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deckerstarblanche · 1 year ago

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Welcome to Chapter 2 of “An Offer She Can’t Refuse” FINALLY!

Huge thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for being the best beta ever, to @undercaffinatednightmare for the cool artwork, and to @caught-in-the-filter for the inspiring gifs!

Warning: the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written ;)

TAG LIST: @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @caught-in-the-filter @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @djlbg @eddisfargo @stahlop @holdingoutforapiratehero @justanother-unluckysoul @teamhook @gingerchangeling @jonesfandomfanatic @grimmswan @captainfloorouat @cs-rylie @natascha-ronin @vasfasan @veryverynotgoodwrites @bugheadswanjones @everything-person @jackieorioncat

Killian was able to get a Safe House room booked during the drive back to school, much to Emma’s relief. He was such a caring, reliable friend — the perfect guy to be with during such a crazy time. The only thing she had doubts about was how they were supposed to go back to being “just friends” after this was over. Was that even possible? Maybe they could talk about it when her brain didn’t feel like mush.

“You know, I’ve never been to the Safe House building before. Do you think you can hear other people messing around in their rooms? I bet you can’t, because of privacy rules, and hormone stuff. It would get pretty confusing in there if the walls weren’t thick enough, so I’m sure they are…” Emma babbled, pressing her cheek against the cool passenger side window as her head lolled to the side.

“Why don’t you drink some of that water I gave you, love? You might be a bit dehydrated already, and you’ll need your strength,” he urged gently, squeezing her arm. She looked down at the bottle in her lap and glared at him for being right, but the cool water did soothe her parched throat and eased some of the tension in her muscles. By the time they got back to campus, though, Emma was literally limp from exhaustion.

Checking in was incredibly easy. Emma had guessed right; because of the school’s strictly enforced privacy rules, they didn’t have to interact with anyone but the staff member who showed them to their assigned room. A woman from housekeeping led them upstairs while Killian held onto Emma, who had burrowed into her blanket. It was a bit of a mess after their activities in the truck, but she needed it, and whatever Emma needed, she’d get.

Killian remembered learning about situations like this in high school health class: an Omega’s instincts and defensiveness intensified during a heat, so familiar and soothing things shouldn’t be taken away from her. Killian knew it was up to him to make sure Emma felt safe and secure. Once the extra bedding, towels, and cases of water were stored away, the housekeeper left, and they were alone together.

“Ugh, I need to shower,” Emma whined as he set her down, burrowing her face into his chest. He chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

“That can most certainly be arranged. Go and relax, love,” he said, handing her a fluffy blue towel from the stack of stuff they’d been given.

Once he heard the water running, Killian kicked his sneakers off and made himself comfortable on the bed, switching the television on. Mindlessly, he flicked through the channels, trying to calm his frayed nerves. He had never been with an Omega in heat before, and there were so many unknowns. How long would they be here? What if he couldn’t get the job done for some reason, and she rejected him? What would happen if he slipped up and told her his true feelings by mistake?

Maybe watching some baseball would help push the self-doubt away, and get him in the right mindset. By the time the bathroom door opened, Killian was so fully immersed in the Red Sox vs. Cardinals game that he had shifted to the edge of the mattress, laser focused on the screen. He had no idea that Emma snuck up behind him, covering his eyes.

“Hello Swan… I trust you found the shower refreshing?” he asked, drawing one of her wrists to his lips.

“Yeah, absolutely; good pressure, plenty of hot water… I’d give it three stars,” she said with a smile, removing her other hand from his eyes. She perched herself on the corner of the bed, knowingly blocking his view of the television. He didn’t mind in the slightest, as she was wearing nothing but a short terry cloth robe, using the bath towel to dry her hair.

“Why’d you take away a star? Surely a shower that nice would merit four,” Killian teased, before his eyes zoomed in on her robe as it crept up to the tops of her thighs.

“Eyes up here, buddy!” she barked, just convincingly enough to make his ears turn red. Laughing, Emma threw the towel on the floor, finger-combing her hair into loose waves before inching her way back toward the pillows. Once there, she relaxed against them with her legs stretched out, long and lean.

“There wasn’t any room in the shower for my favorite Alpha, and I got lonely,” she sighed, her lips pressing together in an exaggerated pout. “Isn’t that awful?”

Killian nodded, his eyes glazing over at the sight of her laid out before him like a present waiting to be unwrapped. “It’s truly despicable, Swan. We shall have to remedy that at once…” he purred, crawling up until he hovered right over her, caging her in with his arms.

“Yes,” she hissed, quickly undoing the belt so her robe lay open, displaying every square inch of her flushed skin.

“Fucking exquisite,” he rasped, dipping his head to kiss her hungrily, using a knee to nudge her thighs further apart. Emma arched her back and moaned as her head hit the pillow, making sure he got an eyeful of her chest.

“I need to feel your mouth on me, Alpha, and your hands…like what you did in your truck,” she told him hoarsely, reaching up to try and grab him by the collar. He dodged at the last moment, ripping the shirt off himself before diving back down to lick a stripe right between her breasts. She let out a soft moan, her nipples stiffening in response to his touch.

“I am going to worship you tonight, Omega,” he rasped into her shoulder, pausing to nip at the skin above her collarbone before trailing his lips up her graceful neck. “I already know how damn good you feel around me, and that your taste is just delectable, but there’s one more thing that I’m just desperate to learn about…” he told her with a grin, sliding his mouth back down to her chest. He bit down on one nipple while pinching its twin at the same time and she cried out, pressing her pelvis up almost involuntarily.

“Does that mean you’re gonna knot me this time, Alpha? Now that I’ve seen what you have to offer, I want yours even more,” she told him between jagged breaths, cupping his crotch before slipping smoothly out from underneath him to switch their positions.

“Ooh, so fiery…I like this side of you very much.” he smirked, watching her shrug her robe completely off, clawing at the button of his jeans before they popped open. In the time it took him to blink, Emma divested him of his remaining clothing, gasping when his quickly hardening cock sprang up.

She moved up to straddle his thighs, and he watched as she started touching herself, slipping two fingers into her wetness, pumping them lazily before adding a third. “Mmm…Seeing how hard you get, just from watching me touch myself? Alpha, it’s so fucking hot,” she whispered, pulling her fingers out so she could run her slick-covered hand over his length. He shivered and closed his eyes, gripping her hips tightly enough to leave marks as he bit out a few choice curse words.

“You nearly made me come, Omega. It’s a damn lucky thing that I have amazing control,” he said, raising himself up on his elbows. “But that’s enough teasing for now; get up on your knees,” he ordered, the words rising up from some feral place deep in his gut. His eyes were dark with lust, and his gaze roamed freely over her entire body.

Emma was in a similar state, licking her lips as she admired the lean muscular planes of his form. For as long as they were in this room, he was her Alpha, and she felt very possessive. She rose back up, never losing eye contact after she’d positioned herself to sink down onto his cock. Her movements were almost torturously slow, teasing him and squeezing her inner muscles to give him just a little extra stimulation.

“You like that, Alpha?”

He liked it; hell, he loved it. The instant they were fully joined, she ground her ass against his thighs and they both moaned loudly at the relief of it, savoring the feeling together. Emma leaned forward, placing both hands on this chest as she began rolling her hips. In response, Killian thrust upward, bending his knees for better leverage.

“I want you to tell me exactly how you like to be touched, Omega,” he urged, squeezing her ass as he watched her writhing above him. “I want to know so I can find all of the new places to touch, and the ways to make you scream and beg for more,” he revealed.

“My nipples are really sensitive right now,” she breathed, raking her fingers through his chest hair. “Bite them, squeeze them, whatever��I’m getting closer!”

“As you wish,” Killian growled, thrusting faster as he ran his rough hands over her breasts, twisting and rolling until she let out a shriek of pure pleasure, repeating his name as she tightened around him, shaking from the force of her release. As difficult as it was to hold himself off, Killian managed, only pulling out as her aftershocks tapered down. If he dared to look at his cock, fully engorged and dripping with her essence, he would have popped his knot, losing complete control of himself. He had to move quickly.

“If you want my knot, I need you to get on all fours and turn around… NOW,” he growled, mostly from the pain of literally holding off his orgasm. Wordlessly, she did just as he asked, still lightheaded from her own pleasure. She could feel fresh slick trickling down her thighs, as if her body knew what was coming. Listening to that inner voice, Emma tucked her arms under her forehead and lifted her ass a little higher in the air.

She felt his hands smoothing down her back and hips as he moved into position behind her. The heat from his body was almost overwhelming but still she shivered, craving more. Killian’s familiar scent calmed her down, as did the gentleness in his voice when he spoke.

“Before we take this step, Emma, I need to ask you one more time: are you sure this is what you want?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” she purred, and before she knew it, he covered her body with his, thrusting into her completely. Emma had never felt so full in all her life, and she knew instantly that she’d made the right choice in her partner. Adjusting her position a bit, she took several deep breaths, enjoying the pressure and stretch from his girth at the new angle.

“Everything ok, Iove?” he asked, sounding worried that she was in pain.

“I feel wonderful, Alpha,” she soothed, lifting her hips higher and arching her back so he could slide all the way in. Her ass wiggled against his balls, causing him to pant harshly, unsure how much longer he’d be able to hold on. Emma turned her head, looking up at him as best she could. “Why are you holding back, Killian? I’m ready, and I want you,” she told him, rocking her hips back as she arched her spine to further encourage him.

“I want you too, love— believe me,” he rasped, nuzzling into her neck as he squeezed her hip. “You feel so unbelievably perfect. Touch yourself, so we can do this together…It will feel so much more satisfying for you, I swear it,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

Emma was so moved by his constant consideration that she just nodded, bringing her fingers back to circle her clit roughly. That seemed to satisfy him, so he finally started moving again, taking her with fast, deep strokes. “Oh yes, Alpha, that’s the spot…Fuck! You feel so good,” Emma cried as she hurtled toward another release.

“I knew you could get yourself there, Omega. So unbelievably sexy,” he groaned, voice low and seductive. “You feel like heaven around my cock…”

There were no more words after that, just the sounds of their ragged breathing and slick skin colliding, building up toward a frenzied climax. She fell first, the tension mounting until it finally broke into seemingly endless waves of pleasure. With a final snap of his hips, he pushed forward, and when her muscles stretched enough to capture his knot, he could finally let go.

Experiencing such intense intimacy with Emma was the most satisfying high Killian had ever felt. He came hard, and as her walls spasmed, their bodies locked together to ensure that his release remained exactly where it was supposed to be.

In that moment he knew, with an almost primal certainty, that he had found his mate.

By the time the aftershocks ceased, they were sweaty and exhausted, barely able to coordinate themselves to lie down comfortably. Emma yawned, stretching her limbs as carefully as she could to avoid jostling his knot, but Killian was already falling asleep, his arm slung loosely across her hips. Aside from where they were joined, he made sure to keep an inch or two of space between them, avoiding too much skin contact for her comfort. It was exactly that kind of care, even to the smallest gesture, that made Emma’s heart swell with affection. The wonderful guy behind her was so thoughtful that he knew, without having to ask, how much she valued her space.

Emma wanted to let go of all her worries, and just bask in the incredible endorphin rush until she fell asleep — but her brain wouldn’t stop spinning. She heard his mind-blowing words and thinly veiled feelings on a loop inside her head, and it scared her to death. She knew what would happen if she allowed him in too close; they’d get too serious, too fast. Then, like so many other people in her life — from the parents she’d never known, to all the foster homes filled with neglect and broken promises —- he’d get tired of or abandon her. Everything, including their friendship, would crumble into dust.

Long before Emma met Killian, she had decided that she wouldn’t let anything distract her from her work, and it was even more true now. She couldn’t afford the emotional and physical maelstrom that a real heat caused, so going back on her meds was the best way to achieve her goals, even if it meant forcing herself to walk away from the man whose embrace had begun to feel like home. As her eyes drifted shut, Emma resolved to make her feelings clear after her hormones had settled.

##########

Killian awoke peacefully, just as the morning sun’s first rays began to filter in through the window blinds.

He was disoriented for a moment, knowing that he wasn’t in his own bed, but the soft snores from the body next to him, hopelessly tangled in the sheets, gave him a quick reminder.

Emma.

Emma, who apparently snored in her sleep? She was dozing on her side, facing the wall, so he propped himself up on one elbow, content just to watch her over her shoulder.

They’d had quite an exhausting night, so he was glad that she was able to get some rest. A few of the old wives’ tales he’d heard over the years ran through his head: Omegas who couldn’t sleep for days straight during a heat because their bodies needed constant stimulation; guys who almost asphyxiated in their partner’s slick during oral sex; the couple who spent 12 hours in an intimate tie because every time they tried to separate, it triggered simultaneous orgasms. At least that couple was trying for a baby, so they got their happy — albeit, unconventional — ending.

He shifted to focus his attention on his bedmate, who looked so peaceful and far removed from the chaos her body was going through. She had a small smile on her face, like she was in the middle of a very pleasant dream, and it filled his heart with happiness.

Dammit, get yourself together, man! Killian thought, chastising himself for such un-Alphalike behavior. It brought back unpleasant memories of his domineering father, who always berated him for walking away from playground fights as a child. Brennan Jones never walked away from a brawl, a “value” he tried to instill in his sons every single day, until he up and abandoned them in the dead of night.

Killian and his brother had worked hard to rise above their father’s pettiness, and as a result, Liam found a wonderful wife and partner in Elsa. Emma had a similar quality about her, enabling Killian to be softer and more in touch with his emotions. He had never experienced that with anyone else, not even his brother.

The woman in question was fast asleep at the moment, so he could take the time to memorize every freckle and laugh line on her face. If she ever found out how deeply he truly felt about her, she’d get scared and put distance between them. In the literal heat of the moment, Killian decided to let all of their issues and hangups fall to the side for a while. He wanted to enjoy this experience, and for that to happen, he needed to be unburdened.

A few minutes later, he fell asleep, breathing in the light floral scent of her shampoo.

###########

When they awoke after a long snooze, Emma was wild-eyed and wanting once again, but at least he persuaded her to guzzle down two water bottles and a Lemon Luna Bar before they got back down to business.

Unfortunately, a series of loud knocks on the door popped their bubble of serenity.

“Killian, just be as quick as you can…I need you,” Emma whined, writhing against the rumpled sheets. He stole one more kiss before sliding off the bed, nearly biting through his lower lip when he saw her, lying there all naked and glowing, waiting for him.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. In a few minutes, I’m going to give you exactly what you need,” he assured her soothingly, pulling on his discarded jeans and a grey t-shirt before slipping out the door.

He was flummoxed to see a woman in crisp blue scrubs standing at the door, holding a clipboard. A cardboard box stood by her side.

“Good evening, Mr. Jones, my name is Tracy and I’m the on-call nurse tonight. It’s just about time for your 24 hour check-in, so I have to ask you a few quick questions, then I’ll be on my way. I’ve also got your laundered personal items,” she said cheerfully, gesturing for him to pick it up.

“Oh sure, thanks very much! Everything is just fine here, really…” Killian replied, bending to grab the box so she wouldn’t see his face and ears turn a ridiculous shade of pink.

She still had a list of questions for him, so Killian raked a hand through his hair, shoved a thumb into his front belt loops, and prayed that she wouldn’t ask about bodily fluids. “Ok, let’s see now: any fevers, dehydration, headaches, or dizziness to report?”

“None at all. I’ve been paying close attention to her hydration,” he answered, looking at the nurse’s immaculately white shoes in order to avoid her gaze.

“Good. No excessive bleeding, burning, chest pain, or hmm...panic attacks?” she asked, jotting a few check marks down in her notes.

“Definitely not, although she might start panicking if I don’t get back in there!” he joked with a tight smile, looking up just as the nurse raised her eyebrows, looking suspiciously like she didn’t mind his intense discomfort. He felt mortified. What other invasive questions was this woman going to ask?

“Well, if you don’t have any questions for me, I think that’ll do it for now. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it Mr. Jones?” she asked, her chipper tone causing Killian’s jaw to clench. “Remember, call us in case either of you have any dehydration symptoms or are in need of more supplies. We’ll see you again in about 12 hours. Bye now!”’

“Thanks very much, Tracy. Have a pleasant evening!” he called as the nurse walked down the hall, off to harass another hard-working “caregiver.”

Apparently, that was the official name in this place for people like him.

Relieved that the strange interlude was over, Killian went back into the darkened room. The bed was empty, and his protective hackles raised immediately, despite there being no realistic way that Emma could have gone far. Nevertheless, his pheromone-heightened senses caused him to worry, so he breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the shower running. Heart hammering, Killian walked past the small kitchen to the bathroom door and knocked tentatively.

“Killian? You’re back, finally! I decided to take a quick shower, so I’ll be out in just a sec,” Emma’s voice floated over the spray. The thought of her, wet and naked and covered in soap suds, sent blood rushing south so fast that his head spun.

“Aye, love! Take as long as you need,” he called, cursing under his breath when his voice cracked like a gawky teenager. While she finished up in the shower, Killian occupied himself by changing the sheets and checking the room’s thermostat before stripping down to his boxers and settling back into the bed.

By that point in their time together, he was so attuned to her needs that even the faint sound of her humming happily to herself aroused him to full mast. It was almost ridiculous how badly he wanted her. The desire to offer his body and to be fully accepted into hers, combined with his new knowledge of her taste and scent nearly overwhelmed him, driving him closer to a heat-induced rut.

An Alpha’s version of heat, ruts occurred naturally about 3-4 times a year, but they only lasted 48 hours at most. In cases where an Omega’s heat induced a state of rut in her Alpha partner, it usually meant that the pair had the highest compatibility rate for producing healthy children. Some people even believed that it was proof that the couple were soulmates.

The thought of it happening to them gave Killian the oddest sense of pride, but he knew Emma would freak out if he dared ever mention that subject in her company.

“Heyyyy, looks like you’re having some interesting thoughts over there! What are you up to?” Emma asked, leaning against the wall wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. Her wet hair was combed back and her skin was glowing, making her look like a siren in terry cloth.

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” he answered playfully, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that always made her laugh. He pulled the sheets away from the tent in his boxers, patting the spot next to him on the bed with a teasing grin. “You know, I do have something for you over here, if you’re interested…”

Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his cheesy line, even though she knew she’d be in his arms in less than a minute.

And gladly stay in his arms forever, her heat-addled brain admitted traitorously.

But Emma didn’t really care to think about everyday life problems, not while her brain was all fogged up. Especially not while there was a sinfully attractive man waiting for her, ready to fulfill her every need and desire. She stayed where she was for a few seconds longer, enjoying the way his beautiful blue eyes looked her up and down, gazing admiringly at her form. He made her feel like the sexiest, most treasured woman in the world.

“I might be interested…” Emma murmured, finally answering as she sauntered over to the bed, rounding the corner to stand right next to him.

Killian just smirked, and before she could do any more teasing, he grabbed her by the waist and dropped her gently onto the bed.

“What’d you do that for?” Emma sputtered, moving to sit up. Heat or no heat, she didn’t like surprises.

“I’m sorry for the lack of warning, Swan, but I really do need you to be on the bed for what I have planned,” he revealed, his voice pitched down to a low rumble as he encouraged her to back up against the pillows. When she was arranged as he desired, Killian brought his hand up to stroke her cheek gently, and she melted into his touch.

Emma took his face in her hands and drew him in, kissing him hungrily as he pulled the towel from her body. It fell to the floor with a soft swoosh, but she didn’t even notice because his hands were everywhere. They roamed over her curves as his lips traveled to her neck, where a few moments of playful nipping and kissing her there elicited a series of needy moans. When he grazed her scent gland with his teeth, she shivered with delight, his name on her lips.

“Hmm, you smell absolutely delicious,” he whispered against her neck, inhaling deeply right near the sensitive gland. Emma sighed with pleasure, dragging her nails through the hair on his chest as he purred contentedly at the attention. She inhaled sharply as his fingertips brushed over the wetness between her thighs, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval while his index finger swirled around her clit.

“Alpha…” she pleaded, sliding down the pillows as she opened her thighs wider, inviting him to settle in between.

“Why didn’t you tell me how wet you were already, Omega?” he teased, chuckling as he continued exploring her folds, fingers gliding in and out effortlessly while she writhed pleasurably under his touch.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed you. Just keep doing what you’re doing,” she ordered, eyes screwed shut as the familiar tension began to coil in her belly.

“More of my fingers, or will you let me pay homage to your beautiful body with my mouth?” he crooned, watching carefully as she opened her eyes, eager as he was for her consent. Emma reached up to kiss him while she thought it over, enjoying the smooth and confident way he curled and darted his tongue. When they pulled apart, she was gasping for breath, desperate for his touch.

“Mmm, I haven’t had any good experiences receiving oral before, but I think you’re about to change that, Alpha. Fuck me with that pretty mouth of yours.”

His face lit up, as if she’d just told him that he won the lottery. It was so adorable and unexpected that Emma couldn't help but grin back, blushing.

“Absolutely. I promise that you won’t regret it,” he told her, his cute smile turning into a leer as he zeroed in on her dripping center. “Lie back now, Omega, and lift your hips,” he instructed, quickly grabbing a larger pillow to position her pelvis where he wanted it.

Killian sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork. There she was, fully exposed to him; her golden hair looked wild and free against the sheets, and her beautiful face was flushed with arousal. Slowly, he slid his palms from her shoulders to her sternum, pausing to lavish attention on her breasts. All the while, he planted scorching kisses on her neck, across her collarbones, and down to her rib cage.

Not wanting to miss a detail, he skimmed his hands from her taut stomach to her slick-dampened thighs, as his tongue trailed down to her navel.

“Alpha…PLEASE!” Emma begged, so worked up that her entire body shook.

“Patience,” Killian chided gently, placing a kiss to each inner thigh, then one brush of his lips to her center. Just when she thought she would burst, he surged forward, finally burying his tongue inside of her. Expertly, he massaged her clit with his mouth while using his fingers to stroke her g-spot to a quick, toe-curling release.

Her scream was a sound he’d never forget: uninhibited, passionate, and strong, just like the woman herself. As Emma’s breathing slowed, Killian slowly unwound himself from her body. Sliding up to lie next to her, he propped himself on one elbow to face her.

“Mmm, that was wonderful. Thank you,” she nearly slurred, cracking her eyes open slowly.

“You’re most welcome. Would you like a drink?”

She nodded, so he reached over to the nightstand where he’d stored a few water bottles. They both drank silently as Emma collected herself, her hazy eyes clearing and sharpening to hone in on her partner’s clear need of her.

“Alpha,” she murmured, looking down at his clothed erection.“You look like you could use some serious TLC. Take those off and let me take care of-”

Killian put a finger to her lips, cutting her off with a grin. “I’ll show you serious; get up, love,” he said , raising his eyebrows in a way that piqued her interest. She moved to let him get off the bed and followed him over to the front edge. He stripped, then sat down and grabbed her hands, drawing her in close. She narrowed her eyes, wondering what the hell he was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a new idea, but I need you to trust me. I’d never hurt you, Emma; I can promise you that,” he assured, bringing her hands to his lips so he could place a kiss atop both sets of knuckles. The gesture made her smile, and she nodded in agreement. “All you need to do is get up on the bed, knees bent. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Looking more than a bit skeptical, Emma climbed onto his lap and straddled his hips on her knees as requested, placing her hands on his shoulders for balance. Almost immediately, he kissed her roughly, sucking her lower lip into his mouth while squeezing her hips. It felt as if every nerve in her body lit up in excitement as slick dripped onto his shaft.

“Ohhh, Emma…fuck, I thought I could wait, but I need to be inside of you right now. Just lift up, love…” he panted, sounding absolutely wrecked with lust.

“Yes, Alpha, please…” She did as he asked and immediately felt his cock nudging her entrance, hot and rock hard. Killian groaned as he guided himself inside of her, and she angled her descent, sinking down onto him as he began to rock up. He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her neck while Emma clutched at the back of his head, combing her fingers through his hair.

The position was intense: he was so deep now that he was hitting new places inside of her, making her shiver even though they were both damp from exertion and slick. They kept rocking against each other, finding a rhythm as they picked up speed.

“Killian,” Emma said with a hoarse voice, swallowing thickly. He raised his head from where it was nestled against her shoulder.

“Yes, love?”

“The way we are now…you’re hitting the perfect spot. It’s good for me, but is it good for you?” She asked, moving a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead.

“Don’t worry about me, Omega. This part’s all about you,” he breathed, trying to concentrate his efforts on hitting the same spot over and over so she could come. His muscles were beginning to tire, and he was dying to knot her, then take a shower and fall asleep, but he loved the closeness they had in this position.

Emma could tell that he was exhausted, so she kissed him and moved faster, snaking her fingers down to rub circles against her clit.

“That’s it, Omega,” he whispered, breaking their kiss as he stared down at her fingers moving so close to where they were joined. “I can feel you getting even hotter inside, that’s how I know you’re close. Tell me to go faster if that’s what you need, Emma…”

“Yes, faster and harder, please!” she begged, her breathy moans getting more frantic and louder as she approached her peak. The moment she snapped, he felt an incredible spasm of muscles gripping almost his entire length. While Emma was in a state of total ecstasy, Killian realized that he was on the brink too, with no hope of staving it off.

He gazed at her longingly, feeling like his blood was racing like liquid fire through his veins. His mind was consumed with images of knotting her slicked up body against the wall, pumping her so full of his release that he wouldn’t need to mark her; every Alpha on campus would know that she was off-limits.

“Emma, I want to pick you up and knot you against the fucking wall. I’ve been picturing it since we got here,” he confessed, groaning almost painfully as he pulled out of her warmth. “Now is the perfect moment; you’ve come so many times that you’re more than ready to take my knot. Will you let me?”

“DO IT. I want it, Alpha, now!” Emma hissed, gripping his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her command gave Killian a surge of strength, and he rose, slamming her up against the nearest wall as he gripped the backs of her thighs. Guided as if by instinct, she grabbed hold of him, frantically angled their bodies until they clicked right back into alignment, like two puzzle pieces.

The heat generated between them increased rapidly into an inferno, as sweat and slick rolled down their bodies. He pounded into her like a man possessed, bracing his forehead against her chest as each thrust brought them closer to the brink.

“Mmm, I wish it could always be like this, Omega. I’d be balls-deep inside you every fucking night,” he growled, the sound coming from deep inside his chest, vibrating against her own.

“Yes, Alpha,” she agreed breathlessly, nodding as she held him closer, the thought of it taking shape inside her head. “Always want your knot inside me!”

“Then you shall have it,” he muttered darkly, pulling back once more before he slammed his pulsing knot deep inside her, making Emma scream his title as her orgasm overwhelmed her. His own release was long and satisfying, as if their bodies were urging each other to give more and more until oversensitivity forced them to stop moving. Breathing hard, they nearly slumped against the wall, until Emma tapped her heel against the ticklish spot on the back of his right thigh.

“Wench,” Killian groaned, making her laugh as he managed to get them over to the bed and onto their sides. With a sigh, she tucked her head under his chin, and once their breathing normalized, a comfortable silence filled the room.

##########

It took longer than usual for his knot to deflate, leaving them both sticky and uncomfortable. After separating, they rolled away from each other for a while, both needing breathing space and time to process what had just happened between them.

Emma melted into her pillow as she lay on her stomach, flinging her right arm in his general direction. Killian reached for her fingers, interlacing them with his as he gazed up at the ceiling.

“Holy shit, Killian, I don’t even know what to say! That was amazing,” she marveled, turning to face him. “Does knotting just get better and better every time? I don’t know if that can be topped,” she chuckled, amused by her own double entendre.

He laughed too, but his mind was whirling with confusion. He had no idea whether or not he should tell her the truth, the one he kept hidden away. In the end, Killian decided to confess only halfway.

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, it’s like any kind of sex: best practiced with someone you really care for.” he told her softly, hoping that hearing the seriousness in his voice and seeing the love he felt for her in his eyes would help him get through to her.

Her eyes widened, showing a mix of emotions: affection, sincerity, tentative happiness…but fear was lurking in the background, just waiting to push its way forward. Luckily, though, she softened, opening her arms as she turned to face him.

“Killian, will you just hold me for a little bit?”

Without answering, he reached for her and scooped her into his arms. She laid her cheek against his chest, nuzzling into his warmth as she draped one leg lazily over his.

“Of course I will, love. I always will; you know that right?” he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head before resting his own back on the cool pillow. To Killian’s surprise, Emma snaked one arm around his waist and curled against him, holding onto his bicep like she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t go anywhere.

As he listened to her breathing even out, he combed his fingers gently through her hair, wishing this perfect moment with an unguarded Emma could last forever.

##########

When Emma appeared in the doorway to her and Mary Margaret’s room two days later, eyes red-rimmed and baggy from exhaustion, her roommate knew something was deeply wrong.

“What happened, sweetie?” Mary Margaret asked gently, guiding her friend back inside, her familiar fleece blanket trailing sadly behind her.

“This morning, I woke up just as the sun was starting to rise, and even though I don’t usually have any problem getting back to sleep, I felt so dizzy that I couldn’t close my eyes! Drinking water helped, but I haven’t felt so bad in years — just nauseous, bloated, and really sore from the past three days,” Emma told her, dropping onto her desk chair with a thump. “All of those times when you said that a natural heat’s end feels like a hangover, I thought you were being dramatic. Now, I know better…” she groaned, turning around in her chair to lay her head on the desk.

“Hey, c’mere,” Mary Margaret urged, holding her arms out, and after a few moments of hesitation, Emma turned and accepted the supportive hug, grateful that she wasn’t being judged. “I don’t understand why you insisted on coming back here all by yourself. Where’s Killian?”

When Mary Margaret pulled back and clasped Emma’s shoulders, she knew that it was time for her to explain her actions.

“Emma, did you check out of the building without telling Killian? Does he know that you left? I’m not judging, just asking…”

Emma’s silence answered the question, and Mary Margaret’s heart shattered for both of her friends. She and David had high hopes that the pair of them would just realize once and for all how perfect they were for each other.

“I just had to get out of there! I was starting to get claustrophobic, and I didn’t want to deal with him worrying about me, so I left. He was sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t have the heart to wake him,” she tried to reason, but Emma knew how irresponsible her actions had been.

“How could you do that to him?” Mary Margaret gasped, trying to rein in her shock at Emma’s carelessness. Unfortunately, the tears running down Emma’s face showed that she had failed.

“Listen, I need a long shower and a good nap. I can’t deal with these feelings right now,” Emma said dully, shrugging her shoulders as she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. Mary Margaret’s expression softened.

“That sounds like a good plan, Emma. Do you want me to leave so you can have some private time?” She asked, but Emma shook her head vehemently, clearly wanting comfort from her friend.

“After I get back, why don’t we spend some time together? Let’s watch some brainless tv, and maybe make hot cocoa with cinnamon. It’d be nice to hang out,” Emma cajoled, grabbing her shower caddy and towel so she could use their floor’s shared bathroom.

“Of course!” Mary Margaret replied with a placid smile. Once Emma left the room, she picked up her cell phone, telling David to be on the lookout for his own roommate. Killian hadn’t returned yet.

“Killian’s cell phone is still going directly to voicemail, so the only thing we can do is wait for him to surface. I’m sure he’s just fine,” David reassured her, but Mary Margaret wasn’t placated.

“You’d be more concerned if you had seen the way Emma looked when she got back, David! She’s a wreck, and it looks like she spent a long time crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry before! Usually, Emma keeps everything inside and Killian’s the one who wears his heart on his sleeve. I’m worried about him…” she whisper-spoke into the phone, just in case Emma returned.

“I’ll let you know the minute I hear something. He’s probably just licking his wounds somewhere — what Emma did sounds pretty heartless to me, so I wouldn’t be shocked if he’s hurting,” David pointed out, and Mary Margaret sighed in agreement.

“Don’t judge her too harshly, David. Promise that you’ll call me when he gets back, in case he needs a hug, or even just a friendly shoulder to lean on?”

“I promise.”

#captain swan #cs au #captain swan fanfic #captain swan smut #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #best friends to lovers #cs ff

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jrob64 · 1 year ago

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Captain Swan Collab Words 23 fic: "Freed to Love"

This event was such a fun idea, and the three of us - @statustemporary @jrob64 and @snowbellewells - had a lot of fun working together and seeing our initial idea come to life. We decided we really wanted some whump and hurt/comfort taking place, and eventually we settled on a Revolutionary War time period AU for our setting. We also used a suggested quote about the persistence of hope, and the idea of being touch starved, both of which played into our idea well.

Thanks so much to the @CSCW23 @Captain Swan Collab Words 23 for the idea to create a story as a group. It really was a new and exciting challenge that made for a new CS adventure.

And a very special thanks to @hookedmom for all the time and care she took as our beta reader for this fic!!

Summary: Though the colonists' fight for freedom from the British brought Killian Jones and Emma Swan together, the dangers of war have also pulled them apart. Can Emma find her beloved spy again, or will she be too late? What other trials and hurdles will they have to cross before they are finally free to live and love as they have dreamed?

Reposting with additional edits and correct AO3 and ff.net links.

Can be read HERE on AO3 or HERE on ff.net, if that is your preference.

"Freed to Love"

by: @statustemporary @jrob64 & @snowbellewells

Early morning dew soaks through Emma’s boots to her stockings. The wetness chafes at the skin of her feet and she holds back a wince with every step she takes. Her eyes remain downcast in the role of a perfectly submissive British nurse ready to abide by the orders of officers and soldiers alike. Her horse arrived late yesterday afternoon to the stern face of Colonel Sitwell, a high-ranking officer of the British military who is well aware that escorting a new nurse to camp is far below his station.

Last night’s rain is making the trip uphill more strenuous than anticipated. Sitwell’s boots kick mud back at her, staining the bottom of her gown, and a part of her wonders if he does it purposely.

Philadelphia.

She started in Fort Ticonderoga in late July, aiding the troops who overtook the abandoned rebel colonists’ camp. The end of August found her in Bennington, caring for the few wounded left behind after their defeat at Rebel hands. September brought her to Brandywine Creek, before her new orders informed her to follow the river to Philadelphia.

She has traveled so far just to end a few days up the river from David and Mary Margaret.

Emma’s heart pounds as they encroach on the troops standing guard outside the British camp. How many more can she bear to approach before she’s unable to handle the heartache?

All of them , she thinks immediately. She’d travel up and down the colonies if she has to, until she finds him. Her hands would service each wound on every British soldier if it brought him back to her. She’d swallow back the bile while they brag about killing her friends, she’d clench her fists as they discussed future strategies while on their sick beds.

She is trained for this. Mary Margaret showed her how to survive, while David taught her how to blend in. And Killian…

Her heart lurches when the familiar accents of British soldiers reach her ears. Emma barely pays any mind to what they’re saying. Instead, she embraces the only reminder she has of Killian, of the way he spent hours teaching her his accent to help her prepare for her role.

Despite the harsh, uncaring intonation, the familiar words that swirl in the air around her easily send Emma’s mind back to a happier early morning, months ago now, but emblazoned on her memory with the warmth and clarity of something from mere moments ago.

Killian had come to the house to report his findings from a recent scouting mission, and when he finished, she had pulled him into the kitchen to speak privately, blushing hotly as she did so, the heat from the pot-bellied stove keeping the room toasty, though breakfast preparations were over.

Up to that point, they had spoken a few times, and Killian had also been friendly, polite, even playfully attentive with her, but Emma had not gotten the occasion to speak with him as much as she would have wished. Mary Margaret had encouraged her, with her ever-present optimism and her hope to see Emma as happily in love as she was herself; to take this very genuine opportunity to seek him out at once and gain the knowledge she sought.

Seated facing her on the rough hewn wooden bench at the Nolan’s kitchen table, Killian had grinned impishly as she settled beside him and arranged her skirts, clearly knowing what she was about, even though the tops of his ears were a heated pink to match her blushing cheeks. When she dared to look up and make full, uninterrupted eye contact with him, Emma had nearly toppled off her seat onto the floor at the electric impact of his gaze connecting with hers.

She was only saved from making a fool of herself prattling away nervously by Killian speaking. The gently cultured cadence of his words reminded her of her purpose, as he dipped his chin to look up at her rakishly through his dark lashes.

And so it had begun between them that simply. She asked Killian for instruction in British pronunciation, accent, phrases, anything which might help her to better blend in and avoid detection as a patriot spy amongst the Redcoats. Granted, few paid much heed to what the nurses - or women in general - had to say; for once, her femininity was an advantage in the quest for near-invisibility. Still, she wanted to be ready. If the need to speak arose while she was posted in some hospital or camp, Emma was determined to sound as English as any fine lady in London.

Not only was it all too easy to pull up the hazy-warm and peach-sunrise-gilded memories and lose herself within their comfort, but as time and distance stretched between them and Emma searched fruitlessly once they learned of Killian’s capture, it had been one of the rare bits of joy left her for a momentary escape. She could envision his face so clearly within an instant of closing her eyes. The curious tilt of his head as he waited for her to speak whatever term he had just taught her. The way the tip of his tongue poked tantalizingly from between his parted lips to tease her mind addled with flustered desire. The way his lips moved deliberately, patiently, repeating whatever sound or inflection she attempted to imitate, until they were both satisfied with her repetition - usually left Emma nearly in his thrall before they were finished.

One particular morning as the seconds stretched and melted together between them like butter and honey slathered on a hot, homemade biscuit, making her want to soak up every delicious second she could, she paused hesitantly before bravely clutching his hand in shaking fingers, “And what would you say…” she asked, clinging as tightly as possible to him while they both were still together and safe. “What would you say,” she tried again after swallowing hard and gathering her courage, “if you were captured and threatened with death?”

Emma had held her breath, waiting anxiously for his response, all the while knowing it would not be one to put her at ease, nor had she truly asked for the sake of gaining some stoic, proper British response for her own use. She knew Killian would never yield to questioning or torture, would not plead for his life or make any sort of fearful compromise, much as she might wish him to, if it meant his life. Emma wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear, but somehow she needed his answer all the same.

“I’d tell them they might bloody well try to end me,” he had replied stoutly, the blue of his fathomless eyes almost drowning her as he held her gaze determinedly. “But I’m a survivor, Lass, and I will find a way to return to you. You need never doubt that.”

His words had left her breathless then, and now Emma forced herself to release the breath she held in her aching chest as she remembered that promise.

Opening her eyes again brings her back into the muddy, chaotic, and haphazardly organized camp around her, which seems all the more removed from the haven she had recreated in her mind’s eye, because of the loneliness that immediately accosts her and the complete absence of Kilian. Though the speech around her had brought those better days to mind at first hearing, now they seem to highlight just how alone she is, since none of the accented voices belong to him…

“Miss Swan,” Sitwell growls. Emma shoots her gaze up to meet his and she purposely widens her eyes to bear the image of apologetic innocence. The move infuriates the officer further. His white hair is slicked back with sweat across his broad forehead, the wrinkles there crumpling together as he glares down at her. The lines around his mouth become more pronounced as his face fashions into a sneer and he juts his large nose up at her. “Has cannon fire damaged your hearing or are you fit to perform your duties to the Crown and His soldiers?”

“My apologies, Colonel Sitwell,” Emma says, effortlessly picking up the accent Killian worked so hard to teach her. “It won’t happen again, Sir.” She bows her head to him and clasps her hands together in front of her. Her small bag bounces against her hip and she thinks not of the weapons that have been stored there for months, swaddled between clothes and hidden in pockets.

Sitwell scoffs and strides into camp with the silent expectation that she is to follow. Hurrying behind him, she catalogs all possible routes of escape and makes a note to pay attention to guard rotation over the next couple of days.

The European theater of war plays out drastically different than it does in the colonies, or so David has said. Rules of engagement in Europe allow a modicum of respect for the treatment of prisoners of war, varying with rank. To escape while a prisoner is considered desertion and dishonorable. Except, they’re not in Europe, and British troops refuse to recognize Colonists as an independent entity, tossing all procedure out the window.

Will Scarlett’s return just a week after Killian was taken occupies the free moments in her mind.

Malnourished, with a number of infected wounds and diseases bringing him knocking on death’s door, Will, a fellow rebel from their town, explained to the women that the British didn’t have the care or the resources to deal with their large numbers of prisoners. He’d been kept in a warehouse packed together with other prisoners, like a school of fish with vermin nibbling at their toes. Feces became their pillows and the dead bodies of their comrades their blankets.

Her friend’s words work as nightmare fuel when she lays her head down to sleep. Visions dance behind her closed lids of the worst possible scenarios.

Will was just an everyday soldier, but Killian – he’d barely been a man when he followed his brother into the Royal Navy at the end of the Seven Years War in the colonies. After his brother’s death due to their King’s nefarious orders, he swore off his homeland and pledged his allegiance to the colonies. She watched as he moved up in rank and provided crucial details and secrets of the British.

If what Will saw is what the British did with a regular soldier, what would they do with a traitor of great importance?

Emma's hope for the future outcome of their struggle against the British and for Killian's safe return to her had flickered like a candle struggling in the wind at the picture Will painted. For several frightening moments when he first told them of his experience, she had feared it extinguishing altogether. Her ability to believe had already been fragile; the odds were against them, after all. But as she cleaned and bandaged her friend's wounds, and allowed him to clutch her trembling hand in his, his bloodied knuckles made the bile rise in her throat once more at the idea that Killian could be bleeding out somewhere and she would never know. She had held on just as tightly, trying to impart to him what she needed for herself. She simply couldn't give up. Killian was a survivor; he would never stop fighting, and neither would she.

Emma attempts to swallow around the lump in her throat as she surveys the camp. The area’s fortification means a quick escape is too risky and more planning will be needed if Killian is here.

If he’s still alive , a dark corner of her mind taunts.

At the start of her search for him, Emma would have fought back tears. The topic proved too sensitive to truly dive into, and she felt the walls Killian worked hard to break down shoot right back up. Now she bats the whispers away without thought.

He is alive. She just knows. And she will find him.

Sitwell brings their brief and stilted tour to an end outside of the hospital tent. He pauses and debates with himself before eying her up and down. With a sigh, he turns away from the hospital tent and points to the other side of camp where a small tent is pitched. The material of it is weathered, with mismatched linens patched over holes. The tent sags and barely looks able to stand up, let alone handle the weight of the cloth.

“Understand this, Miss Swan,” he starts, eyes darting between her and the tent. “No matter what you hear – crying, groaning, screaming – whatever you hear, do not enter that tent. Is that understood?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion and her heart skips a beat. In all of her stays at different British camps, she’s never received such an instruction.

Could it…

She briefly forgets the persona she’s created of Nurse Anna Swan and lets Emma Nolan take over for a moment. “What’s – ”

Sitwell doesn’t let her say anything more.

“Do not enter that tent,” he snarls. “Refrain from disobeying my orders, Miss Swan. Otherwise you may join the traitor on the execution block tomorrow.”

The officer spins on his heel and strides away, agitation dripping from him with every stomp of his boot. Yet she pays him no mind as she gazes at the collapsing tent across the way.

Traitor , her mind replays.

Killian , her heart hopes.

Gulping down a large breath, Emma eyes the soldiers of the camp for a moment to ensure no one caught her stare, before she dashes into the surgical tent. Her mind races and her fingers are sloppy, fumbling one too many bandages.

She found him.

*********

Emma is busy all day nursing the sick and wounded, but keeps an ear out for any mention of the traitor being held for execution. She’s torn between praying it isn’t and hoping it truly is Killian.

As the sun sets and the day transitions into early evening, she becomes more on edge, anxious to see inside the prisoner’s tent. When she is finally finished for the day, she collapses onto a wooden bench outside the hospital tent.

One of her fellow nurses - Belle, if Emma’s memory serves her correctly - pauses in front of her, gesturing toward a small building nearby. “They’ve a meal prepared for us inside, Anna,” she says.

Emma hesitates. Should she take the time to eat when Killian could be in that wretched tent, tied up and living out his final hours? Grudgingly, she knows she has to keep up her strength in order to help her beloved escape.

Rising from the bench and forcing a smile onto her face, she thanks Belle and falls into step with her. They enter the rustic building and find seats at a large, wooden table, where bowls of thin vegetable stew, a few strips of salted meat, and chunks of dark bread are set in front of them. The food’s aroma reminds Emma’s stomach that it hasn’t been filled since breakfast that morning, right after she entered the camp and signed on as a nurse.

Knowing they will need food for the journey back home, she surreptitiously slips the jerky and half of the bread into the secret deep pockets of her skirt, cleverly designed by Mary Margaret, where they join the boiled eggs she saved from breakfast.

She is just dipping her last bit of bread into the broth at the bottom of her bowl, when the gruff voice coming from a junior officer makes her ears perk up.

“Well, someone has to take him his tray, and it shan’t be me. I can barely tolerate the thought of a traitor in our midst, let alone feed the bastard!”

Hurriedly stuffing the bite of bread into her mouth, Emma rises from her seat and approaches the man, her brain scrambling to formulate what to say. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, stepping into the man’s line of sight. “Is there someone who needs tending?”

The officer turns to her, appraising her with his eyes. “Who are you?” he snaps.

“Anna Swan, sir. I’ve been working as a nurse.” She doesn’t add that she’s been there for less than a day.

“Are you finished with your work for the day, Miss Swan?”

“Yes, sir. I was just having my evening meal when I happened to overhear you say that someone needed a tray of food delivered to him.” She hopes he won’t detect the nervous quaver in her voice. “I would be willing to do that, sir.”

“The man of whom I was speaking is a prisoner - a traitor and a threat to our beloved king and country,” he spits. “Why would you want to aid someone of such ill repute? Someone who is scheduled to be executed on the ‘morrow, I might add, as soon as our commanding officer arrives.”

Emma chooses her words carefully. “I am a nurse, sir, and as such, I have sworn to give aid to anyone in need, regardless of their allegiance.”

Time seems to pass at a snail’s pace as he considers her offer. She knows she is probably out of line for offering and could be facing punishment herself, but she simply cannot forgo the possibility of seeing Killian.

At last the soldier snaps his fingers and shouts over his shoulder, “Bring the food for the prisoner!”

Emma prays her trembling legs continue to hold her upright. Once the tray, containing nothing but a small piece of bread, cup of watery broth, and a strip of jerky, is placed in her hands, the junior officer escorts her out the door. They trudge through the camp without speaking, until they come within sight of the ragged tent, guarded by two soldiers.

“The prisoner is in there. Tell the guards Sergeant Gold gave you permission to enter the tent. The traitor is restrained and will pose no physical threat to you.”

“Excuse me, sir, but if he is tied down, how is he able to feed himself?”

“I was only instructed to supply him with food. Whether or not he is able to eat it is none of my concern.” After barking out those words, the officer turns on his heel and stomps away.

Emma squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, before trekking across the clearing to the tent. The guards drop the butts of their sidearms to the ground, crossing them in front of the opening to the tent as they shout in unison, “Halt!”

“S-Sergeant Gold sent me to d-deliver this food to the prisoner,” Emma stutters.

The two men eye each other, then one gives a slight nod and they return their muskets to their shoulders. “You may enter,” she is told.

Emma ducks her head and pushes through the canvas opening. Once inside, she drops to her knees, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark interior. When they do, she wishes they hadn’t, because what she sees turns her stomach and breaks her heart.

The man is sitting on the ground against the support pole in the middle of the tent, his legs extended in front of him with thick rope knotted around his bare ankles. His arms are behind him, and she assumes they are tied as well. He is stripped except for his tattered breeches and she can see bloody stripes across his emaciated body. His head hangs down, dark, matted hair obscuring his face, but Emma knows this man is her beloved Killian.

Quickly, she sets the tray of food off to the side and crawls to kneel beside him. She notices crusts of bread littering the circumference around him and rage burns through her as she realizes that, even though food has been delivered to him, he has been unable to eat much, if any, of it.

She nearly gags as the stench coming from his unwashed body fills her nostrils. Apparently, he hasn’t been taken outside to relieve himself and reeks of the smell of urine. “Oh, Killian!” she gasps. “What have they done to you?”

His head jerks up. “Emma?” he croaks weakly. “Is…is that you, Love?”

Her fingers brush his hair away from his face, a sob catching in her throat. His left eye is swollen completely shut, his lip is split open, and dried blood obscures most of his handsome face.

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” she whispers. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

“You…shouldn’t…be here. I…I told you…not to come after me.”

“I never listen,” she tries to joke.

“You’re…impossible,” he sighs.

“And you love me for it.”

A hint of a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “Aye, that I do.”

“How long has it been since you have eaten?” she asks, turning to slide the tray containing the paltry meal closer.

He grimaces. “I…I don’t know.”

Emma holds the cup of broth to his cracked lips, tipping it until it dribbles into his mouth. His eyes close as he swallows, a moan escaping him as if he was enjoying a fine steak dinner. She pulls the cup away when half of the liquid is gone, tears pooling in her eyes as she watches him chase after it.

Setting it aside, she picks up the chunk of bread and tears off a small piece. As she feeds it to him, she whispers, “We have to figure out how to get you out of here.”

He finishes chewing and swallows. “Don’t risk your life for me, Love.”

“Without you, I don’t have a life, Killian.”

She offers him another bit of bread, but he shakes his head. “I wish…I could hold you right now.”

Moving carefully so she won’t cause him any more unnecessary pain, she wraps her arms around his neck, scratching her fingers through his long, unkempt hair. His body shakes with a sob. “I…I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms, Emma. I have been starved for your touch.”

She is loath to release him, just as desperate to feel his body against hers, so she murmurs into his ear, “I feared you were dead, and am relieved I have found you, but I heard them say that they…they plan to e-execute you tomorrow.”

“Aye, so I have been told,” he confirms with a sigh. “I am surprised they have not done it already.”

“They are waiting for the commanding officer to arrive so he can give the order. I am hoping the rain last night will delay him, but we cannot count on that. We have to get you out tonight.”

Her heart aches as he lays his head on her shoulder, mumbling, “I do not think there is any hope of that happening, Love.”

“If Mary Margaret has taught me anything, it is that there is always hope,” she says firmly.

They are both startled and jerk apart when one of the guards shouts, “How long does it take to deliver a tray of food, Miss?”

“I have to go,” Emma whispers, reluctantly pulling away from Killian, “but I will be back. Do not doubt that. I love you, Killian.”

“I love you, too, Emma. Please be careful.”

She nods absently while her eyes sweep around the perimeter of the tent, cataloging weaknesses in the canvas. Before leaving, she feeds him the rest of the bread and broth, pockets the jerky, then kisses him tenderly, careful of his split lip.

Just before exiting through the flap, she turns and gives him what she intends to be a hopeful smile. She is encouraged when he attempts to return it.

The brisk night air of the impending autumn season greets Emma as she exits the tent. Bumps rise on her skin and a shudder runs down her spine during her short walk to the nurses’ tent. Lifting the flap, she finds their sleeping quarters still empty, Belle’s voice wafting through the air from the direction of the campfire. She’s only met the other nurses at their camp in passing at the change of their shifts, but worry creeps up her spine that one of them might walk in.

Her small bag sits on the ground at the foot of her bed, the gray and brown staining a far cry from its original white. A quiet thump fills the tent when she tosses it onto her bed linens, a soft clanging heard just a moment later.

If Killian was with her, he’d chide her for the careless way she shoves her hands between her clothes and blindly feels for her few weapons. There are three knives haphazardly sandwiched between layers of skirts, but pulling them only dampens her spirits. Her fingers grip their leather bound handles and her arm saws furiously at her blanket to no avail. If the blades can’t even rip the thin linen, they’ll be useless for Killian’s ropes.

Her heart starts racing as she fights to keep panic from clawing at her.

Emma paces the short length of the tent, hands on her hips as her mind offers solutions.

The knots are too tight and complicated for her to unravel, and Killian is in no shape to walk her through it. Which brings her back to cutting him free. The thought of stealing something from one of the many British soldiers around camp crosses her mind. She could sneak into one of their tents once they’ve fallen asleep, but she runs the risk of discovery. There’s no helping Killian if she’s delivered the same fate as him.

Belle’s laughter rings loudly in the slowly quieting camp, and Emma’s eyes widen in realization.

Her steps across the camp are soft and she keeps to the shadows of firelight. She moves slowly, eyes constantly roaming the area, her guard on high alert. The lanterns burn low in the tent where she spent most of the day, creating a glowing beacon on the edge of camp. The tent flaps gently move in the breeze, and Emma hears the voices of Zelena and Fiona, as they gather bandages to wash at the basin near the campfire.

The chill of the night starts to prickle at her skin, and her breath becomes visible in small wisps of white clouds before her eyes. She waits, shivering, for their footsteps to move away before she enters the back of the tent.

John Darling, a soldier not yet twenty, groans quietly six cots away from where she ducks in. His eyes remain closed as he calls for someone who is not there, and his blood is visible through the mountain of bandages she applied before the end of her shift. Her heart lurches as he continues to call for people she’s never met and with whom she doubts he’ll be reunited.

Emma swallows back the image that comes to mind of Killian sitting alone in his tent doing the exact same, as he receives food scraps he can’t eat and unable to move to relieve himself. Instead, she tiptoes over to the table that holds the equipment they’ve been using throughout the day. The amputation saw sits on the edge, blood staining the blade. She used one once, back in August after the British faced intense losses. The man said his name was Arthur; he had dark hair and blue eyes that made her heart yearn for Killian. She refused to look at him as she amputated his mangled left hand, but that didn’t stop the nightmares from replacing his face with Killian’s.

Her fingers move deftly past that to the scalpel. Blood stains that blade as well, but it is smaller and more easily concealed. It’ll be sharp enough to cut the ropes and easy to maneuver around his wrists without risk of injury.

Zelena and Fiona’s voices drift into the tent, and Emma glances up in alarm. In a quick move, she snatches the scalpel and rushes out before she can be detected.

Once outside the tent, a thought strikes her, and she seeks out the area where she knows discarded clothing of the deceased have been tossed. There are several jackets and shirts, but breeches are more difficult to come by. She digs through the putrid pile until she is lucky enough to procure two pair, bloodied and full of holes, but still usable. She tugs one pair on under her skirt, then stuffs the other pair, along with two shirts, into her blouse, and buttons it back up. Knowing they may face raw weather, she also picks out two uniform coats, rolling them up and clutching them tightly to her chest.

Moving as stealthily as she can with the extra bulk, she begins picking her way across the camp. Frustration sits heavy in her belly because she wants to hurry straight to where her love is suffering, but she can’t take the risk of being caught.

Along the way, she catches snippets of soldiers’ conversations and can’t help comparing them to those of the soldiers in the camps of her fellow countrymen. They may be on opposite sides of this conflict, but the same topics occupy their minds - deep longing for their families, hot, home cooked meals and their homes. They’re not very different, after all; yet, they’re killing each other by the hundreds, in battle after battle.

At last, she comes within sight of the shabby tent, still being guarded by two soldiers. Quickly stepping behind a large tree, she surveys the immediate area and decides on a route which appears to be safe.

She is just about to step out when she hears a shout coming from behind her.

“Halt! Thief!”

Her blood freezes in her veins as her breath stutters in her lungs. Cautiously turning her head, she sees Colonel Sitwell striding across the clearing, approaching a young soldier who looks to be no older than a teenager. He is cowering in front of the officer, his hands clasped behind his back, holding what appears to be a loaf of bread.

As Sitwell begins questioning the boy about where he is going and what he is doing, Emma turns her eyes to the guards in front of the tent and realizes their attention is drawn to the confrontation, giving her a golden opportunity.

Crouching down to make herself as small as possible, she scurries to the back of the tent. A thin sliver of moonlight is all that illuminates the heavy canvas and she gives herself a few precious seconds to allow her eyes to adjust. Once she is able to make out a seam, she pulls out the scalpel and, starting a foot above the ground, slices through the thick threads.

As soon as the seam separates, she drops to the ground, removes the pilfered clothes and pushes them through the opening, then she shimmies herself through. She gets up to her hands and knees, her eyes immediately trained upon the man still sitting in the same position in which she left him.

The dew has already settled on the grass in the darkening night, and Emma shivers as she stands just inside the tent - the leather boots she’s worn all this time are thin enough with gaps in the soles that some of the moisture has soaked through - making her teeth chatter along with the trembles of fear. The heat of the day has long since fled, and Emma feels the clammy chill down to her bones - aching for nothing so much as someplace safe and warm for herself and Killian. That desire drives her forward, despite the uncertainty that plagues her and the fear that she will fail him. She has to grit her teeth at the sight of Killian just feet from her, in a shelter full of rips and holes allowing wind and rain to blow right through, while his clothes are torn and threadbare - not even dry. They have barely deigned to feed him, and so of course he has not been granted any sort of blanket for the cold, autumn nights. She feels as though she is freezing; she cannot fathom the torment he has been going through. It’s a wonder he has not already succumbed to the elements and his countrymen’s gross mistreatment. She means to be certain he does not suffer even more with torture at their cruel hands.

She hates each hesitation as she sneaks across the dirt and grass at her feet; anxious to bolt and flee the danger like a startled rabbit. It is only Killian, so close again at last, who manages to stay her and keep her tiptoeing forward, making sure the way remains clear. All must still be distracted by Sitwell’s angry interrogation and the hapless young soldier he had accosted, to be checking in on their weak and battered prisoner, for she hears no further calls of alarm, no pounding feet bearing down, and she breathes out in relief.

Her eyes begin to water almost immediately - the stench unbearable in such close quarters - and her emotions nearly overcome her at Killian’s being forced to remain in his own filth; a man proud and fastidious of his manner and appearance, determined to present himself in his best light whenever possible. The wounds she had seen on him previously must be festering and growing infected. She cringes against the pain and shame she knows he must feel, in spite of it being no fault of his own.

Finally at his side, Emma drops to her knees and reaches out to clutch his shoulder, shaking gently and hissing urgent whispers of his name. When he fails to respond immediately, it strikes her all over again just how serious his condition is, and she wastes not another second before beginning to saw at his bonds with her stolen blade. To her dismay, Killian’s dark head lolls lifelessly, chin against his chest, until in her haste, she accidentally nicks the tender skin at his wrist.

With a startled grunt, he jerks an inch or so away weakly, and finally turns to face her, his unswollen eye fluttering uncertainly before managing to focus blearily and murmuring “Emma?” in question, as if he does not quite trust his own vision. “Why are you back here, Lass? If they catch you…” he sucks in a quick breath, whether from the effort it takes him to speak, or from jarring some injury she cannot see, Emma’s isn’t sure, but she aches for him all the same. He struggles on breathlessly, “You have to leave me here and get out. I am not worth – ”

“Hush!” she scolds sharply, giving the single word as much volume and strength as she dares. Her eyes spear his, staring him down with a look that allows no argument. She has managed to break through the ropes holding his arms behind him and around the central tentpost, and Killian nearly slumps over on his side at the sudden release of tension, but she steadies him, then cups his scruffy, nearly-bearded chin in her hand, willing him to accept her words as fact. “You are worth it. I won’t hear another word,” she whispers.

For a moment, unbidden and breaking across his face like the sun from behind the clouds of a storm, a smile upturns his cracked lips, and he chuckles just barely in spite of his condition, then merely sighs, acquiescing to her words largely out of sheer fatigue, but indeed loving her for them.

Releasing his chin, Emma gives a curt little bob of her head and reaches to the pile of shabby, but at least dry, clothing she had managed to scavenge. She had dropped it hastily to the side in her hurry to reach him and make sure he was still alive. Holding out a shirt, she gives Killian a hopeful look, tremulous smile aiming to inject inspiration into both of them for this perilous escape they are about to attempt.

She watches him try to work the feeling back into his hands and arms after their being bound behind him for so long. His limbs move awkwardly, even as he reaches forward to take the shirt she offers.

Killian’s eyes roam her face with entirely too much awe for her comfort, drinking her in hungrily and as though she has done something noteworthy rather than merely rooting through a pile of discarded uniforms and cutting through tent canvas to crawl back to his side. He simply nods to her in agreement.

His silence unnerves Emma; she is used to a lilting flow of eloquent words from Killian - so much so that she has often wondered if he talks for his own entertainment as much as he does to charm her. Whatever the case, his gently cultured, warm, and soothing voice had been one of the things she missed most desperately about him while they were parted, and she cannot help but worry now, as the quiet persists, just how little strength her beloved has left.

When he fumbles to get his hands into the sleeves, a strangled sound and arrested movement at his effort to raise his arms and slip the shirt on over his head attests to just how much pain he is in. Emma soothes him regretfully, reaching out to ease his arms down to his sides and guide his limbs gingerly into the garment, swiftly securing the fastenings as well.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispers, hating that it had taken so long to find him, that he had ever been hurt at all, and that she has to press him now when he cannot move without causing further anguish. But he is already shaking his head at her, forgiving what she cannot help without a moment’s hesitation.

He is panting once he finally gets the shirt on, and the sheen of sweat glistening on his face concerns Emma more than she wants to admit. How is he ever going to flee as quickly as they need to, over rough terrain, if just this has taxed him so badly? And, even if they get away, how how sick is he and how badly is he hurt? Will they be able to help him recover?

Emma bites her lip against another swell of emotion at just how large the shirt appears on Killian’s emaciated frame. His collarbone protrudes sharply where the neck of the shirt hangs low, to a degree that Emma knows it would not have done when last she saw him.

Hesitantly she tries to help him stand, not wanting to insult or demean him - a man of lesser strength might not have clung to life as long as he has - but she genuinely fears he may not be able to support his own weight, and she isn’t sure what she will do otherwise.

Killian grunts, clenching his teeth and lurching forward to plant his hands on the hard-packed dirt and push himself upwards, then leaning against the tent post, he does indeed manage to leverage himself to his own two feet. It isn’t without obvious discomfort and struggle, and he lists worryingly to one side, though Emma isn’t certain if he is favoring broken ribs or trying to appease the stretching of the whip weals on his back.

She has already seen more of his body bared to her eyes than ever before - more than is entirely proper. It is far from the interlude she would never admit to having envisioned when they would finally explore each other’s bodies one day. All the same, she will not let that keep her from any small modicum of comfort she can offer him, not after all he has already withstood. Blushing hotly, but ready to press on, Emma is about to hold out the stolen pants in offering, when with a low moan, Killian crumples back to his knees weakly, barely catching himself by leaning once more against the post which had held him captive.

Heedlessly, Emma tosses the breeches away in alarm. They will have to worry about comfort and his taking further chill later. He cannot stand much more of this, and she has to get him out. His eyes rise to hers looking so pained and ashamed that Emma wants nothing more than to wrap his trembling frame in her arms, hold him close to her, and comfort and soothe him until he is well again. That he would feel embarrassment in front of her for something he cannot help, weakness forced on him through malnourishment and abuse, breaks her heart anew. She can hardly stand to push him further, but there is nothing for it.

She only shakes her head when he attempts to speak. “We’ll manage,” she asserts with a false bravado. There is no other option. She won’t even allow herself to consider it.

He nods again, some of the resolute steel she knows and loves at last returning to his gaze. She places her hands under his arms, and with them both heaving and straining, Killian gains his feet once more. This time Emma doesn’t let go, keeping one arm around his waist as he uses her as a crutch, sliding her shoulder under his arm so he can brace against her.

Quickly grabbing the pack she has carried with her from camp to camp, she leads forward, and together they take the first few shuffling steps toward the hole she has made in the back of the tent. She can tell he is lightheaded, hurting, struggling even to breathe properly, but now that Killian is up, his survival instinct - or at least his concern for her survival - has him painstakingly putting one foot in front of the other.

It is only as they near her makeshift exit that Emma realizes in horror that the distracting commotion which had been going on outside has calmed, and that she is still dressed exactly as anyone else in the camp would have seen her earlier. Quickly she cautions Killian just to lean against her for a moment, seeing his discarded tricorn hat in the corner of the tent, she grabs it, stuffs her brightly identifying hair up under it, then unbuttons the waist of her skirt and flings the long, heavy material away. It is far from a brilliant disguise, but that would only cover her absence for so long, anyway. Once Killian’s escape is discovered, the new nurse who had asked to bring food to him, then disappeared the same day she arrived, is going to be the most likely suspect. Her shaking hands quickly transfer the food she managed to grab from her skirt pockets to her stolen breeches, and she stands to let Killian lean on her again. She doesn’t have time to worry over any other items left behind at the moment; they just need to make haste as soon as possible.

As she adjusts her grip on Killian, Emma realizes once more just how poorly he must feel. Unlike his usual self, he has not a playful comment or even a salacious wink for her, despite the fact that she has seen him shirtless, helped him dress, and shed her skirts in front of him. She sends up a silent prayer that they can make it to the surrounding woods before they are discovered. She knows he cannot run full tilt - he can barely stand - so they must manage some sort of a head start.

Dipping her head to peer just barely through the roughly torn flap of tent in which she created an exit, Emma sees that although things have grown much calmer since she snuck in - Sitwell must have carted off the poor younger soldier he caught stealing - the other staring eyes throughout the camp have returned to their previous concerns and conversations. Though it still feels much too risky, far too exposed, the time will not get any better for them to escape.

As a last minute thought, Emma changes her mind, throws on one of the jackets, grabs the breeches she’d tossed aside, realizing she’ll eventually have to get Killian into enough clothing that he doesn’t freeze. Then, half-supporting and half-tugging him, Emma ducks her head to slip out of the prisoner’s tent through the hole she made, making sure Killian follows without stumbling or getting caught on the ragged edge.

Killian bites his lip against the agony that each step and merely standing upright clearly causes him in an effort to ease her nerves and steel himself for flight. He nods, visibly marshaling every last bit of strength he possesses to push forward as they step onto the dew-wet grass. Holding her gaze for one brief, but weighted moment, he then bows his head to watch each wobbly step he struggles to take. Gritting his teeth, the wounds that burn and pull each time his feet strike the ground try to steal his breath, but he forces himself to move on, matching Emma pace for pace.

She doesn’t dare speak, but she urges him along in her head, silently cheering with each foot they progress across the trampled field and closer to the treeline, nearer to the relative cover and safety of the woods nearby. Heart pounding in her ears, frantic and alert for the first sign they have been found out, Emma forces herself to lead without looking back, to focus on the shadows and brush of the forest as they draw blessedly nearer. Twenty-five feet…fifteen feet…ten…just a few more feet…

They have only just gained the edge of the woods when a shout of alarm goes up. Bellows of “The prisoner has escaped!” and “Search the area!” ring out, along with the sound of feet pounding and general mayhem as the camp mobilizes from the drowsy comradery of evening by the fire to the dogged pursuit of a fugitive. Emma’s breath catches in her chest with fear, and she risks one frantic look thrown over her shoulder as they dodge beneath low-hanging branches and plunge into the darker foliage that surrounds them just in time.

She sees torches - far too many to evade it seems, as panic momentarily takes hold - fanning out from the camp in all directions; some moving closer to them than she can bear already.

This time it is Killian who brings her back to the present, to the immediate steps before them. “You can do this, Emma. Bloody brilliant you are,” he pants. “Lead on, we’ve almost made it.”

Grateful for his steadying belief, though she knows he is half-delirious with pain and fever and is no more certain of their escape than she is, it is the jolt Emma needs to shake her panic and bring her back to her task. Turning once more, she steps forward again, only to snag her foot on an uprooted twig, making her stumble forward off-balance, bringing Killian with her.

The ground seemingly dissolves beneath their feet, falling away to nothingness and sending them plunging downward into the dark. It happens so suddenly that Emma has rolled and pitched against the hard, sloped ground several times before she can cry out, thankfully. A wounded grunt is all she hears from Killian before hitting the bottom of an incline hard enough to knock the air from both of their lungs as she lands on top of him with a sickening thud.

Scrambling off of his body, Emma tries to squint in the dark to find his face in front of her, stomach turning at the thought of having hurt him further. “Killian?” she whispers, not daring to speak any louder. He doesn’t respond, but before she can try anything else, she hears yelling and footsteps drawing nearer, crunching through twigs and fallen leaves. Wrestling a dirt-stained, ragged gray blanket from the pack that is miraculously still on her shoulder, Emma flings it desperately over them both, hoping it will blend into the night and the overgrown vegetation at the bottom of this steep dropoff. There is nothing else to do, with their enemies nearly atop them. She holds herself motionless, her hand over Killian’s chest, feeling for the barest rise and fall, praying the Redcoats will pass by and fail to see them.

Each agonizing second seems to stretch on for an hour as she waits, but slowly, painstakingly, the tramp of threatening forces move on, circle back, and judging by the calls she overhears, return to the main camp to regroup. They will be back on her and Killian’s trail by first light, but it is a miraculous reprieve in that moment, and she lurches upright to see if he has regained awareness to carry on.

“Killian?” she pleads once more, clutching at his shirt and gently trying to shake him awake. “Killian, please! You have to answer me!”

At last his eyes flutter open, though focus in them is far from clear. “Emma…?” he mumbles blearily, the words hazy in a loose-lipped mush. “What happened?”

“I tripped on a root of some sort, and we tumbled down a ravine. I- I’m sorry, I didn't see it until it was too late.”

He reaches out unsteadily and cups her cheek as if to brush her apology and fear away, despite the ever-weakening tremble of his limbs.

She presses on doggedly. “The blanket has hidden us from your jailers for the moment,” she adds, “but we better get as far as we can before daybreak. They will be after us again, no doubt.”

Doubt and an embarrassed uncertainty flicker in Killian’s eyes, but he does not speak, only pushes himself into a sitting position through sheer force of will. “You may have to help me up,” he finally relents, no longer meeting her eyes, but Emma is so relieved and glad that he is awake and willing to try, that she somehow musters the strength and adrenaline to help him lever himself back to his feet.

Rather than attempting to scale the hill they had tumbled down, they follow a small trickle of water running along at their feet, which becomes a stream after a mile or so. Pausing briefly to see that Killian gets a drink and has a crust of bread she stuffed into her pocket, Emma wrestles the ruined pants Killian wore off his legs, hurrying to dip a less dirty part of them into the stream and wash his skin the best she can, knowing that despite the cold, it must be done since he’d been forced to wear them so long. She doesn’t dare look him in the face as her fingers skim his bare skin, and she still looks off to the side determinedly as she helps him wrestle the change of breeches she had stolen over his jutting hipbones, urges him back to his feet and fastens the breeches securely. She shoves the other pair in her bag for the moment, to avoid leaving evidence behind. They just need to focus on getting out of here. Anything else they could work through, once they were safe.

By the time the first pale rays of sunrise start to color the sky, Emma hopes they have covered enough distance to avoid detection. They are heading for David and Mary Margaret’s quiet, out-of-the-way farm, but they will not make it today, not before Brits catch up to them.

Luckily they find a small cave, and Emma presses them as far into the dank, winding depth of it as they can possibly get. Sitting at last, she urges Killian to rest, his head in her lap, her hands smoothing through his matted, sweat-soaked hair. Watching over him, fretful and sleepless, she tries to gauge how long it has been and listens for any sign of discovery. When she finally sneaks out, she discovers they have made it until dark again and they can press on.

She counts each ragged breath that rattles through Killian’s shockingly light frame, and thanks the Lord above he hasn’t been taken from her yet. They are still together, and will fight on.

*****

They have been traveling for two days when Emma again hears the low babbling of a brook. Killian struggles during their journey, relying heavily on her to help him move. His weakened state only worsens with the small amount of food she can scavenge and no canteen to provide him hydration. Blood seeps through his pilfered clothes to stain her own when she supports his weight on their walk. She thanks the heavens he’s only awake during the night hours so he doesn’t see it, all the while cursing herself for not being able to do more for him.

But the sound of fresh water is enough to give her a sprinkling of hope.

Emma practically drags Killian in the direction of the noise, eyes frantically scanning the tree line for an enemy to surprise them. If worse came to worst, she’d drop Killian to the ground and batten her defenses, grabbing the blunt blade from her boot. She’d fight the entire British army if she had to, just to help him.

Thankfully the only other inhabitants of the woods are the animals that scurry across their feet.

Killian’s eyes blink rapidly as he fights to stay awake. She knows that they’ll have to stop for a full night tomorrow or the next day. He needs to regain his strength, and, aside from a few hours rest the night before, Emma hasn’t slept a full night since before arriving at camp. Adrenaline has kept her going thus far, but even she knows it’s not sustainable.

“We’re almost there,” she whispers to him, Killian’s head lolling against hers as he grunts a reply.

Twigs scratch at their ankles, and the cool night air wraps around their shoulders in a deep embrace. Moonlight offers their only source of light, and Emma desperately clings to the moon beams that shine down between the treetops.

Relief floods her body as they break through a particularly profuse thicket and the creek flows just a few paces from their spot. Rocks litter either side of the stream, one large enough to lean Killian against. She drops to her knees once he is situated. Dew seeps into her clothes, a wet patch gathering quickly where she kneels. The cool sensation is nothing compared to the water.

Emma dunks her hands into the water in a quick fashion, hissing when the brisk liquid stings her fingers. She quickly pulls her hands back and looks to Killian. “You need to drink,” she murmurs, not expecting an answer that he has no strength to give. Taking a deep breath, she sinks her hands into the water, up to her wrists and cups them together, gathering water that she hastily carries over to him, tipping her hands onto his lips. Water slips between her fingers as she tries to give him some, droplets slide down the sides of his face. He gasps as he gulps down the meager offering.

She repeats the process until she suspects his stomach is getting upset. Her fingers tear the hem of her borrowed clothes and rip a few bands of cloth. The moon highlights the blood cresting on his skin from the open wounds along his body, the dirt collecting on his person.

“I need to clean you,” she whispers as her hand cradles his cheek. Killian opens his eyes to meet hers, and she sees the corner of his mouth lifting under his unruly facial hair.

“You’ve done enough, love,” he says just as quietly. “Give me a moment and I can wash myself.”

“The water’s cold,” she argues.

“Suppose I’ll need a distraction then.”

Hydrated and more awake than he’d been when they arrived at the creek, Emma helps Killian shed his shirt and aids him in kneeling at the creek’s waterbed.

Killian stares at the water, and Emma notices a faraway look taking over his face. The look is one she’s become familiar with working on other soldiers. Memories – nightmares really – that haunt even their waking hours. Her hand reaches over to cover his shaking fist crushing a band of cloth. She swallows as he suddenly swivels his head to her, blinking a few times before he offers her a wobbly smile.

“Do you remember when you caught fish?” she asks. Her tone is light and her smile is encouraging. The undercurrent of teasing that usually accompanies the story is barely tangible.

Killian breathes out a small laugh. “You would never let me forget.”

A nod is shared between them and her voice offers a distraction as he dips the cloth, hissing as it touches his raw skin.

The sun was barely rising over the horizon, when a specialized knock echoed throughout the quiet Nolan house. David and Mary Margaret were undoubtedly already awake with the livestock kept on the property, but Emma had hoped for a few more hours of rest. Her feet ached and her fingers felt numb, her first week spent treating wounded Colonists draining every ounce of her energy. She won’t be shipped out to a British camp for another few months; her secret coding needed to be finely tuned and her stitchwork would give her away as an inadequate nurse.

She winced as her fingers worked to knot the belt of her robe. Sleep still scratched at the edges of her consciousness, but her racing heart beat it back vigorously.

Emma opened the door in a rush, breath caught in her throat from anticipation. She sighed heartily when she realized it was merely Killian standing on the porch. A woven basket hung off of one arm, and he clutched a bouquet of wildflowers in the opposite hand.

“Morning, lass,” he greeted with a wide grin.

She squinted as the early sun rays overwhelmed her sight. “To what do I owe this honor?” The door squeaked momentarily as she leaned against it, her heart racing for an entirely new reason. A smile threatened to emerge as she struggled to keep a disinterested face in the presence of such a magnificent man.

The sun shone on him like he was a gift from above, just for her. Golden rays of light gleamed on his dark hair to create a halo and his grin was certified to make any lady swoon. His eyes crinkled in delight as he gazed down at her, and she swallowed hard as she awaited his answer.

“I remember you mentioning over the summer how much you missed cod,” he said as he maneuvered his way inside the house. The basket is placed gently on the kitchen table while the flowers remain in his tight grasp.

“I don’t think that’s enough of a remarkable statement to explain your appearance this morning. Nearly everyone in town misses the cod.”

Killian grinned, something quick and hidden as he ducked his head out of her sight. Her statement was true, no matter the humor he found in it. The increasing warships offshore had chased the fish further out into the ocean. The wider landscape made it difficult to catch a quantifiable amount of cod to justify the trip, not counting the dangers that came with being in the same waters as opposing military forces.

“Well,” he started, “it does offer an explanation for my appearance.”

“Oh?”

Wildflowers were suddenly thrust in her direction, and she blinked for a few moments before it finally registered. Killian’s arm was extended to her and nerves crept up his tense shoulders. “Firstly, these are for you.” His tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, her attention dramatically pulled from the flowers by the movement. The sight was always a distraction when they practiced her accent, but now it felt like it had intent. An intent to tease her, to bring her to a different focus.

Belatedly, she took the bouquet from Killian. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking a moment to smell the flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers before. Most girls she grew up with were married off with children of their own by now, but she found herself too different from them to warrant the attention of a gentleman in town. Until Killian.

“And this is for you as well.” Killian proudly walked over to the basket and pulled back the linen covering its contents. “Freshly caught cod.”

Emma stepped closer and peered into the basket. A gasp left her mouth before she covered it to prevent her laughter from becoming noticeable.

“What?” he asked.

“You have never been fishing here before, have you?”

“No… Why?”

She failed to keep the laughter from her voice as she spoke. “These fish aren’t cod.”

A slew of expletives was voiced under his breath as he moved to her side. His hand reached for the basket to examine the fish closer. “Are you positive?”

She huffed. “I may not be a fisherman, but I do know my food.” Her eyes examined the fish, wrapped and salted to preserve it for the days long trip back, as a smile threatened to appear on her lips. “These are summer flounder, which are still edible and mild tasting. I appreciate your efforts.”

The amusement left her body as she watched Killian’s face fall and his demeanor depress. His hand toyed with the edge of the basket as his jaw ticked from how tightly he clenched it. She called his name only to receive a shake of his head in return. He dropped his weight onto one of the kitchen chairs and sagged into the seat.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured to himself. Emma followed his lead and sat beside him. The urge to reach out and grab his hand between her own brewed deep in her stomach.

“Wanted what?”

“Apologies, love,” Killian said. He offered his best self-deprecating smile for a brief second before he returned his stare to the table. “I had hoped to present this as my official request to court you, but alas, I’ve made a fool of myself, instead.”

Her throat dried at his words and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He wanted to court her? The mere thought left her practically speechless. Killian had wanted to present her with her favorite meal – cod – and picked flowers for her by himself. He traveled in dangerous waters just to impress her.

She hummed, bringing the flowers to her nose. The fresh aroma made her head spin in the most delightful way, and she sent Killian a shy smile. “It seems to me like you’ve been doing a splendid job, so far.” He grinned back at her for a moment before it fell at the sight of the summer flounder. “You really went out to sea to catch these fish? For me?”

There was no teasing inflection to her words, a heavy weight instead accompanied them. Their eyes met over the table, and she watched Killian’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. He matched her seriousness and kept their eyes connected; his single word answer said a million things to her.

“Aye.”

Emma placed the bouquet gently on the table between them and refused to let her eyes trail away from his. She leaned forward as he watched in anticipation, breath hitched in his throat.

Their lips met, and Emma finally tasted freedom.

*********

“Just…a little further…Killian,” Emma gasps, her arm tightening around his waist. Her eyes are trained on the small house shining in the moonlight in front of them, but they also continue to dart around for any sign of being followed.They’ve been careful to travel only at night, seeking out dense woods where they could hide and rest during the daylight hours.

It’s taken them nearly a week to reach Mary Margaret and David’s farm, their progress hampered by the constant surveillance of their surroundings for fear of being captured, and by Killian’s injuries. Emma has tried to treat his wounds along the way, cursing herself for not grabbing any medical supplies when she pilfered the scalpel and clothing. He was also weak from lack of food, since the small amount of food she smuggled and berries she was able to find were not doing much to build his strength.

But now, the end of their arduous journey is finally within sight. Emma tries to quicken their pace, but Killian’s groan of pain reminds her that he’s already going as fast as he can. He hasn’t once complained, but she knows every step has been agony for him.

“I’m sorry, Killian. Please forgive me for my impatience.”

“You…you’ve been anything…but impatient, Love,” he rasps. “I should be…apologizing for…causing you all this trouble.”

“Hush, now,” she admonishes. “You are worth everything to me. I would go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you home.”

“It almost feels like…that’s how far we’ve come,” he says with a dry chuckle.

She laughs in response, her heart lifting a little over his attempt at humor. They continue their laborious trek over the uneven ground until finally, they are standing on the small wooden stoop at the back of the house.

“I hope someone is awake,” Emma whispers. Raising her hand, she raps on the door three times, pauses a few seconds, knocks twice, then twice more in rapid succession.

The wait seems interminable until they hear a familiar voice saying, “Identify yourself.”

Emma almost cries at the sound of her brother’s voice. “Em-” Her voice is suddenly not working, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Emma Nolan.”

There’s a pause. “What happened when I was twelve that you always thought was your fault?”

Without hesitation, she replies, “You fell out of a tree and broke your left arm trying to rescue my kitten, Patches.”

She smiles at Killian as they hear the sound of a key turning. Before she can react any further, the door swings open and she’s pulled into a crushing hug.

“Where have you been?” David’s voice rumbles under her cheek where it’s pressed against his chest.

“Let us in and I’ll tell you.”

“Us?” he questions, pulling away to look behind her.

“I found him,” she says simply, reaching to take Killian’s hand. Even in the dim light coming from the fireplace in the kitchen, she can see David’s eyes brighten. He steps out of the way so the two travelers can enter.

After closing the door behind them, he turns around and the happiness in his eyes instantly turns to dismay when he takes in the condition of the other man. Before he can say anything, Mary Margaret’s voice can be heard from their bedroom doorway, asking, “Who was it, David?”

“See for yourself,” he answers, grabbing a match to light a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table.

She emerges, tying the belt of a thin, cotton robe. “Emma! We’ve been…” Her eyes move to the figure leaning on her sister-in-law. “Oh, Killian! Look at you!” Pulling out a chair, she helps Emma gingerly lower the injured man into it.

“I’m alright,” he says, but can’t stop the groan from escaping his lips when he’s fully seated.

Mary Margaret immediately begins assessing the injuries to his face. “David, please bring the basket of supplies. Emma, get a wash basin of water and a cloth.”

They both scurry to do as told, coming back to find Mary Margaret has already started working on the shirt fasteners. “Have the two of you had anything to eat?” she asks.

“Just whatever we could scavenge from the woods,” Emma answers, placing the basin on the table and tossing the cloth into the cool water. “I ran out of the food I was able to steal from camp.”

Mary Margaret finishes with the fastenings and pushes the shirt aside, gasping when she sees how much weight Killian has lost. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you clean him up while I heat some chicken stew.” Emma can see tears shining in her eyes when she turns away.

After setting the medical supplies on the table, David moves to the fireplace to remove the kettle. He pours some hot water into the basin, replaces the kettle, and returns to help Emma peel the shirt off of Killian. When he sees the wounds from a whip across his back and chest, his mouth tightens into a straight line, his eyes hardening with anger.

Emma speaks as she squeezes out the cloth and begins tenderly wiping her beloved’s face. “When I found him, they were holding him prisoner, planning to execute him the next day, as soon as their commanding officer arrived.”

She continues relating the conditions in which he was held, as she moves on to begin sponging his neck and chest. Mary Margaret and David share grim looks as they listen, appalled at the way their friend was treated.

“He was actually much worse than this, but we came across a clear creek and he was able to wash himself off a bit, even though the water was pretty chilly,” Emma says.

“David,” Mary Margaret says, turning quickly to her husband. “Can you please begin filling the tub with water? I’m sure soaking in a hot bath would feel good, wouldn’t it, Killian?”

The man looks up at her with bleary eyes. “Aye, it would.”

“Take the tub into our bedroom, David. We can move into one of the rooms upstairs and Killian can have our room so he won’t have to climb the stairs.”

David sets to work getting the metal tub moved and filled with water, while Mary Margaret dishes up bowls of reheated stew for Emma and Killian. His hands are shaking as he spoons the food into his mouth, slopping some into his unkempt beard. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mary Margaret says, as Emma dabs the spill away with the cloth. “Just don’t eat too fast. Your stomach is going to have to get used to having adequate food in it again.” He nods in understanding, giving her another look of gratitude when she sets a plate containing several slices of bread between him and Emma.

They’re just finishing their meal when David rejoins them in the kitchen, announcing that the bath is ready. He offers to help the other man bathe, and it’s a testament to how weary and weak Killian is that he accepts.

Once the men leave the room, the women have a whispered conversation. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll find him here?” asks Mary Margaret.

“I really don’t think so. We were very careful and diligent about not leaving any evidence behind. You and David taught us well.”

“How did you find him?”

“I kept moving from camp to camp, working as a nurse. If I didn’t find him in one place, I would move on.”

“You were very fortunate to find him when you did. If you arrived even one day later…”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Emma shudders. “I came so close to losing him.”

Mary Margaret reaches over and pats her hand. “But you did not. That is the important thing.”

“Now we need to help him recover, and I fear it is going to take a long time. He is very weak. There were times when I was afraid he would not have enough strength to make it here.”

“I suppose you will not want to be far from him tonight,” Mary Margaret observed. At Emma’s confirmation, she added, “We can set up a cot for you just outside the bedroom so you will be able to hear him, should he need you.”

By the time the two of them retrieve the cot from the attic and take it downstairs, David is exiting the bedroom with a concerned look on his face. “A couple of his wounds appear to be infected, but I can’t be sure until we see them in the daylight. I cleaned them the best I could and bandaged them. I know you wanted to tend to him tonight, but he is utterly exhausted, so I already helped him to bed.”

“That is probably for the best,” Mary Margaret says. “I think we all need to get some sleep. Emma is going to sleep on the cot so she can be there for him if he needs her.”

“Do you want me to fill the tub with clean water so you can take a bath, too?” David asks Emma.

“No, I will just take a sponge bath using the water in the basin. I’m so tired, I would probably fall asleep in the tub.”

Husband and wife empty the water from the tub and carry it out, then set up the cot in the kitchen and cover it with bed linens, while Emma washes up and changes out of the filthy, stolen set of clothes into a soft, flannel nightgown. Releasing her hair from the tight bun, she brushes the snarls and tangles out of her long blonde tresses, then, after bidding her brother and sister-in-law goodnight, goes into the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she observes her love by the dim light of the kerosene lamp on the nightstand. His face is relaxed in sleep, but she can still see the cuts and bruises marring it. Tenderly, she reaches over and brushes some strands of still damp hair away from his brow. Leaning down, she brushes kisses to his cheeks and lips. “You are safe now, my love,” she whispers. “No one is ever going to take you from me again.”

After watching him sleep for a few more minutes, she moves out to the cot, climbs between the soft, clean sheets, and falls into the first deep sleep she’s had since she said goodbye to Killian months ago.

*********

Emma is awakened in the middle of the night when Killian begins groaning loudly and thrashing around in the bed. She throws back the blanket and rushes into the bedroom, distressed when her hand touches his forehead and feels the heat radiating from it.

Quickly, she goes back into the kitchen and pumps more water into the basin, adding a couple of washcloths to it before carrying it into the bedroom. Nudging the extinguished lantern aside, she makes room for the basin on the nightstand.

She wrings out the first cloth, folds it, and lays it across Killian’s forehead, then repeats the process to lay one on his chest. He begins mumbling, but she doesn’t think he’s quite awake. Leaning down, she speaks into his ear, “What do you need, my love?”

He runs his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, murmuring, “Thirsty.”

Returning to the kitchen, she fills a glass with water and brings it back. She slides her arm behind his back to help raise him up, tears coming to her eyes once again when she feels the sharpness of his shoulder blades through his nightshirt.

He gulps the water thirstily and thanks her, before she lowers him back to the mattress and kisses his feverish brow. After returning the glass to the kitchen, she refreshes the washcloths with cool water, then sits down on the wooden chair beside the bed, turning to face him. She sleeps fitfully the rest of the night, reapplying the cloths and checking his temperature a few more times.

Once the morning light begins filtering in through the thin curtains, Emma dresses hurriedly and goes into the kitchen to find Mary Margaret already preparing dough to make bread. She looks up at Emma with a smile that fades when she sees the worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Mary Margaret asks, pulling her hands out of the dough and wiping them on a towel.

“Killian has had a fever all night. I’m afraid he does have an infection.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet. I know we need to examine him more thoroughly, but he needs his rest, too. Do you think I should wake him?”

Mary Margaret ponders for a moment. “Let him sleep a while longer. David has gone out to ride the perimeter of the property. When he gets back, we will find out what he thinks we should do.”

Emma pinches off a small piece of dough and pops it into her mouth. “Is he making sure we weren’t followed?”

“He knows you were careful, he just doesn’t want to take any chances,” Mary Margaret explains, beginning to shape the dough into small loaves.

Upon hearing a sound from the bedroom, Emma turns and hurries in there. She finds Killian sitting on the side of the bed with his feet on the floor, his head hanging down and his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

She steps in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and gently lifting it. “Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?”

He manages a weak smile. “Much better, being here with you, Love,” he says, his voice rough with sleep and fever.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Aye, that sounds good.”

Emma discreetly runs the back of her hand over his forehead, troubled to still find it overly warm. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“Trying to peek at me naked, are you?” he jokes weakly.

Despite her concern, she still blushes and can’t help but smile. He has always had a knack for making her laugh, and she’s pleased to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

He turns his face to press a kiss into her palm. “You are helpful, and also very beautiful. My beautiful saviour.”

Her heart swells at his words and all she can think to say is, “I love you.”

“And I, you.”

She dips her head and brushes a kiss to his cheek. Leaning her forehead against his, she sighs. “I cannot believe I actually found you and we made it back home. There were times when I thought I…” The emotion makes her breath catch in her throat. “...I would never see you again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Emma. You should know by now that I’m a survivor.”

“The order of execution did give me pause.”

“Point taken.”

She soaks in a little more time of being able to touch him, before declaring, “I’ll go upstairs and get some clothes for you.”

“Thank you, Love.”

Giving him one more kiss, she exits the room. David is stomping his feet off on the mat inside the kitchen door. “Is everything secure?” she asks.

“As far as I can tell,” he answers. “How is Killian this morning?”

“He is carrying a fever, but it does not seem to be as bad as it was in the middle of the night. I’m going to get clothes for him. Could you please go in and check on him?”

“Of course,” David agrees, already heading toward the bedroom.

Emma goes to the cedar chest, where Mary Margaret keeps extra clothes for anyone in their spy network who is in need of them. Kneeling down before the chest, she takes the opportunity to send up a prayer of gratitude and also a plea for healing. Killian may be putting on a brave front, but she knows him. He’s weak and in pain; far from the strong, robust man he was months ago, before he went undercover behind enemy lines.

Gathering the shirt and knickers into her arms, she descends the creaking stairs, finding Mary Margaret removing the bread from the oven. “Is David still in with Killian?” Emma asks.

“Yes. He came out to get some clean water, whiskey and towels. He said Killian has wounds showing signs of infection and he has heard that pouring alcohol on them helps.”

Emma grimaces. “That sounds like it would be painful.”

“Not as painful as amputation, should the infection get worse,” Mary Margaret notes quietly.

Emma’s face pales as she thinks about the possibility. The wound around his left wrist, caused by the ropes with which he was tied, is especially concerning; the flesh around it red and angry, while the wound itself appears to be festering.

“David said Killian is relaying information to him about the enemy’s position and strategies. Even being held for execution, he was gathering vital information. That man of yours is a model of bravery, Emma.”

Now her chest swells with pride, but the moment is interrupted by a hoarse curse coming from the bedroom. “Bloody hell, David! That bloody hurts!”

The two women share a concerned, and slightly amused, look. “At least he has a little fire in his voice,” Emma comments.

Her sister-in-law nods in agreement before asking, “Should I prepare a tray of food for him?”

“I’m sure Killian will insist on joining us out here. He won’t want you making a fuss over him.”

“He deserves to be fussed over, after all he’s gone through.”

“I agree, but you know he won’t see it that way.”

Emma approaches the bedroom door and taps on it lightly. At David’s permission to enter, she pushes it open and peeks in. “I have some clean clothes.”

“Bring them in, I just finished treating his wounds,” David says, tying off a bandage around Killian’s wrist.

Emma’s eyes scan over her love’s form as he sits slumped on the side of the bed. He looks up and manages to give her a small smile. “Thank you, Love.”

She deposits the clothes on the bed beside him and catches David’s eye, communicating silently with him to ask about Killian’s condition. The grim set of his mouth and slight shoulder shrug tells her he shares her concern about the other man.

Emma picks up the shirt, unfolds it, and carefully pulls it over Killian’s head. David helps guide his arms into the sleeves, Emma ties it, and a lump forms in her throat when she sees how loosely it hangs on him. Mere months ago, he would have easily filled it out with his muscular physique. The stolen shirt was also baggy on him, but she tried to reason that the man to whom it belonged must have been much bigger than Killian. Now, there’s no denying that he has indeed lost a substantial amount of weight during his captivity, and her hatred toward the soldiers of his former homeland intensifies.

She holds out the remaining clothes to David. “Please help him put these on while I go help Mary Margaret get breakfast on the table,” she says, knowing her voice sounds gruff from the raw emotion she’s feeling.

Turning on her heel, she exits the room.

*********

The next two days for Killian are a series of ups and downs. He continues to run a fever, sometimes mumbling deliriously because of it. His stomach repels the food he eats ravenously, the vomiting causing his already dangerously weak body to weaken even further. Heedless of the custom dictating unmarried couples not sleep together in the same room, they move the cot into the bedroom so Emma can get to Killian more quickly when he needs her aid.

There are far too many moments when she wonders if they escaped and made the dangerous trek back home, only for him to die anyway.

Yet, in the mornings, after a good night’s rest, he’s fairly alert and his endearing personality comes shining through. They’re relieved to see his wounds responding to their careful treatment, the fiery looking skin around them returning to normal as the infection ebbs away.

On the third morning after their return, Emma is awakened by Mary Margaret rushing into the bedroom, shaking Emma’s shoulder as she whispers urgently, “Get up! David just found signs of someone being on the property, and we need to get the two of you down to the root cellar!”

“Enemy soldiers?” Emma asks, throwing off the covers, her heart in her throat.

“He does not know, but he also does not want to take any chances. He and Leroy have gone out again to see if they can find anything else, and he wants me to get the two of you into the cellar.”

Emma pulls her robe on and ties the belt, then slides her stocking feet into her shoes. Mary Margaret is trying to rouse Killian, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. “Gather as many quilts and blankets as you can and go down to the cellar to try to make up a bed for him on the floor,” she instructs Emma, her voice still a whisper but full of tense anxiety.

Emma hurries to do as she’s told, emptying the linen closet under the stairs. It takes two trips down the steep, rickety steps to get everything to the dank root cellar. The pungent smell of earth and unwashed vegetables fills her nose as she tosses the thick quilts on the ground in the corner under the stairs, quickly straightening them the best she can and dragging sacks of grain over to use as pillows, before dashing back upstairs.

Mary Margaret has managed to get Killian standing and into a pair of breeches. She’s just tugging a heavy, knitted sweater over his head, his arms sliding sluggishly into the sleeves, when Emma re-enters the room. She grabs his boots from under the bed and works to get them on his feet.

When he’s dressed, the two women half drag him to the opening in the kitchen floor between the fireplace and the stairway, which leads to the cellar. Emma moves down the steps backwards so she can help guide Killian with her hands on his hips, while Mary Margaret is behind him, supporting him under his arms. As they struggle to keep him moving, they both give him quiet encouragement, praying they can get him out of sight in time.

It seems to take an eternity until he finally sets foot on the packed dirt floor. As they maneuver him behind the stairs and lower him to the pile of quilts, Mary Margaret whispers, “There is a lantern and matches on the shelf, but only light it if absolutely necessary because it might show between the floorboards. As soon as I get back upstairs, I will get a basket of food together and bring it down to you. Oh, and there’s a chamber pot under the table.”

“How long do you think we will have to stay down here?” Emma questions.

“I do not know, but it’s better to be prepared in case it ends up being a while. Please remember to stay as quiet as possible,” she reminds them needlessly. After squeezing Emma’s hand, she turns and bustles up the stairs, dropping the door down behind her.

Emma and Killian are left in complete darkness, and she fights to tamp down the panic tightening her chest. Her eyes work to adjust, beginning to make out the shapes of objects around her with help from the tiny slivers of light sneaking through the floorboards overhead.

She turns her attention to the man lying on the pile of quilts, head resting against a burlap bag of grain. He’s still feverish, and she fears the dampness of the cellar is going to exacerbate his condition. Her hands grope for the pile of blankets she had dropped carelessly to the floor.

As she unfolds one blanket after another and lays them over him, she listens for any sounds coming from above. Everything is muted, but all she can hear are shuffling footsteps she’s sure are Mary Margaret’s.

Soon, the room is flooded with light again when the trap door is lifted. Emma rises and hurries to the bottom of the steps to take the basket of food and pitcher of water from her sister-in-law’s hands.

“I think I heard David and Leroy’s horses returning to the barn,” Mary Margaret tells her. “Hopefully they have some good news and you will not have to stay down here very long.”

Before Emma can answer, Mary Margaret returns to the kitchen, leaving them in darkness once again. Emma cautiously picks her way back across the floor, setting the food and water down when she senses she’s back at Killian’s side, then sits down herself.

“Killian,” she whispers into his ear, “you need to drink some water. Can you sit up?”

He pushes himself up, groaning with the effort. Since she doesn’t have a cup to pour the water into, she holds the rim of the pitcher to his lips, slowly tipping it up until he’s swallowing the liquid. She gives him several sips before he pulls back and taps her arm to signify he’s had enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, but he’s already dropped back down to the makeshift bed.

“Not…right…now,” he forces out through chattering teeth.

“Are you cold?”

“A…bit.”

She already used all of the blankets to cover him, so she does the only thing left she can think to do to help him get warm. Peeling back the blankets, she stretches her body out alongside his and pulls the covers up over both of them, then wraps her arms around his thin frame and buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathing warmth against his skin.

Soon she can tell he has fallen asleep, but she remains awake and alert. All is quiet upstairs, but just as she’s dozing off, she hears muffled pounding on the back door. Her eyes pop open and her breath catches in her throat.

Murmuring voices reach her ears and she strains to listen, but can’t make out anything that’s being said. Heavy boots thud across the floor, and Emma holds her breath, praying whoever is up there doesn’t discover the trap door beneath the innocuous-looking braided rug.

The voices increase in volume and she can catch a word here and there. “...nobody…sister…left yesterday…” she hears David saying.

Another deep voice, obviously a man’s, responds, “...proof…evidence…escaped…” And then the word that makes her heart stop “...traitor.”

She hears doors slamming and wonders if Mary Margaret had time to hide the cot before their unwanted visitors arrived. She has to believe she did, since her sister-in-law has plenty of experience with hiding evidence. Their spy ring has been active since the beginning of the rebellion, and they’ve had a few close calls, but they haven’t lost anyone yet.

Killian shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft moan, and Emma swiftly covers his mouth with her hand. Chances of anyone upstairs hearing him are almost nil, but she doesn’t want to tempt fate.

Disconcerting noises continue for what seems like an indeterminable amount of time, until at last, the door slams and silence settles again. Emma strains to hear anything, but there is absolutely no sound at all. She should feel relieved, but she’s worried for her brother and his wife. What if they’ve been taken by the soldiers? If they have, will they become prisoners of the British army? Unbidden tears fill her eyes at the thought, and she forces herself not to think along those lines.

It is several minutes before she realizes she still has her hand over Killian’s mouth. She removes it and strokes his cheek, allowing herself to enjoy the prickling of his beard against her palm.

She has no idea how much time passes until she hears the sounds of someone entering the house and her entire body tenses. If the soldiers have come back to search again and find the hidden cellar door, she and Killian are helpless and will without a doubt be captured…or killed.

Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s afraid she’ll give them away, when she hears light tapping on the floor above them. Three knocks, followed by two and then two more in quick succession. She wants to hope, but what if it’s a trick?

Then she hears Mary Margaret’s voice through the floorboards. “It’s me, Emma. They’re still on the property, so stay put.”

They stay hidden in the cellar the rest of that day. Emma is eventually able to get Killian to eat and walk in small circles around the crates of vegetables, but most of their time is spent lying on the nest of quilts. In between fitful spurts of sleep, they have whispered conversations and cuddle together. Emma understands the danger they’re in, but she has to admit she doesn’t mind the time spent in Killian’s arms.

Later in the evening, Mary Margaret brings down more food and water and tells them that David is pretty sure the soldiers are long gone, but as a precaution, recommends they stay in the cellar overnight since they could be waiting to see if there’s any movement from the house after dark. After her sister-in-law goes back upstairs, Emma lets tears of exhaustion and relief pour down her face as she buries it in Killian’s chest.

*********

David and Leroy thoroughly inspect the property early the next morning to ensure the soldiers have moved on. Once they return to the house and give the all clear, the two men help Killian back up the steps. While Mary Margaret and Emma collect the blankets and begin making breakfast, David fills the metal bathtub and assists Killian into it. Being in the cellar all that time is surely detrimental to his recovery, and they want to drive the chill and dampness from his body with a long soak in hot water.

Mary Margaret fills Emma in on the men who searched the house and barn as they fry eggs and slices of ham. “It seems they sent men more interested in finding something of value to steal, rather than finding the two of you, because they were looking in places where it would be impossible to hide - inside cupboards, behind the stove, in dresser drawers. If the situation hadn’t been so nerve wracking, I would have laughed at their blatant disregard for their mission.”

Emma manages a small smile, knowing if the British would have sent doggedly determined men like Colonel Sitwell and Sergeant Gold, she and Killian would surely have been discovered.

“It was our good fortune that they were more preoccupied with burglary, though,” Mary Margaret continues. “I do not think they realized that a house can have a cellar beneath it. As many times as they tramped across the kitchen floor, they did not notice the hollow sound of it.”

“The search seemed to take an eternity and I do not think I breathed the entire time,” Emma states.

“I was holding my breath, too. That is the closest call we have ever had.”

They are plating the food when David comes out of the bedroom, carrying a bucket of the bathwater. “Killian wants to join us in the kitchen for breakfast,” he informs them, before emptying the bucket outside.

“He is feeling up to it?” Emma asks, a hint of worry in her voice.

“He says he’s tired of being a bother to everyone. And yes,” he adds quickly when he sees Emma getting ready to object, “I assured him that is not true, but you know he is stubborn.”

“Yes,” Emma agrees, “but his stubbornness is what kept him alive.”

David nods with a grin and disappears into the bedroom again. Emma and Mary Margaret share a smile and finish putting the food on the table, eager for the four of them to be eating together again, just as they had so many other times.

On the eve before Killian left to infiltrate enemy lines, he shared a hearty meal with Mary Margaret, David and Emma.

“We double checked the route Killian will take to try to find the British encampment,” David said between bites of his hash. “He should be able to follow the river almost the entire way.”

Emma blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She had seen many spies off on missions, and had been sent herself, but this time was different. This time, it was the man she loved who was putting himself in danger.

She felt his knee bump against hers under the table and knew he was well aware of her thoughts. He always seemed to be able to read her like an open book. Swallowing hard, she turned to look at him, valiantly forcing a smile onto her face. He returned it with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his beautiful, blue eyes.

They finished their dinner, speaking of mundane topics to skirt around the issue that was weighing heavy on all of their minds. Afterwards, Mary Margaret waved away Emma’s offer to help clean the kitchen, and Emma knew it was because her sister-in-law understood her desire to have some time alone with Killian.

The two of them walked outside, enjoying the evening’s cool respite after the heat of the mid-June day.

“You plan to leave at daybreak?” Emma questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Aye. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be able to come back to you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

“Good,” she replied with a slight smile.

They continued walking until they were on the back side of the barn, out of sight of the house. Killian turned and took both of Emma’s hands. “I will miss you, Love.”

“Promise me you will be careful and will come back to me.”

“I will try my best, but you know as well as I that what we do is dangerous. Extremely important, but dangerous.”

She nodded solemnly, casting her eyes down to the ground. After several moments, she looked back up at him. “If we do not receive any communication from you for more than a month, I will come looking for you.”

“Emma…”

“You know you would do the same for me,” she interrupted, before he could object.

“Of course I would, but we do not know exactly where I will be.”

“It does not matter. Wherever it is, I will find you.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her cheek, damp with tears, to his chest. “I will always find you.”

Returning her embrace, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too.” Turning her face up to his, she added, “We probably will not have any time to ourselves tomorrow morning, so I want to give you something now.”

His brows rose in question. “What is it, Love?”

“This,” she said, then pushed up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It was a tenderly sweet kiss, expressing all the love, fear and longing they shared, and neither wanted it to end. When it finally did, she pulled him close again. “Take that with you to remember that I am here, waiting for you.”

The next morning after a quick breakfast, Killian mounted his horse, pressed his fingers to his lips and waved goodbye to her. She wouldn’t see him again for more than three long, agonizing months.

*********

Two mornings later, Emma opens her eyes and immediately rolls over to face Killian. His eyes are also open, and she can see that they appear clear, bright, rested and fever-free.

She wastes no time throwing back the covers and getting off of the cot to go to his bedside. “Good morning, my love. You look like you feel better.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he gives her a lopsided grin. “I do feel like I have re-entered the land of the living.”

Emma sits on the side of the bed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes while releasing a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to wonder when you would decide to stop making us coddle you,” she teases, her heart lighter than it has been for as long as she can remember.

“Do you mean to tell me that by recovering, I will be giving up my chance to be coddled?” he asks, flopping back down onto his pillow. “Perhaps I haven’t thoroughly thought this through.”

She leans over and boldly presses a kiss to his lips. “I believe there are better ways for me to pay attention to you, than by nursing you back to health,” she says, only pulling away far enough to look into his beloved cerulean eyes.

“Do tell,” he grins, reaching up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger.

A knock on the door interrupts their private moment, and Emma sighs for an entirely different reason. Killian finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “Best answer that, Love.”

She nods in resignation, rising from his bed and grabbing her robe from the nail beside the door. Once she has cinched the belt around herself, she opens the door to find Mary Margaret on the other side.

“How is the patient this morning?”

“Much improved,” Killian answers for himself.

Mary Margaret steps into the room to see for herself. “Oh Killian, you do look better!”

“Back to my devilishly handsome self?” he cheeks. “After all, the bloody Brits pretty much knocked the handsome out of me.”

“No army is that powerful,” Emma assures him, earning her a warm, loving smile.

She knows he still has a long recovery ahead, but it relieves her to see that he finally appears to have turned the corner.

*********

It takes several months for Killian to completely regain his strength and health. He stays with David and Mary Margaret during his recovery, so he and Emma are able to spend every day together while their relationship continues to deepen and flourish.

One day, when Killian is almost fully recovered, he asks Emma to take a walk with him after the evening meal. She can tell that something is on his mind, and when she questions him about it, he turns to face her, gently clasping both of her hands. Then he slowly lowers himself to one knee and Emma gasps, realizing what he intends to do.

Looking up into her beautiful face, he says, “Emma, I know that we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of - that I always, always want to be by your side. So…Emma Nolan, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Killian,” she begins, tears already escaping her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, “you know how much I love you, but are you sure this is the right time? We still do not know when or how this conflict is going to end.”

“That is exactly why I think we should get married. I do not want to waste any of the time I could have as your husband, because we have no guarantee how many years we may have together. I love you, Emma, and I don’t want to wait any longer to marry you, but if you do not want…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupts firmly. “I am not saying I do not want to marry you, because I do, with every fiber of my being. I just do not know if we should take the time to plan a wedding, when there is still so much work to do for the cause.”

“I understand how important our work is, but you are more important to me.”

Emma sinks to her knees and frames his face with her hands, scratching her nails lovingly through his beard. “And you to me, my love. You are right - we should not let what is happening around us dictate our lives. So yes, Killian, I will marry you and be the proudest and happiest woman alive.”

Killian huffs out a relieved breath and flashes her a dimpled grin, before dipping his head to claim her lips in a celebratory kiss. No one knew what the future held, but the newly engaged couple was sure that whatever it was, they would face it together.

*********

The conflict, which becomes known as the Revolutionary War, will drag on for another six years. The spy ring organized and aided by David and Mary Margaret will operate until the end, providing important intel to the Continental army. After their close call, Emma and Killian won’t risk going behind enemy lines again, but continue to work tirelessly for the cause nonetheless.

One evening, nearly a year after Killian’s capture, their daring escape, and his lengthy recuperation, he and Emma sit on the rickety wooden steps leading up to the back entry to David and Mary Margaret’s home. They watch the sun set with golden spangled light on the field and trees of this land for which they are fighting, and for which he nearly died, fingers twined together and Emma’s head lying on Killian’s shoulder. They are in the process of working with David to save the money to purchase a few acres next to he and Mary Margaret’s property, where they will build a home of their own, when the fighting is over, and hopefully the colonies are left to self-govern.

Emma sighs, in as near a state of perfect contentment as she can remember feeling in some time. There were many dark moments in the last months, and even years, and she knows better than to think the future will be perfect or easy. But the hope that feeds her, bolstered by the strength of their love, is a source of joy that she trusts will endure through any challenge. She might once have thought hope and true love fanciful notions from fairy tales rather than the stuff of real life.

It’s true that people often speak of hope as if it’s this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whisper and spider’s web. She knows better though, after what they have been through. Hope is not fragile or fleeting. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go. But that’s the beauty of it; hope will always get up and start again.

Killian’s arm around her lends the warmth of any blanket as he draws her closer to his side, murmuring his love for her into the skin at her temple before placing a chaste kiss there as well. The fight may not yet be over, but that time will come. They will see the battle through and celebrate that day - a happy beginning - together.

*********

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