Killian/Milah. I don't write non-CS, so there won't be any sexual anything happening 'on screen', so to speak, between those couples, but I won't guarantee there may not be a mention. This story contains numerous episodes of cheating. If any of these things make you squick or are not your bag, carry on.

AO3 - FF 

- or read below the cut - 

As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for further updates. 

Tag list: @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @teamhook @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4 

Chapter One

Emma scrolled through the email her manager had sent detailing the new role she was being offered. It was something fresh, something different from what she normally focused on—no hint of a police procedural in sight—and based on the tone, it sounded like they were very interested in getting her signed for one of the leads. She stretched her legs out along the couch, digging her cold toes underneath the pillows in search of some warmth, only to yank them back when she encountered something both crinkly and wet.

“Dammit, Neal! What the hell is this?” she growled, glaring at the brown sludge coating her foot.

She leaned forward, careful to angle her toes away from any other surface, and peeled the throw pillow from the couch. Smeared across the white fabric and the expensive leather was what looked like the remainder of a milky way bar, the wrapper still clinging to the puddle of caramel and chocolate.

“You have got to be kidding me. Neal!”

The only response she got was the sound of something hitting a pan full of oil in the kitchen, the apartment filled with the sizzling hiss of something frying. Dropping her phone and forgetting all about the email she’d just been reading, she hobbled down the hall into the bathroom to clean up, wondering how in the hell to get out a chocolate and caramel stain. Why he couldn’t just learn to clean up after himself was beyond understanding. Sometimes it felt like she was living with a teenager who never wanted to grow up, and she couldn’t help but long for the days when her apartment was clean and didn’t smell like whatever weird odor it was that Neal always brought home—grease and cigarette smoke, maybe.

Her foot finally clean enough to be walked on, she headed into the kitchen to get some paper towels only to be greeted by what looked like every dish she owned spread out on the counters and island. Every surface was dusted in flour and drips of batter, measuring spoons leaving trails of oil and sugar across the floor and counters alike.

“Oh my god,” she cringed, knowing the mess would be left for her. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering when you’d get off the phone,” Neal poked, giving her a quick glance over his shoulder before motioning proudly over the mess that just seemed to get worse each time she looked at it. “I’m cooking.”

The casual way he always stabbed at her phone use was exactly what she didn’t want to hear right now. Maybe she wouldn’t have to spend so much time working if he bothered looking for something himself. He’d had a recurring role on a family comedy when they met, but he’d been fired not long after, and for the last six months, Emma was pretty sure he hadn’t even gone to any of the auditions she’d mentioned. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if he had an agent anymore. 

“When was the last time you had a Milky Way?” she asked, choosing to ignore his snide comment. She just wasn’t in the mood.

“That’s a weird question. I don’t know, maybe last week? You didn’t pick any up the last time you ran to the store.”

Emma nodded, her lips drawn tight as she tore paper towels from the rack and returned to the living room, pulling what she could of the melted mass from the couch and thinking she’d need to resort to Google to get the rest out. Her anger bubbled with every sticky string of caramel that wrapped around her fingers. Why couldn’t he go to the store on his day off? He only had seven of them. She stomped back into the kitchen, hitting the garbage can a little harder than necessary and tossing the mess of chocolate and paper inside.

There was just enough room in the overload sink—what had he used the colander for—that she could wash her hands.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge. What was so important that you had to turn the entire kitchen into a complete disaster?” she questioned, already adding up how much time it would take her to wash and wipe everything down.

She’d be lucky if she was able to get back to her manager before tomorrow as requested.

“You remember that travel show we watched the other night?” he prodded, his eyes glued to the pan as it hissed on the stovetop, a spatula held ready in his hand. “You mentioned you hadn’t had good churros since that trip to Mexico, so I thought maybe I’d make you some.”

The anger that had been just about to boil over slipped away to that place far enough below everything else that she could just go back to ignoring it.  

“Neal,” she sighed, suddenly more exhausted than anything else. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Ems—anything for you.”

In the living room her phone blared to life, the dark tones of The Imperial March echoing as it vibrated across the coffee table.

“Work calls,” Neal sniped, a trace of resentment running beneath the pleasant smile he fixed in her direction. “Wouldn’t want to keep Regina waiting.”

It was amazing how quickly that anger came right back to the top of everything, and she found her feet pushing her as far away from Neal as possible, snatching her phone from the table and forgetting entirely about the couch as she stormed into the bedroom.

“What?” she hissed, slamming the door behind her and clenching the cell like it was something she wanted to crush. “What is so important that you couldn’t give me a few more hours, Regina?”

The other end of the line was silent, as if Regina had either hung up, or was waiting for an apology. Well, she wasn’t getting one—not today.

“Is there something you needed, Regina?”

“Are you okay?” Regina asked, not as a friend, but as an employee that was curious to know how soon she would have to contact Emma’s PR team and inform them a mental breakdown was imminent.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad time. I got the details you sent. I just haven’t read through everything yet.”

“Well, that explains why I haven’t heard from you. Honestly, I thought you cared more about your career than that. I was quite clear this was urgent. Don’t take your time with this one, Miss Swan—they want you, but they can’t wait much longer.”

The line went dead after Regina had delivered her scolding and Emma sighed, dropping to the bed and rolling onto her back as she flicked back into her email and started again from the top. It was an interesting premise with even more depth than she’d originally thought—a new series that centered on the mental health of a man who had developed delusions after a car accident that took his brother, leading him to believe everyone in the hospital was a character from a fairy tale world—but then she got the part that Regina really focused on, the money.

“Holy shit!” Emma gasped, double checking the figures and thinking how she’d never seen such a good offer—not for someone in her bracket. It was unheard of. “I guess they really do want me.”

It wasn’t until she read through the rest of the itinerary and details that she wondered if the big paycheck wasn’t recompense for the filming location and duration—the middle of Nowhere, Maine, as if Maine wasn’t already considered the middle of nowhere.

She read everything twice before she shot Regina a quick text.  

E: I’ll take it

The message had only just sent and there were already three ellipses following. Emma could practically hear her manager’s smug response.

R: I knew you would. I’ll be in touch.

There should have been nerves fluttering in her stomach, or at least a solid pit of dread at the prospect of having to walk into the kitchen and tell Neal, but there was nothing. It was a big decision to move across the country for what could be a long-term role, but it was still her decision to make.

Hopefully, he would be happy for her, he would understand that this had the potential of lifting her out of her rut and providing great income for the foreseeable future. There were some great names attached, veterans of the industry that were looking to branch out into a new genre.

She was excited for the first time in a long time.  

She didn’t need to feel guilty, at least that was what she told herself as a niggling pang of guilt worked its way into her chest.

It would be good to break it to him gently though, to put a good spin on it.

The minutes ticked by and she finally realizing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she wandered into the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her as she looked for him, but the apartment was empty. The stove was turned off and a plate, probably the last clean one, was waiting on the counter with a pile of golden churros perched on top of a greasy paper towel.

Next to it was another torn paper towel with a note scratched onto it in sharpie.

The boys called and I’m heading out for a few beers. Don’t wait up. Enjoy the churros.

She waited for the anger to bubble back to the top, but there was nothing—no anger, no guilt, just a deep, hollow nothingness that grew and yawned as she fingered the scrap of a note transparent with oily fingerprints. Feeling like maybe this job had come at the best possible time, she picked up the plate of churros and walked over to the trash, watching them slide in with the rest of the garbage.

[snowbellewells]

@jrob64 Man oh man, I had a longer wait for I got to settle in and enjoy this new chapter this week, but it was so worth the wait!! This chapter had me giggling, blushing, and grinning from ear-to-ear, from the very start all the way to the finish. It was certainly a nice reward after a long day. ♥️

I got so tickled by Emma’s trying to warn/explain Ruby to Killian on their way to the club and just before they met Graham. Her “if only that was all she was going to say” had me laughing out loud! Their friendship and the way they playfully banter with each other is so easy and natural and really makes the whole story that much more fun. You also write Ruby so well and so in-character for what I would picture her saying and doing in this situation- 100% believable!! I also got a kick out of Killian cautioning that Ruby might scare Graham as he could be a bit shy. That didn’t seem to happen here 😏😏😏 but I have always thought if we did get to see he and Ruby in a relationship, she probably would make him bashful and blush, but secretly he’d love whatever she was dragging him into! 💕

Of course, true to our pirate’s good form, he keeps his word to Emma and never pushes, just constantly makes sure she is still comfortable and taken care of throughout the night. I loved when he pulled her aside and asked about why she didn’t want to sing, and then encouraged her not to worry what others thought, and she let herself go and had a blast. I love that all throughout this, she has been able to see just how trustworthy he really is, and she appreciates it and just keeps opening up to him more and more, bit by bit.

Naturally, I loved picturing Graham singing “Little Red Riding Hood” to Ruby! That’s such a fun, flirtatious song, and it works so well in the scene!! And then their duet continuing the wolf theme!! Priceless! I am going to have to look up the artist(s) you mentioned for Graham’s song. That wasn’t the one I know, so there must be another version I need to hear!

Anyway, all that to say, I loved the karaoke, the growing relationships, the fun they all seem to be having, and every beet of this second chapter!! 💖 I definitely can’t fault Emma for knowing she’s going to be having sweet dreams of Killian that night!! This is continuing to make my birthday so much sweeter! It like the present keeps carrying on!

One Thrill Ride Leads to Another - A CS Modern AU Chapter 2 (Karaoke and Kissing)

Here we have the second chapter to this story, and to give @snowbellewells a belated birthday present, Graham Humbert makes his appearance! It now looks like this story is going to stretch into 4 chapters PLUS an epilogue, and as of now, a new chapter will post every Sunday. 

Many thanks to @kmomof4 and @hookedmom who have make this story so much better. 

Story Summary: While working at Universal’s Islands of Adventure, Killian Jones meets Emma Swan, slips his name and number into her phone, and later sends her a text asking her out. His snap decision could lead to her blocking his number, or to an adventure much more thrilling than a ride on a roller coaster. 

Rating: M (for smut in future chapters)

Words: 4968 (Chapter 2)

Chapter 1 on Tumbr here

Also found on ffn and Ao3

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“I have two suggestions for where we can go,” Killian said, once Emma and Ruby told him their decision. “One is called Red Coconut Club and has a tropical theme. They have live music during the day and through dinner hours, but by this time, a DJ has started playing club music. The other one is Rising Star, which is a karaoke bar with a live band and backup singers. I do have to tell you that my roommate loves to sing, and since we both have the day off tomorrow, he’ll more than likely be there tonight.”

“You have a roommate? What’s his name?” Emma asked.

“Graham Humbert.”

“What’s he like?” Ruby questioned.

“Nice guy, tall with light brown hair. Actually, he’s also from Ireland…”

“I vote for the karaoke bar!” Ruby interrupted loudly. “Point me in the right direction!”

Killian laughed, then turned to look at Emma. “Is that good with you, Swan?”

She shrugged. “Sure, just don’t expect me to sing.”

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