#cssns betas

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

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

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[kmomof4]

The Arena A New Fic for CSSNS24

WE FINALLY MADE IT, Y'ALL!!!!! @cssns is here for the last time!!! And I am sooooo thrilled to be kicking off our final year!!! Before we get to the fic, I have to say a few words about the team of ladies that helped get this fic here for all of you to enjoy!!

First, to the other mods of the CSSNS - @winterbaby89 @stahlop @jrob64 and @ultraluckycatnd This event wouldn't be here without all of you and I cannot thank you enough for stepping up and helping me through this last round.

To @snowbellewells my magnificent beta for this fic - Marta, I cannot thank you enough for reading, rereading, and rereading AGAIN in order to make this fic the best it could be. Love you, my dear friend!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper artist extraordinaire - Kit's artwork always leaves me with my jaw hanging open in AWE, and this one is no exception!! I could seriously stare at it for hours!!! Please give her all the love!!!! It's at the beginning of the fic under the cut.

And now to the fic! I so hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

Summary: The arena. 

A place of fear. Oppression. Blood. Death. 

A place of shattered hopes and dreams. 

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

Words: Almost 3200

Rating: M for graphic violence

Tags: CSSNS24, Werewolves, True Love, Happy Ending

On ao3

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

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

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza

@djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling

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

@captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones

@mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The arena. 

A place of fear. Oppression. Blood. Death. 

A place of shattered hopes and dreams. 

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

Killian Jones stood along the wall of the arena with his fellow fighters, his eyes trained on the opposite side of the stadium where the grand prize of the wretched and despicable contest he’d willingly signed up for was being held. The wretched and despicable contest that the despot Arthur had created for the entertainment of himself and his court, promising to the victor everything they could ever dream of - more money than they could imagine, a place in the upper echelons of society, land, and a beautiful bride on his arm. A bride that, in Killian’s fondest dreams, didn’t care he was missing a hand. But all of that was for the victor alone. There was no prize for coming in second, unless you counted death as a prize. 

And Killian did. 

Either everything he’d ever hoped for - but which was so far out of reach for a street rat like him - or bringing his miserable existence to an end. That was why he’d eagerly volunteered for the contest. That last sliver of hope his mother - gone for many years now - had instilled in him that his life circumstances had to get better, because they certainly couldn’t get worse, or the sweet oblivion of forever sleep.

He cut his eyes to the left for a moment, taking in his fellow competitors. He didn’t know any of them. The mates he’d trained with for the last year were long gone - scattered to the other corners of the empire to try their own luck in the arena. There were four other men here with him. The one immediately to his left barely looked to be a man at all, but he held a cunning and evil look in his eye that warned not to underestimate him. The man next to him was the largest of all of them with long curly black hair, bulging muscles, deep set dark eyes, and a closely trimmed black beard and goatee. The other two men on the other side of the large one, he’d only seen briefly as they were released into the arena. One was tall and skinny with blonde hair and a scar on his face that gave him a dangerous look, and the other had a mop of brown hair that flopped over his almost simian-looking visage and he held himself with an air of pretension and imperiousness. He’d fit right in with Arthur’s court. He’d probably been an upper house slave looking to be a master instead. 

Now, Killian’s attention was drawn back to the other side of the arena where two slaves were needed to get the young woman into the center of the sunken pit in which they were all held. She truly was a beauty, Killian could already tell, and a hellcat to boot. She wore nothing more than a torn and ragged gown that barely covered her most private parts and was nearly the same color as her skin and a thick silver bracelet on her wrist. Her golden hair was a nest of tangles but still glinted under the midday sun as she screamed and thrashed in their hold. Her legs alternately stuck out in front of her - her heels vainly attempting to anchor themselves into the soft ground - or dragged behind her in an effort to become deadweight and too heavy for the men to carry. When that wasn’t working, she kicked at her captors, clawing and biting every inch of bare skin she could reach.

They finally reached the center of the arena where they dropped her unceremoniously in the dirt. It took her a moment to rise to her hands and knees, then she raised her head and Killian could see her face for the first time. He caught his breath at the exquisiteness of her face, made all the more evident by the dirt and tear tracks which marred her otherwise porcelain skin. The color was high on her cheeks, and her lips were full and red. She wasn’t particularly far away from him, fifteen to twenty feet at most, but he couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from this distance and under the rays of the sun, although he could clearly see the glint of more unshed tears. 

Her gaze swept over the other men beside him before landing on him, and when their eyes met, something came over Killian that he hadn’t felt in over two decades- the wolf that he’d lost when he lost his hand as a lad. An utterly unfamiliar strength flooded him, and his ears rang with the internal howl of his other half as his heart and mind were filled with images of that fateful day.

Killian ran down the crowded streets of the marketplace, a dreadfully skinny boy, one hand holding up the too-large pants around his waist, lest they fall down around his ankles as he ran. His clothes were tattered and worn and hung off his scrawny frame. A boy on the cusp of manhood, his malnourishment was evident in his height, nearly as tall as a man, and the leanness of his face with the beginnings of scruff on his chin.

His eyes darted around the street, taking in the busy vendors with their customers and trying to determine who’d be least likely to notice a pilfered meat pie or a couple of pieces of fruit for himself and his mother. Spying a likely suspect, Killian never slowed as his hand shot out toward his prize. But the shopkeeper was much more aware than Killian had given him credit for, and before he knew it, his wrist was captured in an iron strong grip and he was being pulled behind the small booth.

Without a word, the hulking shopkeeper pulled out a cutlass and brought it down on Killian’s wrist. He was too shocked to even register the pain as he watched his blood gush from the end of his arm. Too mesmerized by the gruesome injury to do anything, he realized darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision and the sound rushing in his ears was the agonized howl of his wolf - who had manifested only a scant six months ago - dying away to whimpers before everything went black.

It was nearly a week later that he’d woken, according to his mother. She hadn’t been far behind him as he ran through the market and had seen what the shopkeeper had done. She was too late to do anything about her son’s hand, but she’d made sure the shopkeeper would never be capable of such cruelty again. A small dagger coated with aconite from the Monkshood plant leaving a scratch across his wrist was all it took to sentence the man to death before the sun set that same day. She was the one who got him back to the hovel they called home, and nursed him around the clock until his fever broke and he finally awoke. He felt different - an emptiness he couldn’t define - but couldn’t put his finger on why until he looked down at his hands, now hand, and everything came rushing back. His shout of anguish brought his mother running, throwing aside the excuse of a room divider which consisted of a cord strung between two windows on either end of his straw pallet with clothes and rags hanging from it. She gathered him in her arms, whispering soothing words in his ear and rocking him back and forth like she did when he was a small child until his own cries quieted. 

Killian,” she breathed. He pulled back just enough to see her eyes and was shocked at the profound sadness he saw there. “I’m so sorry. Your wolf is gone.” She tried to gather him close again, but he pulled back in alarm instead.

“What?” he asked, confused. “Why!? Is that why I feel different? Not just my hand?”

“Losing a limb,” she imparted on a hitched breath, “kills the wolf inside of you. Until you find your True Love.”

“My True Love?” Killian’s confusion and grief were stronger than ever. “But what if I don’t have a True Love? What if��”

“You mustn’t give up hope, my son,” she said fervently. “You will find her someday, and your wolf will return.”

And today was apparently that day. Killian watched as her eyes widened slightly. He could only hope that she could somehow feel the connection between them. The hum of True Love that he didn’t have time to examine or revel in as Arthur rang the bell signaling the beginning of the contest - of which apparently his True Love was the prize. 

The other men along the wall moved toward her and then all turned to him, the depraved lust in their eyes as they looked at her turning into gleeful anticipation as their gazes settled on him. In that moment, Killian realized they’d somehow all agreed to band together to take him out first, obviously the weakest having only one hand with which to fight. Killian met each of their eyes in turn as they all drew their swords.

“It’s nothing personal, you know,” the tall, arrogant one said. “Can’t allow such an unsuitable, maimed cripple to claim my prize.”

The taunting words were all that was needed for Killian’s wolf to come to the fore. It had been twenty-two years since he’d transformed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember exactly what was happening. His own wicked but gleeful grin took over his face as the power of his wolf filled him and he fell to his hands and knees in front of them. The pain-filled howl taking over his mind ripped from his now open maw while the bones, muscles, and sinew in his arms and legs broke, tore, and mended again into their new form. The men before him were frozen in shock, and Killian became aware of an uproar above him among the spectators of the contest. Arthur rang the bell and screamed at the guards and slaves to kill the beast in the arena, but no one moved to do so.

Killian was fully focused on the men in front of him, but was also dimly aware of his True Love. She was still crouched on the ground, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. The transformation now complete, he let loose a full, ringing howl of victory as he leapt toward the largest of the men, still frozen in terror. His claws sank into the man’s chest, blood flowing like rivers down the expanse of bare skin. Killian clamped his jaws down on his head, his canines piercing bone, until with a powerful shake of his head, the skin of the man’s face and the bone underneath tore away from the skull, exposing the soft brain tissue contained within. The man’s screams were abruptly cut off when Killian swiped his claws from the gaping head wound to the top of his chest.

He then turned his attention to the two men on either side of his first victim. He quickly took care of the both of them - the first, ripping his head off with one swipe of his powerful paw, and the second, using all of his front claws to open his enemy’s chest cavity and gut, his intestines spilling to the ground in front of him - before he turned around looking for the one who’d taunted him in the first place.

The smugness was gone, but a look of grim determination had replaced it as the man, armed with only a sword, and wolf circled one another. The uproar among the audience had all but completely died away, the spectators watching in horrified fascination to see who would emerge the victor.

The man lunged and Killian backed up, well out of reach of the sword his opponent wielded. As they circled, Killian became fully aware of something that had only tickled the edge of his mind in the last several minutes as he faced off with the other men. He had both his front paws! Did that mean that his hand would also be restored when he returned to human form? He had no time to ponder the question as his adversary jabbed toward him again.

“Do you really think you can win?” he asked. His eyes gleamed, and the smugness that had disappeared after Killian killed the others was coloring his countenance once again. “You’re nothing but an animal. I’m going to kill you and skin you and hang your pelt on the wall where I can see it every single day for the rest of my life.”

Killian bared his teeth, a low and vicious growl coming from his throat before he surged forward briefly, snapping at the other man. Giving him a good look of exactly what he was up against. Fear flooded his adversary’s eyes, and the hand holding his sword in front of him began to shake uncontrollably. They continued to circle one another, but the man wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings and was nearing the bodies of two of their dead competitors. It was only a moment later when his foot came down squarely on the innards Killian had spilled earlier and flew out from under him, landing him flat on his back amid the blood and gore-covered ground.

Killian wasted no time. With a mighty leap, he landed on top of the man, his claws making ribbons of his enemy’s bare skin. He’d dropped his sword when he fell, and now reached for it as his screams filled Killian’s ears. Biting down on his upper arm, arterial blood sprayed his muzzle as he ripped it clean away from his shoulder. Killian slung the severed limb away before he turned back and tore the man’s throat out. The terror-filled and agonized screams turned to choking gurgles before they died away completely.

Killian looked up into the seats surrounding the arena. The masses were completely quiet and still, obviously not over the shock of what they’d just witnessed. When his gaze landed on Arthur’s, the despot’s eyes widened in panic, and he made haste to exit his elaborately decorated box. The rest of the audience followed the king’s lead, screaming and running for the exits. With another triumphant howl, Killian ran for the wall and cleared it with a single jump. He quickly caught up with the oppressive tyrant, leaping toward him and landing on his back, pushing him to the ground. He bit down on the exposed skin of his neck and was rewarded with another spray of blood signaling the end of the vile oppressor. 

The arena was now empty, save him and his True Love. He leapt back down to the ground and walked slowly towards her. She was crouched on the ground, her head hidden behind her arms, her golden hair shielding most of her body from view. He stopped, unwilling to terrify her even more than he already had, and changed back to his human form. He looked down and gasped when he saw his left hand completely restored.

He moved toward her again as she lifted her head and looked around at the empty arena.

“Where are your captors, milady?” he asked, gently.

“Gone, my lord,” she breathed. “Did you… what…?”

He unclasped the cloak he still wore from around his neck and spread it across her, covering her rags, though there was no one now to gawk or stare lustfully at her. She grabbed the edges and pulled it more fully around her as she rose to her feet, giving him a grateful nod.

“You’re him.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and was filled with an awe that Killian didn’t understand.

“I’m… who?” he asked, confused.

“You’re him,” she answered, a bit stronger that time. “My True Love.”

Killian couldn’t hope to hide his surprise at her words.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, excitement bubbling over into a beaming smile. “How did you know?”

“You were missing a hand before you transformed,” she explained, haltingly. She couldn’t hold his gaze for any length of time, her eyes bouncing between his and his restored hand that she gently took in her own, her other hand tracing the veins and bones there. “My parents told me before I was taken that if I ever lost a limb, I’d lose my wolf until I found my True Love.”

“You’re a wolf?” Killian almost fell to his knees in shock. He knew there had to be more out there like him, but he’d never met another. Not even his mother. Killian’s wolf came from his father, who’d died long before his own wolf manifested.

She nodded shyly and showed him her arm with the silver bracelet.

“That’s why they put this on me,” she explained. “To keep me from changing. Could you take it off? I can’t. But someone else can.”

“Of course.” He pulled the bracelet off and threw it to the other side of the arena. 

She frowned, and Killian thought he’d never seen anything more adorable in his life. “If they hadn’t forced me to wear it, I would’ve made short work of those two before they could get me two steps in here.” 

Killian smiled and gathered her in his arms, placing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “That’s my girl.” After holding her for a moment, relishing the feel of her arms around him and the True Love between them, he released her. “My name is Killian. Killian Jones.”

“My name is Emma. Emma Swan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma Swan.” 

She smiled softly and finally met his gaze. “You as well, Killian Jones.” 

She looked around before meeting his eyes once again. “So what now?” she asked. 

“I have no desire to stay here,” he muttered darkly. “Shall we run?”

Her face broke into a beautiful smile. “Yes, please. I haven’t been able to change for almost a year. Since they took me from my home.”

“I have no home,” he said, a note of melancholy in his words. He looked at his True Love again, his mate, and felt a bone deep contentment that he’d never known. “You’re my home now, Emma.”

“And you’re mine, Killian.” Her smile was full of joy as she got down on all fours before him. “Let’s run.”

He joined her on the ground and transformed. When he came back to himself, he saw a pure white wolf in front of him with eyes of green. She tilted her muzzle to the sky and released a long howl before running for the wall surrounding them. He joined her, his howl mixing with hers in a haunting melody that sent chills down his spine. He followed her over the wall and they ran, ran, and ran away from their past and into their future.

Together.

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading and sharing!!! I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought!!! Please give Kit all the love as well for her gorgeous artwork!!! The Supernatural Summer will continue with more fics and art dropping about every other day through the end of August, and I so hope you enjoy this last round!!!

[cssns]

It’s TIME!!!!

Time for signups for the FINAL YEAR of the CSSNS!!!!

Come one, come all!!! We need beta readers, authors, and artists -we REALLY need artists-!!!

Sorry, no AI generated fics or art will be accepted in the event.

Signups will be open until 11:59 pm Central time, February 29.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to send us an ask, or you can reach out to one of our FABULOUS mods- @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @stahlop @jrob64 and @ultraluckycatnd !!!

Please click on the link below to sign up. If you are interested in participating in more than one area, then please fill out each individual sign up form as there will be info requested specific to each role on the forms.

Artist signup

Author signup

Beta signup

Keep spreading the word, y’all!!! Let’s finish this event with a BANG!!!

[exhaustedpirate]

in your moon-lit eyes

here it is, my first project for the last year of CSSNS and I went for werewolves! and what are werewolf stories without sexy times? a million thanks to my beta @thejollyroger-writer and check out her awesome art to accompany this fic!

Summary: Treading through a forest at night alone is a terrible idea. Doing so during the full moon is even worse. You never know what sort of creatures you may find. Killian Jones finds that out in the worst way… or so he thinks.

Word count: 10350 words  

Rating: Explicit

read on AO3

This was a terrible idea.

He could be at home wrapped around his warm blankets and watching some random movie on Netflix. He should, actually. But, apparently, he thinks it best to traipse through the woods on the coldest night of the year while being turned around by the strong winds.

Killian Jones is going to die in these woods and all because— 

A loud snap of a twig sounds behind him, and he turns for all but a second before rushing his pace as best he can in the ankle-deep snow. If he doesn’t die of the cold, maybe some animal will jump him and kill him. He pulls on the scarf around his neck to cover more of his face.

Great, like this whole thing isn’t scary enough. He hopes they omit his stupidity in his eulogy. If his body is even found. 

That’s not helping.

A warm light acts like a beacon between the trees, did he actually make it or is that the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel? It doesn’t matter at this point, really. Whatever waits for him at the end of the light will surely laugh in his face if they find out he died trying to return a— 

A louder, more forceful, snap echoes behind him and he turns around sharply, a growl louder than the winds. He hears it before he sees it, bursting through the trees. A wolf just as tall as he is approaches him, mouth open with bared teeth, ears turned back and eyes glinting with murderous intent.

He feels his blood drain from his body and his body freeze in fear, unable to blink, to breathe. Pure panic flows through Killian’s veins even as his brain urges him to move. The animal approaches slowly, its black fur contrasting sharply with the white snow. Distantly, over the pounding beat of his heart in his ears, he hears another growl from behind him. Just his luck.

To his surprise, Killian doesn’t become dinner to two hungry wolves. 

The wolf that approached from behind him jumps just as the darker one does, but instead of sinking their teeth on him, they clash in front of him and he stumbles to the cold ground. He can see now that the new wolf has light fur, a darker shade from the surrounding white. 

They are fighting each other. The darker wolf fights in a deranged, desperate way, its eyes landing on Killian’s any chance it had. The lighter one looks more cautious, its movements calculated, practised. His life rests on that wolf’s paws.

Killian moves for the first time when the darker wolf sinks its teeth on the other wolf’s flank, reaching out at his rescuer’s loud whine, despite everything. That distracts his attacker, its eyes so full of hunger, he stops once more. It approaches slowly, its tongue licking the blood off its maw.

No more saviours, Killian Jones. This is it. Liam is waiting.

He closes his eyes, not wanting the last thing he sees to be the inside of a wolf’s mouth. 

But death doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a loud shriek and thumping paws rushing away from where he stands. He opens his eyes slowly, and sees the last thing he expected: the light furred wolf panting heavily, its eyes on Killian with an angry glint overcome by pain and tiredness.

Before he can take a breath, before he can move, the wolf’s eyes roll to the back of its head as it slumps into the ground. Killian is unable to move for moments after, his brain trying to take stock of what happened. In the last minutes he expected death, he found relief, only to repeat the cycle once more. Now, here he is, in an unknown forest with an unconscious wolf in front of him and blood splattered over the white snow. 

He should run away. Wolves are wild animals, prone to violence, and that’s what he had witnessed — wolf on wolf violence. But even if he could ignore the guilt at having been the one to initiate said encounter by his mere presence where he shouldn’t be, he knew this was no regular wolf. 

Nevermind his decade-old interest in the supernatural, Killian knows the difference between wolves and these wolves, having spent just as long studying and practising the care of animals. So he knows, more than anyone else, that the unconscious wolf in front of him wasn’t a mere wolf but a werewolf. And a werewolf who had saved his life.

With a steadying sigh, Killian looks at where the warm light is coming and hopes it belongs someplace warm, someplace safe. He slowly approaches the animal, worried that it might not actually be unconscious despite its clear stillness and slow breathing.

Crouching, he pulls the animal’s heavy paws over his shoulders, its large head lolling onto its left paw. He wraps his arms around its back and pulls experimentally. When the wolf remains unmoving, he continues to pull, slowly making his way towards the light.

He is very happy to be right. It was not a metaphor for death, it is a cabin. The warm light is brighter since the cabin’s door remains open, as if someone exited in a worry. 

“Hello?” He calls with panting breaths from the doorway. “Anyone home?” There is only silence and he sends one more little prayer to whoever has been keeping him safe that he is not entering some psycho killer’s home.

Killian pulls the wolf towards the dwindling fireplace, laying it on the warm rug. He rushes to close the door, shivering at the sharp improvement in temperature inside the cabin. As he takes his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves, he inspects the wolf’s unconscious form. The wound isn’t too deep. Deep enough to hurt, to rip the skin but he’d seen much worse. This will be a walk in the park. Ha!

The cabin consists of a single room: kitchen, living room, dining room and bedroom all in one,  so he assumes the single door at the end of the cabin to be the bathroom. There are no sentimental trinkets, no scattered picture frames of loved ones, no paintings or even a TV — that last one isn’t surprising, they are in the middle of the woods. But there are books, just as good entertainment as a TV, in his opinion.

He quickly throws a few logs to revive the fire to chase away the chill still clinging to him before turning to the animal with a professional eye. He needs some sort of disinfectant. It won’t do to let his saviour die of infection. He looks around to find a small collection of bottles. Grabbing one, he uncorks it, taking a sniff of the delicious rum inside.

He sighs in reluctance to spill such a treasure. But needs must. 

He takes care not to jostle the wolf too much before wrapping its wound with the scarf he still had around his neck. The animal is large, heavy, made even worse by its dead weight, no other bandage would have contained the wound. Once he finishes, he has worked up a sweat and the excitement of the night is taking its toll. He slumps against the couch, wolf head on his lap, keeping a sort of monitoring on its well-being with his hand on the wolf’s neck.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispers tiredly. He lets out a breath, his body slumping in exhaustion, eyes shutting on their own. Before he knows it, Killian is fast asleep.

---

Killian wakes up slowly to a warmth at his feet. The first thing he notices is the pain in his body, especially the way his ass hurts from the hard floor. He opens his eyes, taking stock of his surroundings. He is in a cabin, and he can see the bright sun high in the sky and blue skies through the slanted skylight. 

Right, last night. The cold forest, getting lost, the wolves. He sighs, then shuffles in his seat, trying to bring some relief to his body but as he moves, he hears a deep breath.

The second thing he notices is the way his hand touches bare skin, the weight of a head on his lap. Looking down, he realises why — there is a woman, a naked woman curled on the floor.

Startled, Killian scrambles away, jostling the stranger into wakefulness. He stops, a couple of feet away from her as he watches her raise her head from the floor. He knows her, it’s her.

Of course, any recognition doesn’t stop her from widening her eyes as she takes in his presence and her nakedness, shrieking in shock before she pulls a blanket down to cover herself, moving faster than he ever thought possible.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my home?!”

Killian’s mouth opens and closes, not for the first time at a loss for words in her presence. Her eyes clear as they look at each other, the panic and rough awakening washing away as she rises to her feet. Her sighed “oh” tells him she recognises him, too. 

“M-My apologies,” he stutters and clears his throat at his rough voice. “I-You—”

“You’re the dumbass who almost got himself killed by traipsing around the forest at night!” 

She winces as her arm hits her side and she wavers on her feet. He scrambles to his feet, holding out his hands to keep her standing. But she tightens her fist on the blanket around her and holds out her hand in front of him to stop him.

“You’re hurt,” he explains, keeping his distance while looking between the stained blanket and her eyes. “I cleaned up the wound and bandaged it last night but…well, you were rather bigger then.” His eyes twinkle with mirth while hers widen in surprise.

“How…Why—”

“I couldn’t leave you to die in the forest after you saved me,” he explains with a small smile and a shrug.

“I wouldn’t have had to save you if you hadn’t been so stupid as to walk through this forest alone during a full moon.” Her voice is hard and her eyes deadly, even if her hands still tremble and he can see the pain she tries to hide.

“You’re right, you’re right, I know,” he sighs, this really isn’t the best time to tell her why he was there. “But please, let me help you, it’s the least I can do.” She is quiet, her eyes focused on his face, searching his eyes. His heart is racing and his hands feel damp now. “I’m a veterinarian, I’ve treated millions of animal bites.” His smirk is half-hearted at best.

Her eyebrow rises. “I’ll be healed soon.”

“And in the meantime, you’re prone to infections.” She hums in contemplation. “It won’t take long and I’ll feel better knowing I was able to make it up to you. All I need is a first aid kit.”

She shuffles her feet, and the movement must disturb her wound because she winces and forces the blanket tighter against the wound. “Fine,” she groans.

He follows her eagerly as she opens the only door in the cabin, revealing a small bathroom, like he suspected. “I’m Killian, by the way. Killian Jones.” He curses the breathless tone of his voice.

“Emma Swan.” She says distractedly as she carefully sits on the toilet seat lid. Swan, of course. That explains why the— “The first aid kit is in that cabinet over there.” 

He quickly retrieves the small kit and is glad to find everything he needs. When he turns back to her, he notices that she’s arranged the blanket so it covers her private areas but keeps the wound area visible. The bite mark looks less angry now than it had last night, but the punctures are deep, still dark red — they go up to her stomach and down to her belly button and he is sure they have the same placement on her back. She protected him.

“Are you just going to stand and stare?” Her voice lacks the bite he expected and when he looks up at her face, he sees a pink hue to her cheeks even as her eyes remain exasperated.

“Apologies, love, I was just…analysing the situation,” he stutters. He really needs to get a grip on himself.

“Right.”

Not wanting to make her more uncomfortable, Killian places the open kit on the sink, grabbing the disinfectant and some cotton balls. “This is going to hurt, love,” he says as he holds a cotton ball close to the wound.

She scoffs. “Right.”

He holds his breath as he presses the disinfectant to her skin. Emma gasps, her hand grabbing his wrist and digging her nails in. “Son of a— Fuck!”

“I warned you,” His eyebrows furrow in concentration, feeling no delight in hurting her. “Just take some deep breaths.”

Emma does as he says, and her grip loosens a bit. Killian carries on his work, focusing on tending to her wound, knowing that the faster he gets this finished, the better it will be for her. He makes sure to disinfect every inch of the wound, not wanting to think of how soft her skin looks or how she smells like the rum from the night before and forest and a hint of cinnamon.

“Is it done?” She is panting, her chest rising and falling fast from the pain. 

“Aye,” He clears his throat and grabs the gauze from the kit. “I just, hmm, need to wrap this around the wound.” He explains looking between the wound and the blanket she holds against her naked skin.

Emma follows his gaze. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Swan, I-”

“It’s fine,” She waves her hand with a forced relaxed movement, even if she doesn’t look at him. “It’s not like you haven’t seen boobs before.”

“Well, I don’t usually expect to see a woman’s breasts after only meeting her for less than an hour,” he tries to tease, trying to keep his voice light, hoping she doesn’t notice how his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest.

Her chuckle is quiet. “Right, well…” Her hands loosen their hold on the blanket. “Here’s to another first.” The blanket falls to her lap, keeping her covered below the waist. 

Killian knows he needs to remain professional, not act like some sort of pervert. Even if they are the most perfect breasts he has ever seen. He spares her chest only a quick glance before unfurling the roll of gauze. “Can you-” He clears his throat. “Can you hold the leading edge of the gauze, love?”

Her eyes meet his and he swears they look darker than they had before. “Sure,” she breathes out.

With her pointer finger carefully in place, he unrolls the gauze around her back, making sure to cover the wound. His chest presses against hers and he hears her sharp intake of breath. As he brings the gauze to her front, Killian can’t help but notice how her nipples have gotten harder. His tongue runs along his lower lip and he hears her breath grow shallower. 

“You can let go,” he whispers. It takes her a moment to do as instructed and he wonders if she is as affected by their proximity as he is. 

Killian wraps the gauze around her body, choosing to focus on the soft feel of the bandage rather than on the way her breath shifts or how his jeans get tighter by the second. With every inch of the wound covered, he tucks the gauze behind her back, unable to keep from feeling the softness of her skin and smelling the citrus scent of her hair and hearing her harsh breathing.

“All done,” he breathes, backing away from her as fast as he allows himself to go. 

Their eyes meet and the green in hers is all but swallowed by her black pupils, her lips are parted in fast breaths and her chest rises and falls quickly. She looks like a predator looking at her prey, and Killian should be scared, should run from the cabin, but he finds himself entranced by her gaze.

“Emma—”

The sound of his voice shatters the moment and Emma’s eyes return to normal, her shoulders tensing. He steps away, acknowledging her tension to his unwanted proximity. Killian puts away the kit, giving her a break from his gaze and when he turns back he sees the blanket back over her shoulders.

“Do you, hmm…” He scratches the back of his neck, unsure where to look. “Do you need me to bring you some clothes?”

“Oh, hmm, no, I got it.” 

Emma stands up, far too fast, and he notices her swaying before she does, his hands grabbing onto her arms for support. “You should eat something,” he whispers, her green eyes capturing his gaze. “So you can get your strength back.”

She pulls back from him and he clenches his fists, stopping himself from holding her again. “I know what I’m doing.” Emma walks determinedly but carefully out of the bathroom. “You know,” she says from the closet area. “I appreciate your help and all but you should go, there’s not going to be any wolves outside during the day.”

“Right, right,” Killian runs his hand through his hair and exits the bathroom, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Hmm, thank you for saving me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Killian nods once, grabbing his jacket — he would like to say that he tried but there had never even been a chance — and walks to the front door. The doorknob is cold but after being so close to Emma’s warmth, anything would be. There is resistance when he tries to open the door. When it does, he finds out why: a mountain of snow covers almost the entire height of the door, blocking their way out.

He closes the door in silent surprise and turns his back to it. Emma looks up, and there is relief in her face before she finds him still inside her home. Her face scrunches in confusion and surprise, her shoulders tense. “What — What are you still doing here?”

“Well, uh—”

“You’re supposed to leave!”

“Actually, it—”

She is fairly steady on her feet as she walks towards the door. “Leave.” Emma turns the doorknob and gasps when snow hits her still bare feet. 

“I was trying to tell you,” Killian says as she looks at the blockage. “It appears I’m stuck here.”

Emma groans and slams the door shut, forcing it against the snow that wanted to come in. “I can’t believe this!”

“I’m sorry, Emma but I don’t control the weather!”

She turns sharply towards him, the intensity of her gaze making his heartbeat quicken and he watches as her eyes grow dark with hunger and her breathing turns raspier. Maybe taking shelter with a werewolf, even one that saved his life, hadn’t been the best idea. Add it to the long list of them, in the last 24 hours alone.

“It’s fine,” She finally says with a rough voice, breaking their eye contact and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just… Just stay out of my way.”

“I’ll prepare us some food, it’s the least I can do.”

“Fine, fine, just—”

“Stay out of your way.” His smile is thin as she looks up at him.

“Exactly.” She looks like she’s shaking herself out of the thoughts going through her brain before she crosses the room to the dresser.

So his morning is not going as he expected. Not that he had had much of a plan apart from where to find her cabin. He had been looking for her, and considered it lucky that she had found him before he could die of hypothermia in the forest, but the circumstances were undeniably more complicated than he could have planned.

Killian focuses on… lunch, he guesses, as they must have slept later than he thought. Like he said, the least he could do. He finds the coffee machine, thanking every deity that at least she has power, and sets it to brew. He finds eggs and bread and turns on the gas stove to scramble the eggs while his mind wanders. Wanders into fanciful notions of fate.

With the plates in hand, he starts to turn. “Lunch is—” Emma is right in front of him when he faces the table, dark eyes focused on his neck. “Ready.” 

She looks sharply up at him and appears to shake herself out of some thought or other. “Good,” She takes the plate from his hand, making her way to the small table at the corner. “I was starving.”

Killian sighs and follows her to the table before coming back for the coffee mugs. They sit in silence with only the sounds of them eating and drinking. He feels it dig into the skin of his thigh and he wonders if he should just rip off the bandage as it were, just tell her why he came to find her. Maybe she’ll even find it funny that he almost became a wolf’s meal just to—

“You weren’t surprised.” 

Her voice startles him out of his thoughts and he looks up at her furrowed brow. “Pardon?”

“You weren’t expecting to wake up next to me, specifically, but you weren’t surprised about the werewolf thing.”

“Ah,” He looks away, scratching behind his ear. “I did say I’m a veterinarian.”

Her unimpressed stare would make him laugh if this was a laughing matter. “Right, I’m sure veterinary school has a major in werewolf.”

“It was an extracurricular, actually,” He lets out a breathy laugh and even her expression softens with the sudden joke. “I wanted to know everything I could about werewolves so I, hmm, so I wouldn’t be caught unprepared again.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “For all the good that did me.”

He looks up to find her looking at him, an understanding glint to her eyes. “Yeah, I think I should give you some slack for being an idiot and traipsing around the forest during a full moon.” He shares a small smile with her. “This wasn’t your first encounter with werewolves then?”

“No,” he breathes out, blinking against the memory, before grabbing their empty plates and mugs and taking them to the sink. “I was young the first time I saw one, I didn’t know what they were until I saw what normal wolves looked like.” He chuckles wryly, starting to wash the dishes, very aware of her eyes on him. “My brother Liam loved nature, we would go camping, on hikes, we helped on farms. Because of him, I could identify more than a dozen types of insects before I was in high school.” He smiles wistfully and hears her hum, clearly noting the impending unhappy turn of his story. 

Despite Liam’s actual love for nature, there had been a need for them to spend time away from home — they would camp out in nature when his father went out to drink so they wouldn’t be his targets when he came back, their hikes were well-timed for when their father hosted his weekly poker games with his horrible friends, and the farmers were generous to pay them for their helping hands, money that they hid from their father. He didn’t find out about any of that until their father died and Liam took custody of him.

“We were camping on a new spot, we’d settled down for the night, made a fire and Liam was telling these stories from his job when we heard growling. Liam sent me inside the tent so I could warn the forest rangers,” Killian takes a deep breath, turning off the tap. “They told me to stay put, that they were on their way, told us not to run, not to turn our backs.” He grabs a cloth and focuses on drying the dishes. “But they kept approaching and Liam kept trying to reassure me, it was all so loud.”

His hands stilled as he dried a plate. He could still see their glowing eyes, dark bodies, could hear his own cries, Liam’s reassuring voice, and the growls. It was all so loud.

“Liam grabbed a log from the fire, waved it in front of him to scare them, it should have worked,” Killian whispers, his eyes far away. “But there were so many of them and they surrounded him. There were so many of them,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “They jumped him, Liam screamed, I screamed, and then the rangers showed up.”

It got louder after that. Jeeps running, voices shouting, Liam’s continued screaming. 

“He was barely alive when they took him away,” Killian continues with a heavy breath, putting down the last plate and leaning against the counter. He keeps his eyes on the ground. “He died in the hospital and I didn’t say goodbye.”

“Killian—”

“The doctors didn’t tell me anything, they told everything to the social worker,” he continued. “He had to tell me that my brother had lost too much blood and that his lungs had been punctured too badly and then I couldn’t even go home because Liam was dead and I was still a minor.”

“That’s horrible.”

“And I kept wondering, you know? Why would wolves attack someone like that? Years later, I realised they weren’t wolves at all and I started obsessing over the existence of werewolves because I didn’t want to end up in that position again, and then I did, and I was still that scared lad inside the tent and—”

“Killian.” 

Her hands are on his shoulders and her eyes on his, stopping the words in his throat. He now feels the tears on his cheeks, didn’t even realise he was crying. He didn’t think he had any tears left to cry after that day, almost 15 years ago. But they were still there and he was crying in front of her. Her.

Killian looks down, shame filling his chest. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you this. Especially you.”

“Especially me?”

He sniffs, wiping away his tears. “Aye, I mean you’re a werewolf and we just met.”

“And yet, you have already seen my boobs.” He lets out a surprised laugh, looking up to see her soft eyes and kind smile. Wow. Her brow furrows and her eyes grow worried. “Are you scared of me?”

“I— I—” He wants to say no, that he could never be. But he wants to be honest. “I was.” He takes a gentle hold on her wrists, keeping the comforting weight of her hands on his shoulders, thumb slowly rubbing her skin. “I thought I was going to die in that forest either by that other wolf or by both of you but then, well, you saved me.”

Her cheeks flushed red and she slowly pulled away from his touch, arms crossed over her chest. “His name is Henry,” At Killian’s frown, she clarified. “The wolf who attacked you. He’s young, recently turned, this is his second full moon. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I assumed,” He shrugs and she looks up at him, surprised. “I read a lot about how full moons affect werewolves.”

“And yet—”

“We’ve established that I was stupid, already, Swan.”

She snorts a laugh and it makes him smile. “I found him during his first transformation and we talked, I tried to help. But this time you were there and so he lashed out.”

“I’m sorry—”

She waves away his apology. “It’s like I said, I’ll heal soon.” She shrugs.

“You weren’t affected,” he says after a minute. “You didn’t attack me.” 

She shrugs with a deep breath. “I’ve had a lot of time to control this, and with time, Henry will learn too.” 

“How long have you been like this?”

“If we’re getting into my origin story, I need to sit down. This still stings.” She waves towards her side before gesturing for him to join her on the couch.

They sit on opposite ends, even as he turns towards her. She sighs, and he watches as she closes her eyes to focus. “I was 16. I was living in the streets of Boston and I met this guy, Neal. He was older and I thought he was so cool,” She shakes her head in shame and he places his hand on top of hers on the couch cushions. She takes a deep breath, keeping her eyes on their hands. “We were together for a while, crashed at empty motel rooms, and it all looked so exciting back then. One day, he tells me he has to leave. He has to leave because someone bad is looking for him. He tells me he stole something from them and they have been trying to find him.”

Her breathing gets quicker and he holds her hand. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupts, her hand tightening its grip on his. “Neal tells me he wants to give it back but he’s afraid and so I volunteered to do the drop for him. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought I was in love and that if I did this then we’d be able to be together and have a future.” She scoffs. “He tricked me, he sent me to the middle of a literal wolf’s den and they were furious when they found that the bag was empty.”

Her hand grips his painfully hard but he says nothing, simply listening.

“I must have blacked out. I woke up alone in an alley and my body felt different. Everything was so loud and hot and overwhelming. My first transformation was so painful and I was alone, I didn’t know what to do. I ran. I ran until I found myself here in Storybrooke.” Emma takes a deep breath, her grip loosening on his hand and he rubs her skin with his thumb. She pulls her hand away from his grip and he forces himself to let her go. “Granny found me and helped me. I got this cabin after the sheriff died and I work at her diner.”

“Why here?”

“Graham was a friend, he cared for me and I cared for him. He left me this place in his will and I needed a place to deal with the full moons. Granny helped me but I needed reassurance, I didn’t want to put anyone in danger.” 

“And now?” 

“I like this place,” she smiles softly as she looks around the living room.

“What about Ruby?” Emma turns to him with a frown. “I work with her. Veterinary, remember?” She rolls her eyes and he smiles. “I asked her about you but she didn’t say anything.”

“You asked her about me?” She smirks but there is a red tint to her cheeks.

“Well, aye,” he scratches the back of his ear with a matching blush. “I would see you around town and — just — does she know?” He stutters to try and change the subject.

“She does,” she nods, her smirk softening. “She’s my best friend and a big help.”

Her tone hid something. “Is she—?”

“Yup. She was born like that so yeah, big help.” She chuckles.

Killian sits back with a sharp exhale, hand in his hair. “Wow, I never thought I’d find myself in a town with so many of you.” He pauses and turns to Emma, watching as she hides her frown. “I mean, I came here for a fresh start. I went through a rough break-up and just wanted to drive until I found my place. My car broke down by the town sign and while I waited at Granny’s, I heard Ruby talk about the problems her clinic was going through. I wanted to help and I ended up staying. That was almost two months ago.”

“She talks very highly of you.” 

“Oh, well, the feeling is mutual,” He blushes and sees a spark of something in her eyes even as she tries to hide it with a smile. “She is a good friend and an even better partner. I just never thought she was a werewolf too.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I — I mean,” he stutters and lets out a groan at his inability to express his thoughts. “I thought it would be a problem. For more than a decade, I’ve feared and hated werewolves for what they did to my brother, that I forgot to consider that there were people behind the animal. I admire Ruby and care so much for her that I can’t think about being afraid of her.”

“And me?” He turns to see her watching him intensely and he is unable to look away.

“You saved me,” he breathes out. “In a short moment, you turned my world upside down. You made me reevaluate all that I thought I knew. It’s not a problem, Emma.”

Her eyes stare into his in silence, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Her hair is like gold under the late morning sun and her skin looks so soft. He can’t stop himself from running a finger down her forearm, feeling its warmth. Her breathing hitches and her eyes widen.

He wants to kiss her. The thought barrels into his mind so fast that he feels his own breath get stuck in his throat. He knew how beautiful she was, remembers thinking it during the second they had looked at each other, but that was nothing compared to the desire filling him now.

“I don’t know if you remember,” he speaks quietly, not wanting to shatter the moment. “But we’ve seen each other before.” She hums and his lips tick up in a small smile. “We, um, ran into each other a couple of days ago in the supermarket?”

“I — I remember.” 

He swallows against the lump in his throat. Rip the bandage.

“I asked Granny about you and she told me where you live.” Emma frowns. “You dropped this.” From his pocket, he takes out a small silver pendant, a swan carved on it. “I found it on the floor after you ran away.”

“Oh.” She takes the pendant from his hand, her fingers touching his.

“I, uh, I came here to give you that.”

“You went into the forest, at night, through a full moon, just to give me this?” Emma asks with an even tone, her shining eyes gazing into his.

Killian takes a deep breath. “Aye.”

“You’re such an idiot.” She breathes out, and before he can defend himself again, her lips are on his and there are other more important things he could be doing with his mouth.

Her mouth is hard against his, her hands strong on his shoulders and her tongue demanding entrance. He places his hands on her neck and waist, urges her to slow down, needs her to slow down. He has spent so much time dreaming of kissing her that he can’t have their first kiss be an impulsive mess. She lets out a breath and allows him to kiss her calmly, softly. Her hands dig into his hair and he moans against her lips. Her kisses stray to his cheek, to his jawline, small nibbles making him breathe heavier, his hand clenching on her waist. 

Her lips are soft when they get to his neck, focusing on his pulse, her tongue licking and tasting. His breathing is harsh, pleasure coursing through his veins to pool at his crotch. Her teeth sink into his skin and he gasps. She quickly pulls away, wide eyes on his neck and whatever she sees there and his face. 

“Emma—” He brings his hand up to touch her face but he barely feels the softness of her skin when she pulls away to stand. 

“No. No.” She shakes her head and he is still as he watches her run to the bathroom and lock the door behind her.

“Emma?” He follows her, calling her name from the other side of the door. “Emma, is everything okay?”

“No, no,” She answers and he can tell she is pacing on the other side. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He ignores the stab to his heart and clears his throat. “I mean, I was a willing participant.” He tries to joke but all he hears is a groan from inside. “Emma, please, open the door, let’s talk about this.”

“No, there’s nothing to talk about, it was a mistake.” Her voice is panicked and he pushes down his emotions. 

“Fine, we’ll forget about it,” he forces himself to say. “We’ll call it an act of gratitude, I returned something precious to you and you saved my life. What do you say?” There is silence from the other side. “We’re stuck in this small cabin together, Emma, don’t hide away in there.”

The silence continues for a moment longer and he holds his breath. The lock unlatches and he takes a couple of steps back. The door opens to a much calmer Emma but with a guarded expression. “Neal gave me that pendant,” she says and her voice is quiet. “I felt so special. After he abandoned me, I saw it as a reminder not to trust again.”

He presses his lips together, his hands eager to reach, to comfort, to beat this Neal to a pulp. “I’m sorry, love, I almost wish I had lost it in the snow.”

Her chuckle is weak but it’s real. She takes a deep breath. “Do you like to read?”

The question takes him by surprise and her smile widens. “Hmm, aye, I do.”

“Good,” She walks past him to the living room, stopping at the bookcase. “As you can see, there’s no TV so—”

“I am good with books,” He grins at her and surveys her collection. “The Princess Bride? I haven’t read this in years.” He takes the book off the shelf, noting its overused state, and turns to watch her looking at him with curiosity.

“It’s my favourite, actually.”

“Fan of dashing pirates?” He raises his eyebrow before sauntering to the couch, sprawling on one side. 

“Actually, yeah,” she smirks as she grabs a different book, an adventure book, he notices, and imitates his movements to settle at the other side. “Are you a fan of princesses?”

“I did dress up as Buttercup my last year in college,” he answers, focusing on opening the book. “I even found a few Westley’s to complete the ensemble.” He turns to her with a wink.

Her mouth is parted for a few seconds before it stretches into a smile. “Oh, I would have paid to see that!”

“I cut quite the figure in that dress.”

She lets out a delighted laugh that he can’t help but match. Emma leans back on the couch as her laughter dies down, watching him with interest. “You are definitely not what I thought you would be.”

“I could say the same about you.” He smiles back at her.

Her eyes are so green that even the lowering sun can’t keep them from shining. His lips still tingle from her kiss, his hands still ache for the touch of her skin and yet, he is unable to have her once more. He wants to feel her touch, her kiss. But he’ll follow her lead, he wants her to be able to trust him — he doesn’t want to take, he wants it to be given.

“We should, hmm,” Emma presses her lips together in a small smile and raises her book as a way to finish the sentence.

Killian nods, understanding the need for a reprieve. “Aye.”

They turn to their books as one, letting silence fill the small, warm cabin. He wishes he had picked up an unfamiliar book, something he’d never read before. He knew the story of Buttercup and Westley like the back of his hand, had read it as many times as his second-hand book had allowed. And while it was still easy to get absorbed in their universe of adventure and romance, he was still very aware of Emma’s presence, her breathing, her warmth. It’s not uncomfortable but he feels the tension in every hair on his body.

Night falls in the quiet and the full moon’s light joins the artificial light in the cabin. Emma inhales sharply and he turns to her for the first time in hours to watch as she looks up at the skylight. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, dragging her eyes from the large face of the moon. “It always catches me by surprise the way it calls to me.”

He joins her with his neck stretched on the back of the couch to watch the moon for a minute. When he turns, he finds her watching him. “Is there anything you need?”

Emma shakes her head, in more than just an answer. “No, it’s been a while since I’ve been a slave to it,” she clarifies with a small smile. “It just makes everything so much clearer and intense.” She takes a deep breath. “Are you hungry?”

He snorts in surprise. “Aye, actually.”

“Great,” she grins. “Make us something good.” She winks at him before making herself more comfortable on the couch.

“Right,” he laughs. “I have to earn my keep, don’t I?”

“Exactly.” Her smile makes his heart flutter in his chest, the brightness and beauty of it stealing his breath away. “Just a hint, I’m a big fan of grilled cheese.”

He stands up, dropping the book on his empty seat and grins. “That sounds less like a hint and more like a menu.”

“Get to it then, chef.” 

His laughter follows him into the kitchen. 

“You know, while I cook,” Killian calls from the kitchen. “You should probably check on your injury. You said you heal fast, right?”

“A chef and a doctor, maybe I should keep you around.” She grins before heading to the bathroom.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He mumbles under his breath.

Killian tries to stop himself from imagining what a life with Emma would be in this cabin, how they would spend their evenings. The smell of cheese fills the whole cabin and with it, the sound of a hungry werewolf’s feet padding to his side. 

“Something smells delicious.” He tries to keep himself from reacting to her voice so close to him. 

“Grilled cheese, just like milady ordered.” She grins up at him before taking the plate from his hands. “How did the wound look?”

“It’s scarring,” She lifts her shirt only enough to show him the barely-there bite and he nods. “Is it approved, Doctor Jones?”

He laughs delightedly at the sound of it from her lips before joining her at the table. “Aye.” 

Though the food is good, the company is better. She tells him about the book she was reading, an adventure in Egypt with a very clever librarian and a brave if arrogant adventurer. They return to their books after tidying up the kitchen. Buttercup is about to attempt to stab herself in the chest when a yawn startles him. It has been a long day.

“Maybe it’s time to sleep,” Emma suggests, closing the book. She bites her lip as she looks around the cabin, her eyes landing on the bed.

As much as he would love to share one, they had agreed to put that kiss behind them. “I’ll take the couch,” he says, dropping his book on the coffee table. 

“Oh.” He wonders if he truly hears disappointment in her voice or if it’s just wishful thinking. “Right, that’s great. I’ll bring you some blankets.”

Emma moves faster than he could, rummaging around a wooden chest. The couch is comfortable and wide enough to fit his long body, but he can’t help but wish he could share the slim bed with Emma, to feel her body close to his. Then again, that would also be a dangerous and torturous situation.

He removes his sweater and jeans, folding them neatly on top of the table. Blankets land on the couch and he turns to see Emma standing far closer to him than he expected. Her eyes are wide and her pupils almost black and he wishes he could read her mind. 

“I—”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Goodnight.” She blurts out before wrapping herself in her bed, the only thing visible is the top of her blonde head.

“Goodnight.”

Killian takes his time getting comfortable on the couch, forcing himself not to search for her silhouette in the dark. He forces his eyes closed, forces his body to relax, to find sleep so that he might forget his desires. He isn’t cold under the blankets, but there is a lack of warmth that he recognises as the one he felt from her skin. He forces himself to sleep and begs for relief.

---

This was a terrible idea.

Her skin is filled with prickles, a need to move, to run, to touch, to be touched. Her nose is buried in her pillow, hoping her own scent will distract her from the intoxicating scent of his sleeping body. His scent is delicious torture, she knows it well, not only from the day they’ve spent in each other’s company but from all the times they’d pass each other in town.

Her breathing is ragged and she feels as if she can’t take a proper breath. She clenches her hands against the sheets, hoping that it will stop her from succumbing to her nature. She wants to feel his skin against hers again, to feel his pulse against her lips. It has been hours of torture in her bed and she forces herself to endure a few more.

It doesn’t work.

She is standing next to his sleeping body before she has taken her next breath. He is on his back, one arm behind his head and the other over his stomach and his legs are crossed. The blanket that she gave him is at his waist and she can feel how warm his body is even from a distance. His lips are parted and his breathing is even and quiet. His heartbeat is calm and she can hear his blood in his veins. 

Her nose is a whisper away from the bulging vein in his neck. Just as she remembered, like the sweetest fruit, like the most powerful poison. She feels his warm breath on her fingertips, sees his eyes move underneath his eyelids and she wishes to know what he is dreaming of. She feels the soft skin of his lips on her forefinger. She wants to feel that softness on her own lips again. She wants to take, to claim him. She wants— She needs—

Emma swallows his surprised breath with her lips, with her kiss, their mouths moulded perfectly to one another once more. She forces herself to pull away, even as her hand clenches in the fabric of his t-shirt. His eyes are wide and she is sure hers are much the same. 

“Emma…”

Her name is a whisper from his lips, the most bewitching of enchantments and the most beautiful of songs. Like before, he isn’t stopping her, isn’t refusing her kiss, her touch, and she hears his heart beating fast and loud against his chest. His breathing is ragged and his warmth has risen several degrees. She wants him. She needs him.

Their lips lock in a passionate kiss, his warm hand burning the skin of her neck. She pulls her leg up to straddle him, wanting to be closer and closer. His other hand lands on her waist and she feels the stirring of his arousal beneath her, making her moan against his lips.

Killian pulls away, his thumb on her lips but she is far too gone to stop now, kissing his finger, the palm of his hand, the thumping pulse on his wrist, her tongue licking, tasting. Words pause at his throat, chest filling with a sharp inhale.

“Emma.” His voice forces itself firmly under all the passion that is surely matching hers. “I thought—”

“I know,” she interrupts, her nails running down his chest. She knows — knows that she was the one who stopped their kiss before, knows that she’s the one who ran. She was scared of her desires, scared that he would be afraid of her nature, but she feels the urge of the moon. Feels it urging her to take him, to claim him. “But I need you.” Her teeth nip against his bottom lip, her hands finding their way inside his shirt, and she swallows his moan with a kiss. “Please?”

He looks at her, searching, and she feels her skin crawl with need. His breathing is rapid, his heartbeat under her palm and echoing in her ears, she grinds her hips down against his, involuntarily. He nods, a frantic motion as his hands grip her hips, whether to stop her or to quicken her movements, she isn’t sure he knows which either.

“As you wish.”

His hand grabs her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. His mouth takes control, and she is glad for it — she feels overwhelmed by his taste, his scent, his other hand grabbing her ass and urging her to move against his growing erection. It’s too much and not enough.

His teeth nip her bottom lip as her thumbs find his nipples. She feels his chest hair on her palms and is eager to feel it against her breasts. His hand runs up her bare back and she is glad to have removed her bra before jumping him. His breath stutters as he finds nothing stopping him from feeling her skin and his hand moves back down only to run up her side, shivers making her buck in his lap. His thumb finds the underside of her breast and he inhales sharply. She pulls her lips away from his but keeps eye contact. She sighs as his hand cups her breast, his rough palm on her nipple making her moan. 

“Fuck,” he moans, his thumb flicking her nipple. It’s too much. It’s not enough. She removes her hands from under his shirt to pull her own off her body. “Fuck.” He repeats before he pulls her down to run his lips down her chest. 

His mouth finds her nipple and she digs her fingers in his hair, keeping his talented mouth right where she needs it. His hand stimulates her lonesome breast while his other hand finds its way inside her shorts and underwear. She stutters out a moan when she feels his fingers on her clit. 

“Killian,” she moans and is surprised when he raises himself into a sitting position, his mouth more firm against her breast. “Killian.”

“Say it again,” he demands as he sucks on her nipple and his fingers slide into her wet folds. “Please, say it again.”

“Killian,” she moans, tugging on his hair to bring his face up to hers. His eyes are blown-black and his breathing is heavy. “Killian.” She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Killian,” She moans as she tugs on his bottom lip when she feels his thumb circling her clit. “Killian.”

“Emma,” he moans and she can see why he wanted her to say his name again. “Emma,” It’s like a shock to her system, like a warm blanket on a cold night, like a kiss, like a bite. “Emma.” 

“Fuck,” She groans and pulls his shirt off, needing him naked, needing to see him, needing to feel him. “I need you.”

“I need you too.”

With his hands on her ass, he raises her up on her knees. He tosses the blanket to the floor before pulling off his underwear. After, he pulls her to lay on top of him and she feels his erection against the fabric of her shorts and the tingling of his chest hair on her nipples. His mouth crashes against hers and she is overwhelmed with sensations but needs more, needs it all. His hand pulls down her shorts and she takes them off the rest of the way. His body is warm when she lays back against him and she lets out a satisfied sigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against her lips, his hand running up her bare leg while his other lays on her neck. “You’re brilliant.” His fingers skim the roundness of her ass before moving down. “You’re intoxicating.” His fingers find her wetness and she gasps.

“Please, please, please,” she mumbles as her hips grind against his fingers.

He takes her in a passionate kiss just as his fingers slide inside her. Her moan is lost in his mouth and she digs her nails in his arms. She moves her hips in time with his hand, urging him to take her faster and she gasps when he does. She wonders if this is only a very realistic fantasy, if it’s possible for someone to make her feel this way so easily. She can’t wait anymore. 

She pulls away from him, his fingers slipping from her to land on her butt cheek. His eyes are hazy with lust and hers are much the same. She sits on his lap and feels the thickness of his cock against her, teasing her, calling her to her. He inhales sharply and holds his breath, watching the stars shining up in the sky behind her, the glow of the moon illuminating her bare back, waiting for her next move.

“I need you,” she repeats and grinds against him, covering his length with her essence. He nods, his jaw tight and his hand clenching on her ass. 

Splaying one hand on his chest for balance, she takes hold of his cock, lining it up to her awaiting cunt. With locked eyes, Emma raises herself up and allows it to enter her. He is thick, hard and warm, and she takes it all in one slow drag. They both breathe out as one, embracing how full she feels, how right she feels around him. How perfect it is to be joined.

His hands run up her thighs, settling at her hips. She closes her eyes at the softness, the warmth of his touch. “Emma,” he calls quietly, his hands urging her hips to move, and she finds him watching her. “You feel amazing.”

She moves slowly, unrushed. She lets her body adjust to this amazing intrusion as she studies him, the effects of pleasure in his face, his furrowed brow, his parted lips, his tightening grip. Her fingers clench over his chest at every wave of pleasure this languid motion brings. Their eyes lock as she moves and she feels it like a caress over her body. His hands drag slowly up her torso and her back arches in expectation of his touch. She gasps as he palms one breast while thumbing the other’s nipple. 

“More,” she moans, bucking up and down faster on his lap. “More.”

Emma whimpers as he directs one hand away from her breast but grins when she feels his thumb on her clit. “That’s it, love,” he urges her, his voice tight with restraint. “I want to see you.”

Her nails dig on his chest when his feet find purchase on the couch cushions to thrust up against her. His gasp turns into a moan at the pain mixed with pleasure and dimly she wonders how far she could take it without breaking him. His thumb presses down on her clit and she throws her head back, her orgasm catching her by surprise, a loud moan spilling from her lips.

He slows down his ministrations, allowing her to ride out her climax, her body buzzing in need of more. She lets out a breath and locks eyes with him once more, a silent demand in her green eyes. Killian sits up, changing the angle of his still hard cock inside her and making them both inhale sharply. Her arms wrap around his neck, his soft hair between her fingers.

“You want more?” Emma nods, their noses bumping with one another at the movement, and she thrills at the smirk on his lips. Is this what prey feel under her stare? “I’ll give you more.”

He crashes his mouth on hers, a hard, burning, desperate kiss. His hands run up her back, and she arches against his chest, moaning against his lips at the feel of his chest hair against her hard nipples. He manoeuvres them so that she’s on her back on the couch, his hot, heavy body on top of hers making her feel safe, cared for, in a way she’d never felt before.

The new position sends him deeper inside her, shivers running down her body. He chances a slow thrust of his hips. “Give me more,” she moans, sighing when he complies. “Give me everything.” Her nails dig into his back as he starts a steady pace. “Everything.”

Killian groans as he speeds up, setting a faster, deeper pace, their foreheads pressed against each other. The breath is stolen from her lungs every time he hits that spot inside her, the spot that demands that she take him, that she keep him, that she claim him. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him ever closer and she feels his laboured breathing on her face.

“I want you,” she whispers, nails dragging deep in his skin and she thrills at his moan. “I need you.” She kisses his cheek, his jawline, his neck, inhaling the smell of his blood, his essence. “Can I take you? Can I keep you?”

His hips falter in their rhythm as he pulls back to look into her eyes. She lets him see, opening herself up to him in more ways than the obvious one. His eyes are wide but even that couldn’t hide his desire, and he nods.

Her grin is barely stretched over her lips before they part in a gasping moan when he resumes his thrusts, pushing in deeper than before. She kisses his neck, licking the sensitive spot below his ear, following his vein. She kisses and sucks on his skin, he groans against her skin and his hand tightens on her skin before she bites down until she tastes his blood on her tongue.

“Fuck!”

She feels him spill inside her, a string of curses groaned against her skin. His orgasm triggers her — his talented ministrations joined with the taste of his delicious essence. An all-encompassing climax that makes time stand still, makes her feel like she’s flying. She pulls away from his skin, the mark of her bite on his neck filling her up with pride and satisfaction.

“Emma,” he breathes out, before groaning at the feel of her tongue cleaning up his wound. The renewed taste of his blood makes her moan and clench around him. “Emma,” he whispers.

She pulls back to look into his eyes, the starry night behind him making him look almost ethereal. He moves them to their sides, legs tangled. “I’ve been wanting to taste you for a while,” She confesses and tries to hide her blush at his tired smirk and raised eyebrow. “You smell good,” She shrugs, her fingers following the veins of his arms. “I was trying to keep in control, I didn’t want to scare you or take you against your wishes. But I’ve wanted to…”

His smile becomes more genuine and she lays her hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling his steady heartbeat. “I’ve wanted you for a while too,” he confesses, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Since I first saw you, I wanted to talk to you, to kiss you, to be with you. When I saw that pendant on the floor, I made it my chance.”

She looks down at where her hand is threading through his chest hair. “Bet you weren’t expecting all of this…” She lets sarcasm hide her worry.

“No, I wasn’t.” He tucks a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze up to his. She finds him still smiling, his eyes open and trusting. “But I’m not complaining. This was perhaps the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“Yeah,” she breathes out, arms wrapping around him. “I’m not complaining either.” 

“Well, you complained a lot earlier.” He raises his eyebrow at her, a smile taking the accusation out of his remark.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s because I could barely control myself at a distance, much less in such close quarters.”

She expected arrogance, or pride, but he just looks worried. “Am I allowed to hope that this won’t be a one-time thing?”

She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Is your stamina that bad? I could go for anot—” She is interrupted when Killian pushes her against her back once more, his half-hard cock pressing against her.

“Oh, I haven’t had my fill of you, you minx.” He grins, grinding against her clit to make a point and thrilling when she lets out an involuntary moan. “But I meant,” he licks his lips and looks at her with sincerity. “After today? When we’re no longer snowed in?”

Emma wraps her arms over his shoulders, her fingers tracing the marks she left on his back. She tries to find that feeling in her gut that warns her, tries to find reasons not to accept what he’s proposing. But she can’t. There is one thing she knows for certain: she can trust Killian Jones.

“When we’re no longer snowed in,” she starts slowly, feeling the tension that accumulated in his body. “I know a great restaurant for our first date.”

His smile is bright enough to put the sun to shame and she knows she made the right decision when he kisses her like he never wants to do anything else. Because neither does she.

[jrob64]

Ghosted

Chapter 4 - Attacks

It appears I lied about this story being 4 chapters long, because the muse has spoken and now I have to write an epilogue too. So, I hope you enjoy this next-to-last chapter. And a reminder - don't read this just before going to sleep.

Many huge thanks to my beta @hookedmom and my artists @kmomof4 and @motherkatereloyshipper. You ladies are the best!

If you haven't checked out the great art and stories for this final @cssns event, you are missing out on greatness! They are all spectacular!

STORY SUMMARY: When Emma Swan’s ex-boyfriend dies, she’s haunted by his ghost. Her neighbor, Killian Jones, a ghost hunter who has a YouTube channel, realizes what’s happening and offers to help. However, there’s more at stake than simply helping the apparition move on. There’s also the matter of Killian telling Emma he’s in love with her. 

Rating: M (for intense scenes, language, and possible smut in the epilogue)

Words (Ch. 4): 9055

Previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he said next would inevitably change their relationship. He simply didn’t know if it would be for better or worse. Shifting on the couch so he could fully face her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

Her mouth dropped open and her brows shot up over wide eyes. Without taking her gaze from him, she slowly reached over to place the box of Cheez-its on the coffee table. She missed and the box fell, spilling crackers on the floor, but neither of them cared.

“Me?” she asked, her voice sounding as stunned as she looked. “You want to ask me out?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“But I…I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

“Is that all you want us to be?” he asked, beginning to feel a faint glimmer of hope.

“It was at first, when I was getting to know you, and obviously while I was dating Neal, but then…” Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as she pulled her feet out of his lap, placing them on the floor and sliding closer to him on the couch.

“Then…what, Emma?” he asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but one day, Neal followed me home from work and was hanging around outside my door. He kept calling to me, trying to persuade me to let him in. I was just getting ready to open the door to yell at him, when I heard you talking to him.”

She paused. “What did I say?” Killian encouraged.

“You told him that if he really cared about me, he would respect my wishes to be left alone.”

“I do remember that. He told me to fuck off and mind my own business.”

“But you didn’t, and it’s what you said next that made me…begin to think of you as something other than a friend.”

His eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I don’t recall what I said, Love.”

“You said that…that a woman like me is a precious gift who should be told how wonderful she is every day, who shouldn’t be stalked and treated like a piece of property. Neal said something stupid about how you would never have a chance with a woman like me, and you said…”

“If I was ever lucky enough to be with a woman like you, I would treasure every moment and never be foolish enough to let her go,” Killian finished. “I didn’t know you heard all of that.”

“I did and it started me thinking about how lucky someone would be if they were your girlfriend, and then…then I started thinking about how I wished that someone was…me.”

“That was months ago, Emma. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ever ask me out after I broke up with Neal?” she shot back.

He chuckled as he reached over to take her hand. “Point taken. Liam told me I was a coward for not asking you out. I denied it, but I guess he was right.”

“You told him about me?”

“I knew he could keep a secret since no one else can see him or hear him,” he grinned.

She studied their interlocked hands where they lay between them on the couch. “So…what happens now?” she asked.

“Now, since it appears you’re open to the idea, and if you accept, we go out on a date.” He expected - hoped - she would show excitement for his suggestion. He was disappointed when she simply began to chew on her lower lip and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Emma, what is it? Would you rather not…”

“No,” she interrupted quickly. “No, Killian, I want to go out with you, I really do. It’s just…this whole thing with Neal’s ghost…I kind of wish it was over before we start dating. I want us to be able to go out, have fun and enjoy ourselves without being paranoid about his spirit hanging around.”

Killian’s head dropped a bit, but then he nodded. “I understand. The problem is, we have no idea of knowing when he’s going to move on. It’s been six years and Liam is still here.”

Emma whipped around to face him, eyes huge. “You think Neal could haunt me for years?”

“Calm down, Swan,” he soothed. “Liam’s spirit stays because he isn’t unwanted and his reasons for staying aren’t nefarious, like Neal’s. I’m quite sure you won’t have to put up with him for an extended period of time. We have a plan that we think will work.”

“I’m sorry, Killian. I know this isn’t fair to you after I finally admitted I want to date you.”

Dropping her hand, he lifted his arm to put it around her shoulders. “Come here, Love,” he urged. She slid over to curl up against his side. “I’ve waited this long, I can keep waiting for however long it takes his ghost to leave. In the meantime, we can still spend time together.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “This is nice.” Her fingers found the charms on the necklace he always wore, while he caressed her shoulder and periodically pressed kisses to the crown of her head.

After several minutes of comfortable silence, she turned her face up to look at him, sliding her hand up to cup his cheek. As her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, her eyes met his.

Killian watched her lick her lips, her intentions clear. He dipped his head, stopping just short as he flicked his eyes up to hers. The look in her crystal green depths told him what he needed to know. Still, he allowed the final decision to be hers.

She closed the distance, kissing him hesitantly at first, then tilting her head to deepen it. Her fingers stroked through his hair as her tongue traced the seam of his mouth, then slipped inside.

On the rare occasions when Killian pressed a kiss to her forehead, cheek or hand, he had marveled at the softness of her skin. Now, feeling her lips against his, her tongue exploring his mouth, he was drowning in the emotions she was stirring up.

He pulled back slightly and she chased after his lips, then glanced up to meet his awed gaze. His hand cradled her cheek, running silky strands of her hair between his fingers and thumb. Seeming to read his thoughts, she smiled to reassure him that this was indeed happening. Then he was kissing her again, slow and unhurried with a tenderness that he hoped conveyed the depth of his feelings for her.

When they finally broke the kiss, she snuggled back into his side with a contented sigh. “You’re right, Killian. We don’t have to wait for Neal to move on. He shouldn’t be allowed to steal our time together, like he’s stolen my sleep and peace of mind. He has already cost me too much and I’m not going to let him cost me the chance of a relationship with you.”

“You truly want that, Swan?” Killian asked, a sense of wonder evident in his voice.

She looked up at him again. “Yes, I do,” she replied confidently.

He sat up straighter and twisted his body toward her, cradling her face between his hands. “Emma, I would consider it the greatest honor to be in a relationship with you. I meant every word of what I said to Cassidy in the hallway that day. Not a day will go by that I won’t treasure the time I get to spend with you, and I will make sure you know how very special you are.”

She blinked several times and smiled. “Good,” she whispered, before engaging him in another kiss.

After a few more kisses, they cuddled up on the couch and ended up falling asleep there. Killian woke up around 4 AM with neck pain caused by sleeping in an uncomfortable position, but realized Emma was still in his arms. Carefully, he maneuvered both of their bodies until they were lying down, his back against the back of the couch and Emma tucked up against him, so he was spooning her. He was relieved that she didn’t awake - just mumbled something that sounded a lot like his name. Smiling, he wrapped her securely in his arms and fell back to sleep, his nose buried in her sweet mane of hair.

*********

Emma awakened slowly, her senses becoming alert one at a time. The first thing she realized was how safe she felt, something that had been sorely missing for weeks. Her hands found strong forearms wrapped around her middle. They were holding her gently but securely, and while lately she would have instantly panicked, this morning she knew she had nothing to fear. Next, she felt soft puffs of air against the back of her neck, accompanied by muffled snores, making her let out a small giggle. She also detected a delightfully familiar scent of musky cologne and body wash.

Killian.

As she snuggled into his embrace, thoughts of what transpired hours before flooded her mind. She tried for months to bottle her feelings toward this man, knowing she was still dealing with the shit show from her last relationship and not wanting to ruin her friendship with Killian. However, after hearing what he said to Neal outside her apartment that day a while back, she couldn’t seem to repress the attraction she felt. Every time she was with him, it grew stronger, especially with all of the physical touches he shared in an attempt to calm and reassure her since Neal began haunting her.

Thinking of the kisses they shared last night filled her with warmth and brought a smile to her lips - the same lips that could still taste and feel his own on them. She had never kissed anyone who was so receptive and undemanding, yet all-consuming. His entire being surrounded her to the point that she never wanted that feeling to end. If she could spend the rest of her days kissing Killian Jones, she would die a very happy woman.

As these thoughts flooded her mind, Killian shifted behind her and she could feel his body’s instinctive reaction to holding her close. Then she heard his breathing pattern change as he uttered a low groan. Unwilling to have him wake up embarrassed, Emma swiftly loosened herself from his grip and sat up, then slid to her knees on the floor in front of the sofa.

Scooting closer to look into his handsome face, she caressed his cheek, quietly saying, “Good morning, Killian.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and watched in fascination as his eyes slowly blinked open, revealing his sapphire gaze. Her thumb brushed across his lips, conjuring a lazy smile from him.

He yawned widely and stretched both arms over his head, then wrapped them around her. “Good morning, Love,” he said, the sound of his voice both satin and gravel. She shivered involuntarily and he noticed. “Are you cold? I should have given you a blanket…”

“No, I’m not,” she assured him. “In fact, I woke up cozier than I can remember being for a very long time.”

“Mmm, so did I,” he said, yawning again before moving into a sitting position. “Would you like some coffee?”

“The elixir of the gods? Yes, please.”

He chuckled as he stood and walked toward the kitchen. Emma suppressed a chuckle of her own as she saw him trying to adjust himself surreptitiously.

She used the bathroom, then joined him in the kitchen. The coffee maker was already brewing and Killian was looking into the refrigerator. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He peered over his shoulder at her, overactive eyebrow arched. “Good morning to you, too! This is certainly a welcome way to treat the man who is going to fix you breakfast, Swan.”

“What are you making?” Emma inquired, feeling lighter than she had for as long as she could remember.

“Pancakes?”

“Do you have any bacon?.”

He reached back in the fridge and straightened up with a package of bacon in his hand. “I’ll accept a kiss as a thank you,” he grinned.

Humming happily, she moved closer, slid her hand up his arm and behind his neck, then leaned in to fulfill his request.

The conversation as he prepared breakfast and while they ate was lighthearted and animated, a far cry from the gloomy, depressing ones they had been having as of late. Emma helped clean up afterwards, then reluctantly told him she needed to go back to her apartment to take a shower and go to the grocery store.

“What time do you work today, Love?” Killian asked as he walked her to her door.

“Four to ten.”

He nodded. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

Turning to face him, she asked, “Are you still planning to, uh…to try to get into my nightmare?”

Unbeknownst to her, that comment had Killian fleetingly thinking about other things of Emma’s he would prefer to get into. “Aye,” he replied after a moment. “I’m hoping it works and this entire thing with Cassidy will be over tonight.”

“I hope so, too,” she exhaled. “God, I just really, really hope so.”

“I know,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

“Is Will going to be there tonight, too?”

“No, we’re not intending to have any equipment set up. I’ll bring the flux just in case, but we won’t be recording anything.”

She breathed in his comforting scent for several moments before pulling away to give him a brief kiss. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Have a good day, Swan.”

“You, too.”

With a small wave and a smile, she went into her apartment. As soon as she entered, she felt a sharp, cold pain through her chest, as if an icicle had been plunged through it. She gasped and staggered backwards, managing to regain her balance before she fell. Hanging onto the back of the recliner, she struggled to get her racing heart rate under control.

Once she could breathe again, her eyes darted around the living room, trying to figure out what caused the pain. Seeing nothing, but feeling a familiar aura, she whispered, “Neal?” The same sensation tore through her again, leaving little doubt it was his ghost causing it.

Pain gave way to anger. “You possessive asshole! Go to hell! I mean, literally, GO. TO. HELL! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Cold speared through her once more, driving her to her knees. She lay down and curled into a fetal position, whimpering, “Leave me alone. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

It took her several minutes to get herself under control enough to stand and make her way out the door on legs so wobbly they barely supported her. Reaching Killian’s door, she weakly pounded her fists against it. When he opened it, she stumbled in, collapsing into his arms.

“Emma? What happened?”

“N-Neal,” she choked out. “He…he attacked m-me.”

“What? How?”

“I…he…” Feeling her knees beginning to buckle, she grasped at his shoulders to remain upright.

Killian scooped her up and carried her to his couch, but instead of laying her down, he sat, cradling her against himself. He didn’t ask any more questions, simply held her until her trembling subsided, murmuring comforting words into her hair.

Finally, she took a calming breath. “When I went into my apartment, this icy, sharp…pain went through me. It took my breath away. There was nothing there, but I had that…that feeling of being watched. When I asked if it was Neal, I felt the pain again. I knew he was there, so I started yelling at him, telling him to leave me alone and to go to hell. It must have pissed him off, because the third time the cold cut through me, it was worse than ever.”

She felt Killian’s arms tighten around her and when he spoke, his voice was low and menacing. “Is he still there?”

“I…I don’t know. I got out of there as soon as I could.”

“Before I go over there to find out, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to relax in his arms. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”

“Take all the time you need, Love. I have all the time in the world.”

She hated feeling so weak, and hated Neal even more for making her feel that way. She desperately needed Killian’s plan to work, because she truly felt like she couldn’t take much more of this.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and looked Killian in the eye. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded vigorously. “Please just find out if that dickhead left my apartment.”

“As you wish,” he said, loosening his arms from around her so she could stand. “Let me go grab my EMF meter and thermometer.” He dashed back the hall to his office and returned momentarily with the necessary equipment in his hands. “Do you want to come with me?”

She considered for only a second. “Yeah. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of terrifying me to the point that I stay here cowering.”

Killian tilted his head and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “That’s my brave lass.” He stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning to lead the way out of his apartment.

She was getting ready to open her door, when he said, “Hang on a minute.” Setting the EMF meter on the floor, he switched it on, then hit the power button on the infrared thermometer as well. They both studied the readouts, determining there was no paranormal activity in the hallway.

“Ready?” he asked, collecting the instruments and standing up.

She nodded and turned the doorknob, but before she could enter, he stepped in front of her. “Let me go first, Swan. He might be ready to ambush you again.”

“Okay,” she gratefully conceded. She didn’t wish that pain on Killian, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to withstand it again.

He cautiously walked through the door, holding the thermometer out in front of him. The hum of the EMF meter was unchanging as he walked around the living room, through the kitchen, and down the hall. Emma stayed close behind him while he checked the bathroom and both bedrooms.

Finally, he let out a heavy breath, declaring, “He appears to be gone, Love. Nothing is registering out of the ordinary.” He switched off both devices and set them down on her bed. “But I can stay here with you if you want.”

Her automatic response would have been to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but she was severely spooked by what happened and didn’t want to be alone if Neal’s spirit returned. “I still need to take a shower, but if you really don’t mind, would you stay until I’m done?”

“Of course. I’ll be out in the living room, if you need me.”

Before he could collect his devices and leave her bedroom, she wrapped her arms around him. Immediately he enveloped her in his warmth and strength, which was exactly what she needed to calm her fearful thoughts. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing evenly, Killian’s masculine scent making her feel safe again.

Given a choice, she would have stayed in his arms for hours. Since that wasn’t possible, she loosened her embrace, running her hands up his solid chest. “Thank you, Killian.” Sighing, she added, “I seem to be saying that a lot these days.”

He smiled at her reassuringly. “I told you I’d be here for you anytime you need me. I’m glad you’ve taken me up on that offer and that I’ve been able to help.”

Pushing up to her tiptoes, she kissed him, then tried to give him a smile. “Make yourself at home while I shower. The TV remote should be on the couch. I don’t have much to offer by way of snacks and drinks, except water. Thus, the reason why I need to go to the grocery store.”

“I’ll be fine, Love. Don’t worry about me.” After kissing her once more, he left the bedroom.

Emma showered, letting the hot water run over her body for longer than usual. When she emerged to a steam-filled room, she dried her hair and body with her largest, fluffy towel, then wrapped it around herself, tucking it in at the top to hold it in place. Unable to see her reflection in the fogged mirror, she used a hand towel to wipe it off…and screamed.

Neal’s apparition was behind her.

For the second time in her life, Emma fainted.

*********

Killian was skimming through a novel he found on Emma’s coffee table when he heard her scream. Jumping to his feet, he tossed the book onto the sofa and ran toward the bathroom.

“Emma!” he shouted, knocking insistently on the door. “Are you okay? Can you let me in?”

When he received no answer, he tried the knob and, finding it unlocked, threw open the door. Emma was lying on the floor unconscious. He knelt down beside her, frantically calling her name.

He was reaching the point of pulling out his phone to call 9-1-1, when she groaned softly, struggling to open her eyes.

“Emma, Love, what happened?” Killian asked urgently.

Her hazy gaze finally fixed on him. “Neal,” she said simply, then started to sob.

“I’ve got you, Love,” he crooned. He moved to sit beside her, then gently lifted her head to cradle it in his lap. He stroked her cheeks until her sobs began to subside, as she gulped in mouthfuls of air.

He swept his eyes down her body to see if she had any injuries, noticing for the first time that she was covered with only a blue striped towel that barely reached the top of her thighs. At the moment, her modesty was the least of his concerns.

Peering down into her face, he felt tears prick his own eyes at seeing the despair on her beautiful features. She was calmer now, but clearly still very upset.

“Are you able to tell me what happened?” he asked again.

She raised a shaky hand to her forehead. With the blow she must have taken when she hit the floor, he was concerned she might have a concussion. He gently caressed her temples, smoothing her damp, tangled hair away from her face.

“I got out of the shower,” she said hoarsely. After clearing her throat, she tried again. “The mirror was all steamed up, so I…I wiped it with a towel. When I looked in it, N-N…” her voice caught and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

Killian caught it with his thumb, his heart going out to her. He knew why she was having so much trouble saying the name, and it made his blood boil. How could a man claim to love a woman, then put her through something like this? The answer, of course, was that Neal obviously didn’t love Emma and probably never did. He just wanted her as a possession and even death wasn’t going to stop him.

But Killian would.

Right then and there, he renewed his vow to make Neal Cassidy move on to his eternal punishment. He couldn’t bear to see Emma tormented any longer.

“You saw Neal again?”

She nodded. “He was behind me, staring right at me in the mirror.”

“That’s why you screamed,” Killian stated matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Did he do or say anything?”

“No, he just scared me and that’s why I fainted. God, what is wrong with me? I’ve never passed out in my entire life, and now I’ve done it twice.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Sweetheart. You have been exceptionally brave through this entire ordeal. What he’s been doing to you is enough to drive even the most valiant person to their knees.”

She muttered, “Or, in my case, flat on my back.” Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she requested, “Help me up, please.”

“Take it slow, Swan. If you hit your head on the floor when you fainted, it’s possible you could have a concussion.”

“I doubt it. I landed on this rug,” she said, gesturing to the plush blue rug on the floor. “Plus, I’ve had a couple of concussions, so I know how it feels to have one.”

“You’ve had more than one concussion?”

“When I was a bail bondsperson, I was always getting hurt…”

“You worked in bail bonds?” he questioned.

“Yeah, for about three years,” she explained.“I used to set honey traps quite often in the hotel bar where I work now. It got to the point where I knew how to make most of the mixed drinks just by watching the bartenders. After I nearly broke my ankle chasing down a skip one night, the manager of the bar offered me a job - said he was having trouble finding good help. It was an easy choice. With this job, I have regular hours, always know when I’m going to get my next paycheck, and don’t have frequent visits to the emergency room.”

He stood, extending his hand to gingerly pull her to her feet.

She looked down at herself. “I didn’t have time to get dressed. Stupid Neal, coming into the bathroom while I’m taking a shower. Even as a ghost, he’s a pervert.” Stepping in front of the sink, she started to raise her eyes to the mirror, but squeezed them closed instead. “Can you tell if he’s gone?”

“I don’t feel any cold spots. I can check with my equipment if it will set your mind at ease, but then, to set my mind at ease, I think we should go get you checked out.”

“Killian, I’m…”

“Please, Emma? If you do have a concussion, we’ll have to follow the protocol. If you don’t, at least we’ll have peace of mind.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Good,” he said with a soft, reassuring smile. “Will you be okay if I go back out to the living room to turn on my devices?”

“Yeah, I should be, but just hang on a minute until I get up enough nerve to look in the mirror. If he’s there, at least you’ll be here to catch me this time.”

He moved to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Ready when you are.”

Slowly, she let her eyes drift up until they locked on her reflection. “Wow.”

“Do you see him?” he asked, his grip on her tightening.

“No, but I do see a very handsome and charming man.”

He grinned at her, then sobered before asking, “How do you feel? Do you have a headache?”

“I have the beginning of one, so I agree that I should get checked out.”

He ran his hand over the back of her head, probing with his fingers. “It feels like you might have a bump. You ought to put some ice on it.”

“Yeah, probably.” Plucking at the towel wrapped around her body, she added, “But first, I need to get dressed.”

“I can’t say I dislike what you’re wearing,” Killian smirked.

“It’s a wonder the towel didn’t come off when I fell. Then you would have gotten a free show.”

He wiggled his eyebrows flirtateously. “Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Easy, Tiger. One step at a time,” she teased. “I think I’ll be alright getting dressed in my bedroom. If Neal decides to make an appearance there, hopefully I’ll pass out on the bed.”

“I honestly don’t think he will. He used a lot of energy this morning, and if his spirit works the way Liam’s does, he probably won’t return for quite a while.” He was glad to see her shoulders drop in relief. “While you dress, I’ll get you some ice from the kitchen freezer, then use the devices to check your apartment again, just to make sure.”

With a grateful nod, she grabbed her clothes and left the bathroom. He went into the kitchen, pulled ice trays out of the freezer and wrapped several ice cubes in a small kitchen towel. Then he went to the living room to switch on the equipment, and just as he suspected, there was so indication Neal’s apparition was still there.

When Emma came out of her bedroom, dressed in jeans and a band T-shirt, carefully pulling a brush through her snarled hair, Killian told her he didn’t find anything.

“It didn’t feel like he was still here,” she responded, sitting down beside him. “Of course, I couldn’t sense him in the bathroom either, so going by my feelings isn’t very reliable.”

“I think he just showed up for a second to give you a good scare,” he said, handing her the towel containing the ice.

“Well, he succeeded,” she said, holding the ice against the bump he had found behind her left ear. “If his goal is to kill me, all he has to do is play that little trick a few more times. My heart won’t be able to take it…and neither will my head.”

“We’ll get him to move on before he can do that, Emma. I swear to you we will.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile. Then, letting out a sigh, she said, “I need to eat something before I get checked out. After that, I still have to shop for groceries.”

“Why don’t you come over to my place and I’ll make lunch for us, then I’ll drive you to the hospital. After that, you should probably come home and rest, given what you’ve been through this morning. You can always put in a grocery order to be delivered, instead of going to the store.”

  “I’ve never had groceries delivered. I always thought it was for shut-ins and hermits.”

Killian laughed. “Believe it or not, ordinary, everyday people are allowed to use that service, too. I’ve had them delivered several times when I have nothing in my fridge and I’m too exhausted to go shopping after traveling for a ghost hunting trip.”

“Alright, but you’ll have to show me how to do it.”

“That’s not a problem. Just bring your grocery list and I’ll help you after we get back.”

Once they ate, Killian drove her to the hospital emergency room, where the doctor gave her a test that screened for concussions, ordered a CAT scan and examined her carefully. Nothing indicated that she had a concussion, but he advised them to watch for symptoms that might appear in the following hours and days. After giving them a list of things to watch for, he told her to go to the hospital if any symptoms appeared, advised her to take Tylenol as needed for pain, and sent them on their way.

When they got back to Killian’s apartment, he helped Emma order her groceries and put them away once they arrived. They took a nap together on her couch, and after she convinced him she was fine, he saw her off to work.

Then he went back to his apartment to call Will and Belle, realizing he had yet to tell them about being pulled into Emma’s nightmare and the plan the two of them devised for that evening.

*********

“I’ve never heard of a person being able to enter someone else’s dream,” Belle commented, after hearing Killian’s narrative. “I’ll have to do some research to see if there are any records of that ever happening.”

“D’ya really think you’ll be able to do it again, Kil?” Will asked.

“I don’t know, but I truly hope it works. Neal is ramping up his attempts to affect her physical and mental health.” He went on to relate the events of the morning.

“Oh my goodness!” Belle exclaimed. “Is Emma okay?”

“I took her to the ER and the doctor said to monitor her for the next few days to make sure she doesn’t show any symptoms of a concussion. She had a bit of a headache, but after taking pain meds and resting, she was able to go to work this afternoon.”

“She’s one tough lass,” Will said.

“Yes, she is,” Belle agreed. “You have to admire someone who is being bombarded like that, but keeps going.”

“Do you want me to be there tonight and try to catch it on video?” Will asked.

“I told Emma you wouldn’t be there and we wouldn’t be recording.” Killian hesitated a moment before speaking again. “I want to make something very clear to both of you. I don’t want anything about me being able to get into her dreams to be included in the episode.”

“I have a feeling there’s a specific reason behind that request,” Belle said.

“I don’t want viewers to know about it because they might think I would be able to do that for other people,” Killian explained. “I think the only reason I was able to do it for Emma is that I have a…connection to her.”

“Are ya sayin’ ya had a literal connection to her, boss?” Will asked cheekily.

“Will!” Belle admonished.

“Sorry, Love,” Will apologized, “but that was just too good an opportunity to pass up!”

When Killian didn’t say anything right away, Belle tactfully asked, “What exactly do you mean by having a connection to her, Killian?”

He was quiet a moment longer, mulling over how to explain what happened between him and Emma last night. “I haven’t told you everything, yet,” he finally began. “When I got back to my apartment after Emma’s nightmare, I couldn’t sleep. She texted me and asked to come over. We talked and…”

“And ya finally admitted yer madly in love with her?” Will interjected.

“Not quite, but I did tell her I want to date her.”

“Oh, good!” Belle exclaimed. “How did she react?”

“She, uh, she said she would like to date me, too, but we both decided we need to get this whole thing with Neal over with first.”

“Then let’s hope tonight will be the end of it,” Belle said.

“Aye, that’s what we’re hoping. After seeing what he did to her today, I’m very much afraid he’s going to keep trying to inflict bodily harm on her. Even though you won’t be here tonight, Will, would you mind keeping your phone nearby, just in case I need you for any reason? ”

“You got it, Kil. You know I’m only ten minutes away, so if there’s anything you and Emma need, I’ll be there for both of ya.”

“Thanks, Will. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Belle asked.

“Pray that our plan works.”

*********

The closer the time came for Emma to get home from work, the more anxious Killian became. He was so antsy, he couldn’t sit still and found himself pacing around his apartment, continually checking his phone. When that didn’t make time pass more quickly, he busied himself trimming his beard, putting on sleepwear and brushing his teeth.

When Emma’s text telling him she was home finally came through, he grabbed the flux and was out of his apartment in a flash. He barely knocked once on her door, when it swung open. “Hey,” she breathed out, as though she had been holding her breath until he got there. Her hair was down and she was in her pajamas, too.

“Evening, Love,” he said, stepping inside and kissing her on the cheek. “How do you feel? How was work?”

“I feel fine. Work was pretty dead when I first got there, but it picked up this evening. I like it when it’s busy. Time seems to drag when it’s not. What have you been doing since I last saw you…” she glanced at the clock on her phone, “seven hours ago?”

He followed her to the sofa, sat down beside her and took her hand. “I called Belle and Will to tell them everything that happened last night and this morning. Then I caught up on answering questions people asked on my YouTube channel. Tried to watch the telly, but I couldn’t concentrate.”

“Thinking about what happened today?”

“Aye, and what might happen tonight.” After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Did you have any problems with a headache at work?”

“I took some medicine when I felt another one coming on, but that was six hours ago and it hasn’t come back.”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, lost in thought as they tangled and untangled their fingers.

“I think I’m gonna make some hot chocolate,” Emma finally said, standing to her feet. “Do you want some?”

“No, thanks, Love. I find it difficult to sleep if I eat or drink anything besides water before going to bed. I’ll help you make it, though.” He stood and followed her into the kitchen.

She got out the milk and a pan, while Killian followed her instructions to find the cocoa and sugar. “I know my cupboard is a mess. Don’t judge me,” she said, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “That’s why I only let you put stuff in the fridge when we put away the groceries today.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said, then barely caught a box of Pop-Tarts as they fell off the shelf. They both burst out laughing, which seemed to break the tension.

Once her cocoa was made, he grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and they went back into the living room. As she blew on her hot beverage and sipped it cautiously, he picked up the novel he’d seen earlier. “Are you reading this?”

She swallowed the mouthful she had just taken. “I’ve been trying, but with all this shit going on with Neal, I haven’t gotten very far.”

“Would you like me to read it aloud? It might be relaxing for both of us.”

“That would be really nice.”

“You have a bookmark in here. Do you want me to start from there?”

“Honestly, I can’t even remember what’s happened so far, so you can start at the beginning.”

He nodded and flipped through the pages, clearing his throat before beginning to read. By the time he got to the third chapter, Emma had drained her mug of cocoa and was leaning against his side, battling to stay awake.

Killian turned the page and yawned widely before beginning to read again. Emma sat up and put her hand over the page. “You can stop now, Killian. You sound tired and I can’t keep my eyes open. I think it’s time to go to bed.”

“Aye, Love. I think you’re right. I’ll take care of the dishes while you brush your teeth.” Putting the book down on the table, he picked up her mug and carried it into the kitchen.

When he was finished, he went to Emma’s bedroom, tapping on the open door to announce himself. She was sitting on the edge of the mattress, her arms wrapped around a pillow in her lap. She looked up at him, giving him a weak smile.

He sat down beside her, putting his arm around her. “I know we both want this to be over tonight, but please try not to set your hopes too high. It may take several tries, or it might not happen at all.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, “but after everything that happened this morning, I made up my mind that I’m done being scared. Now, I’m just pissed off, and I’m not gonna let him continue trying to control my life. If you’re able to break me out of that trance in my dream, I’m going to unleash on him.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and kissed her temple. “I will be very happy to see that happen, Swan.”

“It would be so nice to wake up in the morning knowing that I’ll never have to deal with that imbecile again.”

They got themselves settled under the covers, lying side by side and staring up at the ceiling, thoughts swirling.

“You never mentioned working in bail bonds before,” Killian said quietly. “What made you decide to do that?”

“I didn’t have many prospects after I graduated from high school. I had just aged out of the foster system and didn’t have any money to go to college or a trade school. I worked at Dunkin’ Donuts and this customer always came in during my shift. One day, she started asking me what I planned to do with my life, that I didn’t seem like the type to be satisfied with menial labor. When I explained my situation, she offered me a job at her bail bonds office. We realized pretty quickly that I had a knack for tracking people down, so she started taking me on stakeouts and showed me all the ropes. After working for her a year, I was going after skips on my own. Cleo was very proud of me.”

“I’m sure she was. Do you keep in touch with her?”

It took several moments for her to answer, and when she did, her voice was emotional. “She, uh…she died. A person she was chasing got aggressive and pushed her through a plate glass window. A shard punctured a main artery and she bled out before help could get there.”

His hand found hers. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Thanks. Her assistant and I kept the office going for a while longer, but when I was offered the position at the hotel, we closed it. Johanna was close to retirement age anyway.”

“Do you think you’ll keep bartending for a long time?”

“I don’t know. It pays the bills and the tips are great, but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

He turned his head to look at her. “If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

She licked her bottom lip, then pulled it between her teeth in contemplation. “I’d like to be a counselor, I think.”

“What kind of counselor?”

“For older foster kids who are getting ready to age out of the system. When I aged out, it was terrifying. I already had a job, so they just helped me find a place to live, and that was it. I was on my own.”

“You didn’t have any counseling at all?”

“Not at that time, but I have a friend who is a social worker and she said lately they’ve been hiring people to help phase foster kids into society when they age out.”

“I think you would be great at a job like that, Emma.”

She rolled her head and met his eyes. “Yeah, well, I would have to take college courses to do it and those aren’t in my budget right now, so who knows if it will ever happen?”

“There are grants and other types of financial aid available, and you could take courses part time while you continue to work. Perhaps you should look into it. It’s a noble dream and I’m sure with your drive and determination, you will make it happen.”

“Thank you, Killian. Maybe I will check into it,” she said, the last word cut short by a yawn.

“I think that’s our signal to go to sleep.”

“You, um, you have to be touching me to get into my dream, right?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the way it works. Do you…how do you…”

“When we’ve slept on the couch, it’s been nice having you spoon me,” she said, almost shyly.

“I’m fine with that, if you are.”

In response, she turned onto her left side and reached behind her to grasp his arm, pulling it around her waist. “Even if Neal’s stupid ghost doesn’t show up tonight, at least I’ll be able to sleep, knowing you’re here with me.”

“As long as you need me, I’ll always be by your side, Emma.”

“Mmm, good to know,” she murmured, burrowing backwards to get closer to him. “Goodnight, Killian.”

“Night, Love.”

*********

“No!”

Killian was jolted awake when he heard Emma’s cry. They were in nearly the same position in which they had fallen asleep. He tightened his grip around her waist, feeling his nerves beginning to amp up. Her body was making little jerking movements and she was breathing in short gasps, so he knew she was beginning to dream.

He only had to wait a few minutes until he felt the same slight shock he had the night before. Then he was in the same dream world and Emma was in front of him, facing the other direction. He heard the chanting from Neal and was sure these were the whispers Emma said she kept hearing in her nightmares.

Without hesitation, Killian rushed around to face her and could see she was already in a trance. He took her by the shoulders and began to shake her. “Emma! Wake up!”, he shouted, but his actions had no effect on her whatsoever.

He looked behind himself to see Neal moving rapidly in their direction, screaming, “She’s MINE! She will never be yours! I came so close to killing her! Next time, I will succeed!”

The way Neal was swooping in, Killian knew he was coming for him and, even though it was a dream, he didn’t want to take the chance of being torn away from Emma. His mind raced desperately, trying to figure out a way to break through to her. Then Liam’s words came to him.

  Perhaps you could try a true love’s kiss.

Turning back to Emma, he pulled her closer and leaned in to kiss her. The moment their lips touched, a burst of what he could only call magic passed over them. Emma’s eyes popped open as she gasped, “Killian!” Then she looked over his shoulder and a gamut of emotions played over her face - surprise, fear and finally, anger.

Killian turned to see Neal’s spirit with a look of unadulterated fury on his face. Killian was between Emma and Neal, but she stepped around him and got in Neal’s face, her arms waving wildly to emphasize her words.

“You fucking bastard! I am not yours! I do not want to die and spend eternity with you! That would be literal hell for me! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Neal began rapidly circling them, apparently attempting to create a vortex to pull her toward him. She thrust her fist into the air, her hair whipping around her face, which wore a look of furious determination. “GO. TO. HELL!” she screamed.

Suddenly, they heard a deafening roar that was so loud, Killian clamped both hands over his ears. Squinting in the direction of the sound, he saw a chasm starting to open, its yawning opening belching out black, sulphurous smoke.

From the midst of the smoke, a gigantic beast with huge, curved horns and fire shooting out of its eye sockets emerged. Its mouth was wide open as it emitted another eardrum piercing roar. Other screeching figures, with flaming tongues, swirled around the beast’s massive legs.

Killian stood rooted to the spot, but he felt no fear. He knew these monsters weren’t a threat to himself or Emma. They were here for one reason - to drag Neal to his eternal punishment.

Neal must have realized it, too, because he stopped spinning around them and tried to flee in the opposite direction from the chasm. It was no use, though. The screeching figures descended on him, swiping at him with their razor sharp claws, as the beast stomped closer.

Emma and Killian wrapped their arms around each other, watching the scene in fascinated horror. He heard her attempting to say something to him. “What?” he shouted.

She moved closer and yelled into his ear, “Is that a Hell beast?”

He nodded furiously. “I think so.”

Neal’s screams were so loud, they could hear them over the continuous roaring. “EMMA! HELP ME! DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME! EMMA, NO!”

The beast grabbed his shoulders with its sharp talons. Neal clawed frantically at the air, his face a mask of complete terror. The screeching figures began wrapping around his legs, squeezing tightly and viciously biting at them.

Neal twisted around until he was facing the monster, and obviously immediately regretted that action. The beast’s mouth opened even wider, and for a split second, Killian thought it was going to bite Neal’s head off. Instead, it spat noxious fumes into his face, causing him to retch violently.

His body continued convulsing as the hell beast threw him down and turned to head back toward the chasm. The other beings unwrapped themselves to follow their master. Emma turned to look at Killian, a look of disbelief on her face. “Aren’t they taking him?” she asked.

He was opening his mouth to answer, when suddenly Neal’s piercing scream once again rang out. Emma and Killian turned to see fiery, barbed whips flying out of the black hole, wrapping around Neal’s body and extremities. He was dragged backwards, his hands scrabbling futilely at the ground, his face disfigured with panic and pain.

“EMS! EMMA, PLEASE! NOOOOO! HELP ME, EM…”

Emma buried her face in Killian’s chest as Neal’s words were cut off, having been pulled into the gaping, hellish abyss. The roaring sound intensified as if the demons themselves were screeching out their glee over claiming another soul. Then, with a whoosh, the chasm slammed shut and there was silence.

Emma sat up in bed with a gasp, Killian right beside her. She turned to him with eyes the size of saucers. “Oh my gosh! Was that real?! Were you there? Did you see…”

“Aye, Love,” Killian said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. His heart was racing so fast, he could barely get the words out.

“Do…do you think it’s over? Is he gone for good?”

“I would bet money that he met his eternal demise and will no longer be haunting you.”

“Even though it happened in a dream?”

Killian mulled it over. “I think…” he began, considering how to explain it. “Your nightmares were Neal’s way of manipulating you. I don’t think you were dreaming the conventional way. My theory is that he was creating the nightmares and pulling you into them. That’s how he could put you in a trance and make you feel like you were tied and gagged.”

She was looking at him quizzically, clearly trying to comprehend what he was saying.

He took her hands and continued. “Since it wasn’t a conventional dream, but one of his making, I’m pretty sure that what took place actually did happen. I’ll continue to monitor your apartment for a few days, but I honestly think he’ll never bother you again.”

Emma stared at him for several long beats, then collapsed against him, her body shaking with sobs. He held her, stroking her hair and whispering reassurances, wondering if her outpouring of emotion was out of relief or a reaction to the horrors she just witnessed.

Finally, her weeping ceased, her body slowly relaxing against him. He thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, when he heard her whisper something. Bending his head to hear her better, he asked, “What did you say, Love?”

“How did you do it? How did you get to me and break me out of the trance?”

His hand automatically reached up to scratch nervously behind his ear. “I was able to get into your dream immediately and I saw you standing there, just like last time. Neal was coming and I knew he was going to try to separate us.”

He paused, and when he didn’t continue, she leaned back to look up into his face. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get you to wake up. Then I…I thought of something Liam suggested.”

“What was it?”

“I told him about being in your dream, seeing you catatonic and not being able to break you out of it. He said, uh…he said I should try…true love’s kiss.”

He studied her reaction. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “You…you kissed me?”

More nervous scratching. “Aye.”

“And it worked?”

He dipped his head in a nod. “Aye.”

“You woke me up with a true love’s kiss? But that…that means you…” Her words trailed off and she stared at him, her breathing quick and shallow.

“That means…I love you,” he said quietly.

“But doesn’t it…” she began, then changed directions. “In fairy tales, for a true love’s kiss to work, both people have to love the other person, don’t they?”

He looked up through his lashes at her. “Aye,” he stated simply.

Her head bent forward, but he could still see her eyes darting around, as if to seek an answer amongst the bed sheets. “I…I’ve never had any luck with love. Every time I was close to falling for a guy, something happened. Neal was the only one I ever…”

It was as if she was talking to herself, reciting a monologue to try to make sense of her feelings. Killian remained quiet, allowing her to work through it without interruption.

She stopped talking and her body became completely still. Minutes stretched on, and he was beginning to wonder if he had declared too much, too soon.

Suddenly, her head whipped up and she looked at him, dumbfounded. “With you, it’s different. I feel different. I trust you. I feel safe and protected when I’m with you. I can talk to you about anything and you listen. I look forward to seeing you every day, and these last few weeks, all I want is to be with you. I know you’ll take care of me and I want to take care of you. Is that…is that what love is?”

He reached up, tenderly running his fingers along her cheek. “Aye, Love. I think that’s exactly what it is.”

“That’s why it worked, then. Because I love you, Killian.”

A slow smile spread across his face before he dipped his head and captured her lips, sealing their declarations with another true love’s kiss.

*********

Thank you all for your response to this story! I hope it's been the perfect mix of scary and sweet.

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

@hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper

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

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

@andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @zaharadessert @lyssapup27

@undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat

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

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

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

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

@beckettj @cssns

[laianely]

No Rest For The Immortals

This is the first chapter of my work for the last year of @cssns

It's so sad that I'm so late for this event, but I'm glad that I managed to participate in this! Many thank for wonderful organizers! You did great job!

Thanks to @xarandomdreamx for beta-reading and correcting my mistakes!

Also this work has cover collage by me and lovely art by @captainswan-kellie! Thank you Kellie!

I have 5 chapters written and the 6th in WIP. I'm going to post them once a week.

Rating: M

Summary: A brutal murder has occurred in New York City. The victim's heart was ripped out, and Detective Emma Swan is determined to find the killer. But bounty hunter Killian Jones interferes with the case, talking nonsense about vampires and wanting to get involved to find the killer and avenge the events that happened centuries ago. Emma thinks he is a psychopath, but his help is her best option when she doesn't have many leads.

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

[statustemporary]

free fallin' - Chapter 2

STORY SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off.

Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear.

//rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: Teen+

WORD COUNT: 3,564

TAGS: Captain Swan, Tower of Terror AU, CSSNS 2022, Graphic Depictions Of Terrifying Sights in Chapter 1, no beta we die like killian jones,

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ha ha... oops. it's been two years since i updated this. life's crazy and my passion for ouat has faded but i'm determined to finish all my posts WIPs and maybe get my WIP folder on my laptop emptied onto here. i'm trying.

this has changed drastically from the film, mainly because i messed things up in the first chapter but oh well lol. similar premise but obviously things are a free-for-all now in my story. wish me luck trying to finish this lol.

not really sure how i'm feeling about this chapter so i'm sorry in advance if it doesn't live up to expectations! here's to the next one eventually!

enjoy!

***

Uncle James lives in a swanky townhouse just a few blocks from the heart of Storybrooke. The front windows of the place have a magnificent view of the hills in the distance while the back windows peered out at the Hollywood Tower Hotel like a taunt.

Emma hated growing up there.

The entire place felt too modern and unlived. Uncle James refused to have any sentimentality in his living space. No art projects on the fridge, no souvenirs from trips, and definitely no family photos. The farthest he went with décor was a floating shelf of ratty books in Latin. She wondered if what happened that Halloween night 27 years ago haunted him and that’s why he refused any reminder of his twin. Did the mirror play just as cruel of a joke?

Oddly enough, she did stumble upon a picture of her mother in his bedside drawer when she was eight. Mary Margaret looked stunning, her degree placard from Harvard held tightly in her hand with a bouquet of flowers cradled in her opposite elbow. Her graduation gown was flowing in the wind and her smile was positively radiant.

Uncle James caught her looking at the photo and he ripped it from her grasp. She never saw it again.

Not much about the townhouse has changed over the years, including the man residing inside of it. Uncle James remains aloof and standoffish to the point Emma wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot he had a niece at all.

His car, a sleek black sports convertible, is parked out front and it feels promising, even if she dreads the upcoming conversation. It takes a great effort to place one foot in front of the other as she approaches the entrance, her feet feeling as heavy as lead. The sickening weight in her heels is the only thing to prevent her from running back to her car after pressing the doorbell.

Uncle James looks surprised and disappointed to see her on his doorstep. His shoulders visibly drop and his mouth ticks down in a frown. “Emma?”

She flashes a quick smile at him.

“Uncle James, hi. How are you?”

He cuts straight to the point, narrowing the opening of the door so that only a sliver of his body is visible. “What are you doing here?”

The sigh that leaves her lips makes him close the door another inch. “Can we talk inside?”

“Actually Emma, I’m about to leave for – ”

He’s wearing pajamas. And a bathrobe. She swallows down the anger that’s brewing, the almost two decades of resentment towards his willful absence, and steels her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about my parents.” That catches his attention.

Paranoia, or maybe it’s PTSD, seems to take over her uncle as he pales and ushers her inside his townhome, head ducking out the door and swiveling around before he slams it shut and locks it. He brings her to the kitchen and offers her some alcohol as he makes his own drink. She remembers being thirteen and him offering her some of his rum and coke when he realized they had no orange juice in the fridge. The drink disgusted her and he got angry when she spit it in the sink. They never ran out of orange juice after that.

“So…” he begins. His hands are tense where they’re splayed on the kitchen island’s marble countertop. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes that unsettles Emma but she doesn’t know where to place it. She knows reporters, both professional and amateur, have hunted her down and pressured her for a statement, an interview, anything. Had they done the same to her uncle? “What were you saying about your parents?”

“Do you remember that night?” she asks. Uncle James sighs and drops his head.

“I could never forget it.” Defeat thickens his voice as his shoulders grow rigid. He shudders and takes a deep breath before looking up at her. “What about it?”

Emma shifts in her seat. “Can you tell me about it? From your perspective?” He looks ready to deny her so she pulls out the card up her sleeve. “It’s for Henry. He’s doing a project in school.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. A shadow crosses over his face as he collects his thoughts. “There’s not much to say from what I saw, really. I arrived early because my polo club cancelled our game. I saw Mayor Mills, exchanged a few words about the party at the Tip Top Club. I was on the stairs with some fancy drink from the patio bar when I saw your parents head into the elevator. David and I hadn’t talked in a few months but Mary Margaret invited me to the party.” Emma feels herself soften as her uncle smiles absently as he remembers her parents. “Obviously she didn’t tell him I was coming and he was glaring at me. He still hadn’t moved on from our fight. I raised my glass to them, a peace offering. Then the elevator doors closed and that was it… That was the last time I saw them.”

“Did you see anything else that night?” she asks, leaning her elbows atop the island. “Anything strange or… unusual?”

He shakes his head as he looks down at his drink. Silence follows for a beat and then another and Emma’s afraid she’s lost her uncle to his memories of the past. “The lights went out not long after I saw them get on the elevator.” She nods. “Honestly, I thought people were crazy when they said all of them were cursed. I mean, magic?!” He huffs out a laugh of disbelief. A pause and then his face darkens. “If there’s any inkling to that notion, I’d wager on Regina.”

Huh. Emma’s brows pinch together as she mulls that sentence over in her head. The sudden drop of formality with the former mayor was odd. For all the time she lived with Uncle James, he never mentioned Regina before today, much less by name. He never mentioned any of the others either but the way he spoke now hinted at a history. A nasty one at that.

Her mouth opens to ask another question but Uncle James shakes his head and downs the remainder of his drink in one go. “I think it’s time you left, Emma. It was nice seeing you.”

He disappears around the corner to his bedroom at the back of the townhouse before Emma has a chance to say any departing words. Resigned, she gently places her cup in the dishwasher and sees herself out.

***

The late morning air hangs heavy around the hotel. Emma stands outside on the sidewalk, head tilted back as she takes in the massive structure. In reality, she never thought she’d come here, let alone twice in as many days. She checks her watch to confirm she has a few hours before Henry gets out of school. The last thing she wants is for him to be back here.

“Uh…” a voice sounds to her left and Emma turns just in time to see her son stop short, eyes widen, and his body swivel back the way he came.

“Henry!” she calls out in frustration. She watches his small body freeze and tense up as she comes upon him.

He grins small but innocently up at her. “Ha ha… Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in school today!”

“Well about that…” he laughs nervously. She says his name in warning and he winces, opening his mouth ready to spew an inventive explanation when they hear a creaking behind them.

The metal gate to the hotel opens slowly and the chain-link keeping it closed snakes down to the ground in an exhausted heap. She blinks rapidly at the scene before her, her mouth dropping open in shock. That… shouldn’t happen.

Maybe the chains were just rusted and finally gave way, she tried to reason with herself. Maybe LJ forgot to lock back up after everything yesterday.

So lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t realize Henry had moved away until she saw his small figure squeezing through the open fence and running up the hill to the hotel. “Henry!” she yells out. Running is her thing – running away from emotions, commitment, the whole shebang. Apparently, her son inherited that from her, just literally.

The bottles of holy water in the pocket of her leather jacket are justled by her running up the driveway. Sage in her bag bumps against her hip. Her gun rests heavily in her holster.

Emma’s eyes scan the landscape furiously.

“Henry!” she calls out. She evens her breathing and rests one hand on her hip where her firearm rests in case some crazy person is behind all this and has Henry.

“Hurry up, Mom!”

Emma turns the last bend of the driveway and lets out a deep sigh. Henry stands in front of the entrance to the hotel bouncing on the balls of his feet. He impatiently waves her over, eyeing the locked front doors.

“You know,” she starts, “I think I should bring you to Granny’s right now. Let her watch over you and see if you try to skip school again.”

Henry whines, head thrown back in exasperation. “But Moooooom! These are your parents!”

“Henry, come on. You can’t really believe that.” Emma bends down in front of him and takes hold of his arms, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles even as her heart bleeds. “My parents disappeared so long ago… This can’t be them.”

“But it is!”

“Henry…”

“What about yesterday?! You believed it was their ghosts when they scared us out of here!”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Henry. How do you explain that, huh? Magic?” She deflates as her son mumbles to himself and looks to the ground. Softening her tone, she continues, “It would be really cool if magic was real but it’s not. Those are probably just projections some twisted loser made to scare people. Okay?”

“Are you calling us Jem and the Holograms?”

They jump at the sudden appearance of a third voice, their heads turning to see Killian Jones leaning halfway through the closed front door.

Emma’s breath stutters while Henry starts, “What the –”

“Tsk, tsk,” Killian taunts. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She panics. Her hand flies to her bag and she pulls out the holy water, uncapping the bottle and surging the water towards the door.

It seemingly goes through his body, the blessed water streaming down the front door, but he jerks at the sensation.

Then Killian starts to groan, writhing in pain. The half of his body positioned through the door begins to curl in on itself as gurgling from his throat becomes audible. Emma stares – watching and waiting for smoke to sizzle from his frame or for him to disappear but nothing happens.

Until the gurgling changes sound and it becomes clear it’s transitioned into laughter.

Killian raises his head, smirking in glee. “Holy water? Really? I know I’m devilishly handsome but you didn’t really think that’d work.”

The photos never did his smirk justice, she realizes. And all she wants to do is smack it right off his face. With a growl, she stands up straight and marches right through Killian to the front door, pulling the spare key LJ gave her from her pocket.

“Chills, darling,” Killian whispers in her ear. The air shifts around her. Despite the absence of any breath ghosting over her skin, she can feel the way a smirk dances across his lips and the whole thing makes her angrier.

Click. The key sits just perfectly in the lock and the door swings open. She strides inside, Henry following excitedly behind her.

Her back straight as a rod, she places her hands on her hips and stares down the… beings in the hotel lobby.

“Not the friendliest lady, huh?” Killian drawls from behind her.

Henry takes immediate offense. “Hey, that’s my mom!”

“Apologies, lad,” Killian tosses carelessly over his shoulder as he heads towards the bar.

“Enough!” Emma calls out roughly. She narrows her gaze, her voice dropping an octave. “Who the hell is behind this?”

Regina sighs, sitting regally on a cobweb infested armchair in the center of the lobby. She examines her nails with more interest than her voice provides in an answer. “If she weren’t dead, I’d say my sister.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret quietly admonishes from David’s side near the luggage cart.

“What?” Regina asks, her eyes thinning to slits and lips turning downward. “You’ve met the witch. A house should’ve fell on her sooner.”

“She was really a witch?!” Henry asks, practically bouncing in place from excitement.

Regina scoffs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Emma grits out. She moves just slightly in front of Henry, eyes flicking between the Jones brothers and Regina. “Now explain who is putting on this sick joke because they’ve got a nice harassment charge waiting for when I bring them down to the sheriff’s office. It’d be a pity to add evading arrest to that as well.”

“Well,” states Liam from where he’s reviewing a check-in book. “Once you find out, let us know. I’d like to have a chat with the lad as well.”

“Seriously,” she continues. She puts her hands on her hips to further assert her authority and presses hard enough that she’s sure the skin under her jeans is colorless. “This isn’t funny. Tell me.”

Killian tsks. The sound is quickly growing to be her most hated. “As pretty as you are to look at, lass, I think the peace and quiet was better. I’d have told you if I knew.”

David scoffs, crossing his arms. “Leave the girl alone, Jones. You’re nothing but a drunk – she wouldn’t waste the time with you anyway.”

There’s a shout of indignation from the other side of the room and then the entire lobby erupts into chaos. The Jones brothers jump to the other’s defense as David tosses insults back and forth. Regina adds her own one-liners to the disappointment of Mary Margaret. Their own disagreement drags David into it as well, and he manages to fight off both Regina and the Jones brothers as if a skilled swordsman against multiple enemies.

Words no longer decipherable, Emma subtly steps to the side, one eye on the group and the other searching, investigating. Caution rolls deep within her and she keeps one hand resting on her holstered firearm. Ghosts aren’t real. There’s no such thing. Holy water didn’t do a damn thing.

Sophisticated projector is what she’s looking for, then. They have to be holograms or AI or something that digitally recreated five tragically unsolved missing people, for the pure enjoyment of scaring others. She bets that there’s some YouTube channel that showcases Hollywood Tower Hotel scares, run by whoever is doing this.

Emma’s gaze scans the walls of the outdated hotel.

It didn’t hit her last time, too busy scared for their lives to really pay attention, but the floral wallpaper pulls from the moldings. The green background has faded and the white flowers accenting it yellowed. Burnt out lamps with golden shades sit atop wooden tables covered in layers of dust.

The sound of something rustling wafts through the air but the group of beings either don’t hear it or don’t care. If she follows the sound, though, she might find the ‘genius’ behind it all. Her eyes narrow on a closed oak door near the hallway to the main floor ballroom.

A once golden sign looks like a beat-up bronze, the fake bright finishing having flaked off over the years. Coat Closet. Likely place for someone to setup their gadgets.

The vinyl flooring crackles under her feet as she moves towards the it.

Her head turns at an echoing pair of footsteps and a quick glance back confirms Henry treads closely behind.

The wooden door swings open with a creak. Emma splays her hand against the rough wallpaper and feels around until she hits the light switch. Flickering yellow light fills the cramped space. Pink wool carpet stained from age and buckling wood paneling buried behind huge swaths of clothing greet them first before the smell of must hits their noses.

Henry shrieks and jumps back at the sight of a large rat scurrying over fraying paper and escaping through the lobby.

Great. Nothing in the closet except a rat and leftover coats from that night…

Emma was only a baby when her parents disappeared on Halloween night at the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Grandma Ruth, overwhelmed in her grief, packed up all of their things and tucked them away in a storage unit out of town. Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, though, and Emma served as a reminder of her broken heart every day, until she couldn’t handle it anymore and went into an eternal sleep.

By the time Emma was old enough to know and inquire about her parents’ things, Grandma Ruth’s storage unit had been auctioned off due to lack of payments.

Aside from a small box of things brought to her Uncle James’ place alongside her diaper bag, everything her parents owned was gone.

Being at the hotel, at the place where she lost them before she could even know them, Emma wants something to hold of theirs. The only thing she has of her mother’s is a pink cardigan, left at Granny’s apartment during a dinner once. Soft, powdery fragrance once enveloped the fabric but has long since faded. Now the small cardigan hangs on her coat rack as a reminder of what is so far from her grasp.

But maybe… maybe in this place seemingly suspended in time… she could have something.

Her eyes have studied the photographs of the night well enough that, once she looks towards the coats, she immediately recognizes the red scarf.

Tucked around the neck of a shimmering floor-length dark coat, the red scarf sticks out in a sea of navy and black. It calls to her and Emma’s fingers slowly reach out. The coat ticket says 191, the black jacket kept close stating 192 most likely belonging to her father.

The fabric is cool to the touch and though spiders and moths have left their mark elsewhere in the hotel, the state of the coat closet is pristine. Could it hold the smell? The perfume Emma has spent half her life looking for? The only thing that reminds her of her mother’s embrace. Of comfort and security and love.

She pulls both coats off the hanger and holds her mother’s up, her nose nearly to the scarf –

“Hey!” Henry calls from behind her.

Emma turns swiftly, her eyes locking in on the beings crowding their way towards them. Her hand shoots out and grabs Henry’s arm, pulling him swiftly behind her.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret echoes quietly. Her brows furrow together as she takes in the sight before her. “That’s my coat.”

Mary Margaret’s hand reaches towards the coat but Emma jerks it back towards her, feeling oddly protective of the thing. The smell of the scarf hits her nose and she rustles the coats in her arms for a better grip, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Hey,” her watery voice sounding loud in the tight closet as the others look at her in wide-eyed shock. “Don’t crowd us in here. I’m – ”

“Emma,” David breaths out, her entire body deflating.

Emma blinks, hesitating for a moment. “David?” she asks. “You… remember?”

Tears flood his eyes as he gives her a soft smile. “Of course.”

A fluttering lightness fills Emma’s chest as he steps forward, smile still on his face.

It’s incredible, she thinks to herself. How her father could just know it was her despite all the time that had passed. Maybe this is his ghost and this is her closure.

Emma nearly drops the coats as her father takes another step…

Until he bends down onto one knee and picks something up from the floor. A polaroid.

“We’ve never been able to get in here,” David whispers, more to himself than to her and Henry. He stares at the polaroid as tears roll down his cheeks and a shaky hand comes up to cover his mouth. Mary Margaret leans in close, her own eyes filling, and she rests her head on his arm.

Acting every part the proud father, David shows the others what the polaroid is. “This is our daughter,” he begins, looking up with a wide, watery grin and turning the polaroid towards her and Henry.

The film is slightly overexposed and a person stands in the background more a blur than a defining figure. In the center stands, with help of the mystery figure, a small Emma barely a year old with a spattering of light hair atop her head and a gummy grin directed right at the camera.

“Her name is – ”

“Emma,” she finishes in a rushed, exhausted breath. Looked over by her own baby photo. Damn.

She clutches the coats tighter to her center and Henry looks up at her, confused. “But – ”

“We’re leaving.” Emma frees one hand to grab Henry’s arm and pulls him through the closet, through the ghastly chill of the projected beings in the hotel, and out the front door.

[wyntereyez]

A Little Batty

Here it is... my @cssns contribution! It's late because I've been burned out, and it was originally going to have art by @spartanguard and be betaed by @ohmakemeahercules, but because I didn't get anything done until the last minute, I didn't want to impose.

--------

A Little Batty

Emma’s nights volunteering at the Storybrooke Bat Rehabilitation Center (locally referred to as ‘The Belfry’) weren’t something she’d ever imagined herself doing. She was no Disney princess; she didn’t have a natural rapport with animals. But The Belfry was her sister-in-law’s baby, and who was Emma to resist Mary Margaret’s pleading eyes? And she had to admit, any animal that let you roll it into a little burrito was cute.

Plus, her nights fell on the nights Henry was over at Neal’s. Though she didn’t think she was one of Those Moms who missed their children whenever they weren’t around, Emma admitted to herself that she was lonely when he was gone. Their creaky old house suddenly felt big and empty, and it became too much for Emma. At least at The Belfry, she could socialize without going to the effort of getting dressed up and going out in public.

Ruby was already there when Emma arrived. Unlike Emma, she did have a way with animals (“Not all animals; just creatures of the night,” she’d joked) and was the best at handling the animals when their cages needed cleaning.

And then there was Mary Margaret, who really was a Disney Princess, and you couldn’t convince Emma otherwise. All animals loved her, and she loved all animals. 

They were gathered around Mary Margaret’s desk, discussing distribution of chores (Emma was not on cage-cleaning duty tonight, thank goodness) when they were interrupted by the arrival of William Smee, the man in charge of the local marina.

Emma thought at first he’d come specifically looking for her as sheriff, but he’d only nodded in greeting and headed straight to Mary Margaret.

He was wearing the thick gloves he used for dock work, and held what looked like a ratty old beach towel cupped in both hands. “Mrs. Nolan! I found a bat down at the docks. I didn’t know what else to do with him, so I brought him straight here.”

It was unusual for Smee to be working this late at night, especially past the tourist season, and Emma instinctively wondered why. She mentally scolded herself; she needed to stop being paranoid; not everyone did things for duplicitous reasons. Like her ex.

“Let’s see what you have,” Mary Margaret said. She opened the desk drawer and withdrew a set of the thick leather gloves they used when handling the bats. Smee pulled away the top layer of the towel, just enough to reveal his captive without releasing it.

Emma expected a large brown bat; they made up most of the local bat population, and thus most of The Belfry’s residents. She wasn’t prepared for when the towel fell away from a sharp, fox-like muzzle and huge eyes, topped with large, pointed ears.

It was a fruit bat. A rather large one, at that. It stared calmly back at them with its wide, dark eyes, and twitched its ears. It seemed completely unbothered at being a bat-burrito, suggesting it was accustomed to being handled. It yawned, exposing sharp canines, one of which had a small chip in it.

“Where did you find it?” Mary Margaret asked as she pulled on the thick leather gloves.

“He was down at the docks,” Smee said. “Nestled in a coil of rope. I almost missed him, but he squeaked at me. It’s like he wanted to get my attention.”

The bat squeaked, as though it were chiming in.

“He didn’t even put up a fight. He was easy to catch - you’ll see why,” Smee said as the last of the towel fell away, leaving the bat exposed in Mary Margaret’s hand. Annoyed, the bat spread its wings, and Emma ducked out of the way of the enormous right wing. 

It was only after she righted herself that noticed his left wing, which Mary Margaret had caught and was gently holding. It was only half the length of the right, ending with a club of scar tissue just below what would have been the wrist. Mary Margaret was examining it critically, frowning.

“It’s an old injury,” Mary Margaret said, releasing the wing. The bat gave her a sour look and tucked it to his side. “No way he’s been living wild. He’s probably someone’s pet; a sailor, maybe, since you found him at the docks. He’s definitely used to being handled.”

He was also very obviously a ‘he,’ Emma couldn’t help but notice when the bat rolled over onto his back, his rear towards Emma. He looked towards her, gave a startled squeak, and wrapped his wings around himself.

Emma needed to stop anthropomorphizing the residents, because there was no way he could be embarrassed by accidentally flashing her.

“We’ll put him in one of the isolation cages for now,” Mary Margaret decided. “Just because he seems healthy now, doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong with him. Ruby, I brought a banana for a snack; it’s in the break room if you could grab it for me, please?”

“Do you have any idea where he came from?” Emma asked Smee. Fruit bats were illegal to have as pets, and while Emma didn’t think the owner would get more than a fine, they could lead to a larger illegal animal trade organization. “Anyone new around the docks?” It was the wrong time of year for it, though; most of the boats that came to Storybrooke for the summer tourist season had departed in the last few weeks. It was possible one of them had left the bat, but that meant he’d been on the docks fending for himself for at least a week. He look too healthy for a pet that had been abandoned that long.

“We have one ship that’s wintering over for repairs, but he’s not the bat’s owner,” Smee said. He seemed very certain of this, but there was something shifty in his gaze as he said it. Emma prided herself at being good at detecting lies and Smee…wasn’t lying, not exactly, but he wasn’t telling the truth, either. Before Emma could pursue it further, however, Mary Margaret interrupted.

“Obviously, he can’t be released into the wild,” Mary Margaret sighed. “He seems pretty docile; we can probably put him in the bat educational program, assuming he’s healthy and remains easy to handle. Thank you for bring him, Mr. Smee. We’ll take good care of him.”

Smee took this as his cue to leave, but not without an odd backward glance at the bat.

Emma told herself the bat did not nod at Smee.

Ruby returned with the banana and began to peel it. At the sight of it, the bat began squeaking and straining towards it. “Someone’s hungry,” she cooed, and held it out. The bat’s mouth opened wide, and he tore off a chunk that looked like it should have been too large for him.

They let him eat as much as he wanted while Mary Margaret held him. When he was finished, consuming almost the entire thing (How? Emma wondered. Where did he put it all?), Mary Margaret said, “I need to feed the others. Emma, could you get some gloves and put this guy in the furthest isolation cage?”

Emma grabbed another set of gloves. “Isn’t he too big?” The cages were designed for much smaller brown bats; he’d be cramped.

“He should be okay for a few days. And since he can’t fly, we don’t have to worry about too little space. He should have enough room to spread his wings, at least.”

The bat chittered, and licked banana mush off its muzzle. “We’ll have more fruit for you tomorrow,” Mary Margaret promised. “A variety. How do you feel about strawberries?” She chattered on as she transferred him to Emma.

The bat squeaked excitedly.

Which was a valid reaction to strawberries, but couldn’t be in response to Mary Margaret’s words. Right? 

Could bats pick up words, like dogs? Maybe he did understand ‘strawberries.’

Emma carried the bat to the back area, past the large, open enclosures that housed the permanent populations, as well as the wild ones that would be released as soon as they were ready. The isolation cages were smaller, designed to make it easy to catch a bat that would need constant care and observation.

She opened the door of the last cage, the largest, and gently lowered her hands. It took some prodding to move him off her palms, and at last he moved with great reluctance. He crawled across the floor of the cage to the bars, and immediately began to climb them to the top, unhindered by the missing finger bones of his wing, then crawled around the top until he found the perfect spot. He anchored his feet in place and dropped his body until he was hanging upside down, eye to eye with Emma. Then, with a great yawn, he pulled his wings around himself until only the tips of his ears were visible.

“Stay out of trouble,” she told him.

Emma could have sworn he’d winked at her.

~oOo~

Emma stopped by the marina at the end of her shift, curious if the bat’s owner had returned. Her attention was drawn to a ship she hadn’t seen before, a massive wooden ship that looked like it would be more at home in the Caribbean than in Maine. It was moored at the largest dock, and Emma saw it had no sails, nor any rigging. It must have been the ship Smee said was staying over for the winter, since that was the only reason to derig it. She hadn’t expected anything so… spectacular. The ship was gorgeous. She studied it curiously for several minutes, wondering who would own such a vessel, then shrugged and headed towards the main office. The door was locked, however; Smee had already left, and there was no one else on the docks.

She shrugged and headed to The Belfry.

Mary Margaret was already there, feeding the residents. It alway icked Emma out, to see her gentle sister-in-law feeding the ecstatic bats their mealworms.

“How’s our newest resident?” Emma asked.

“He was just waking up when I checked on him,” Mary Margaret said. “He looks alert, with no obvious signs of illness. The vet stopped by earlier to take some samples, so we should know soon if there’s any diseases we should worry about.” She frowned. “There was a bit of blood in his cage, but the vet couldn’t find any injuries. Did you cut yourself when you put him in the cage last night?”

“No,” she said, but examined her hands anyway.

“Huh. Well, if you’d like to feed him, there’s a bowl of fresh fruit in the fridge for him.” Mary Margaret grinned. “At least you’ll be able to feed this one without screaming,” she teased.

Emma scowled, because her revulsion to mealworms was totally valid, thank you very much.

Ruby had thrown a mealworm at her.

It had gone down her cleavage.

Emma was never going to touch a damn worm again.

Emma found the bowl of fruit, snagging a chunk of melon for herself before picking up the bowl and carrying it to the quarantine cage.

He was clinging to the bars of the cage when she arrived, his nose pressed to the fine mesh between the bars as though he’d been waiting for her. When he saw her - or, more likely, the bowl of fruit - he began to squeak excitedly.

Emma was charmed.

The name ‘Killian’ had been written on the paper taped to his cage, in fancy penmanship that Emma didn’t recognize.

“Killian, huh?” Emma asked.

The bat squeaked.

“Okay, if you say so.”

She snagged another piece of fruit - a strawberry this time, much to the bat’s indignation - then placed the bowl at the bottom of the cage. Killian quickly climbed down and hopped into the bowl, quickly losing himself in fruity bliss.

Emma laughed, then went to help Mary Margaret finish up.

“Who named him Killian?” she asked.

Mary Margaret frowned. “I thought you did. The name was there when I got here, and you were the last one to see him.”

“If I’d named him, it would be something like ‘Batty,’” Emma pointed out. “Or possibly ‘Dracula.’” She shrugged. “He seems to like it, so we may as well keep it.”

Mary Margaret gave her a strange look. “I’m sure he doesn’t care,” was all she said.

~oOo~

Killian’s test results came back clean. As long as his phlegmatic temperament continued, he’d be introduced to the other bats, though he’d be kept in a cage alone to accommodate his disability. He seemed fine with this; the smaller cage was beside the bigger one, so he could watch and communicate with the other bats if he chose. It also had bars that were easier to grip and climb. For a fruit bat with full, functional wings, it wouldn’t be ideal, but since Killian couldn’t fly, all he needed was enough room to stretch his wings to the fullest without touching the bars.

When he continued to be easy to handle, they decided it was safe to hold him without gloves. He seemed to like this, settling into Emma’s hands contentedly.

That was how she found out that bats <i>purred.</i>

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. “He really likes you! Guess you’re his official caretaker from now on.”

Killian continued to purr in her hands. Emma decided maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Because he was so comfortable with people, even seeming to prefer their company, Emma took to carrying him around the sanctuary. Sometimes he’d be burritoed in a blanket, other times he’d drape over her shoulder, that incredibly long intact wing lazily hanging down. He seemed very curious about the computer whenever she played around with it at the desk (officially ‘doing paperwork’ for the sanctuary, but actually looking at memes) and she’d see his wide, dark eyes staring at the images.

He seemed especially interested in the staffing schedule.

Emma was also the only one he allowed to ‘fly’ him. It was something they did with elderly bats, holding them and carrying them around the sanctuary, wings spread, as if they were flying. Killian seemed bemused by the whole process, but allowed himself to be carried around. 

Especially since the reward was always a bowl of fresh fruit - and gentle ear scritches from Emma.

~oOo~

Emma hadn’t intended to start dating again. Her divorce from Neal had been messy; he hadn’t been willing to let her go, despite his affair with his now-girlfriend Tamara. She thought she was done with men.

And then her sister-in-law introduced her to Walsh. They’d met when Mary Margaret had gone to the new furniture store in town, and she’d been charmed by his politeness. 

Emma had tried to refuse Mary Margaret’s efforts to set them up, but then David had joined in. Her brother had thus far sided with Emma, and had talked Mary Margaret out of multiple attempts at a set-up. For him to approve of Walsh? That meant something. So Emma had reluctantly agreed to the date.

Walsh felt… safe. He was polite, respectful. Not particularly adventurous, which would have been a big turn-off once, but now it had appeal. Best of all, he didn’t argue with her every decision. She’d forgotten what it was like to be in a relationship with no drama.

One date became two, and plans were made for a third.

~oOo~

Emma arrived late to the sanctuary on the night of her second date. She hadn’t wanted to be out so late, but Walsh had admitted to being something of a night owl, and didn’t really eat until around nine in the evening. Emma had had to have a pre-dinner before dinner, because she knew she’d starve to death if she waited that long.

But she’d had more fun than expected. And eating later in the evening meant fewer diners, which had made the restaurant more intimate. 

She’d liked it.

And the dim interior made it harder to maintain eye contact with Walsh. She’d noticed that he had a really intense gaze, and tried to meet hers as often as he could. It was… uncomfortable, for reasons Emma couldn’t really explain.

Emma put it out of her mind as she turned her attention on the anxious fruit bat, who was perched with his muzzle sticking out of the cage. At the sight of her, he gave several ear-piercing shrieks.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

Killian gave her a sour look.

“Hey! Don’t give me that! It’s not like you can tell time!”

He continued to glower.

“Okay, sorry!”

He tilted his head, considering. Then, with a sound that was almost a purr, he extended his right wing towards her thumb, snagging it with his clever little finger, and pulling her hand closer. He was about to pull himself onto her hand when he suddenly froze.

His nose twitched, wrinkled, and he bared his sharp little teeth. And then he did something he’d never done before.

He hissed.

Emma jerked her hands back. “Whoa! What’s with you today?”

He continued to stare at her as though she smelled rancid, and he wouldn’t come near her. Rather than stress him out further, Emma let him be. It wouldn’t hurt him to miss a night of flying.

~oOo~

A bat’s rejection shouldn’t have stung.

Killian continued to be edgy the rest of the night, so she left him alone.

After her shift, Emma realized she was too restless to sleep. Maybe it was a lingering excitement over the date, or maybe Emma really had taken Killian’s tantrum personally, but she didn’t want to go home. It was Neal’s weekend with Henry, and she couldn’t face being cooped up in that empty house.

So she went to The Rabbit Hole, Storybrooke’s only nightlife scene. She drew a few glances as she walked in, but they lost interest as soon as they saw she was off duty. She went straight to the bar and ordered a strawberry daiquiri, because apparently hanging around a fruit bat made you crave fruity things.

She’d been there maybe ten minutes when someone sat beside her. A richly accented voice that definitely did not send a shiver down Emma’s spine asked for a rum. 

Emma waited until he’d been served his drink before turning to him and asking, “New in town?” 

He turned, and Emma’s breath hitched when she met those blue, blue eyes. “What gave it away, Love?” he asked, amused.

English accents turned her into putty. Especially when combined with a smoldering gaze.

Mistakes had been made.

“I know everyone in this town,” she said. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh? And who might you be?”

“I’m the sheriff,” she warned him. 

“And you don’t take kindly to strangers ‘round these parts?” he mocked, adapting a twang.

“We’re fine with strangers - so long as they don’t bring trouble.”

He grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “And I look like trouble?”

Emma arched an eyebrow. 

His smile widened. Oh, he knew exactly how he looked.

“Killian Jones,” he said, offering his hand. Emma lifted a brow when, instead of shaking, he brushed his lips across the back of her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She hmmphed, refusing to be charmed by his old world manners.

Emma’s eyes fell on his left wrist, where a thick leather brace supported a rather alarming looking metal hook. His gaze followed hers. “Forgive the hardware,” he said. “Crude, I know, but it’s far more useful sailing than a more delicate prosthesis or a false hand.” He pulled his arm closer to his chest, not quite hiding it, but at least making it look less threatening.

His name wasn’t the only thing he had in common with their fruit bat.

“Are you a sailor, Mr. Jones?”

“Killian,” he reminded her. “Or Captain Jones, if you prefer to be formal. And I’m actually a pirate.”

Emma scoffed, then realized, “That old-fashioned ship in the marina! It’s yours!”

Killian nodded. “Aye, the Jolly Roger,” he said. That seemed a bit too on point. “I do charter sails for history buffs, as well as doing movie and television appearances. You’d be surprised what people will pay for a two-week Caribbean cruise with a dashing rapscallion like meself.” He grinned, and once again Emma had the unsettling thought that his teeth were very, very sharp.

“And what brings you here, Captain?”

“My ship is in need of repair, so I’m going to winter over in your lovely town,” he said. 

“Odd; Granny Lucas didn’t mention taking in any lodgers,” Emma noted.

“I’ve made other arrangements,” Killian shrugged.

Maybe he’d leased a place, then. The cottages were usually only available to lease to summer tourists, but she wouldn’t be surprised if one of the owners made an exception.

“You don’t happen to own a bat, do you?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked rapidly, blindsided.

He had beautiful eyelashes.

“Like…a baseball bat?” he asked slowly.

“Never mind,” Emma muttered. She pulled a couple of crumpled bills out of her pocket and set them on the bar. She stood up. “Nice to meet you Mr. - Captain Jones. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I didn’t get your name,” he said. It wasn’t a demand; rather, a polite inquiry. He was allowing her to be mysterious if she chose. Not that it would be hard to find out her name, since she was the sheriff. Still, she appreciated it.

“Emma Swan,” she said.

“See you around, Swan,” he said, low and throaty, and she totally did not shiver.

She left before she could embarrass herself.

~oOo~

Emma’s third date with Walsh led to a fourth.

After each date, Killian-the-bat would give her that angry hiss, and Emma wondered if he were somehow jealous that someone else was taking her time.

But he’d eventually get over it.

Which was probably a good thing, because they had their first school visit of the semester, and if he’d been cranky, he’d have missed out on having dozens of adoring children who cooed at him and gave him all the fruit he could ever want.

Though he wasn’t too crazy about being touched by their sticky fingers. But he allowed it, showing more patience than Emma had ever had.

She saw Killian-the-human several times over the next week; usually at the bar, once, coming out of the hardware store with items she assumed were for ship repair. Each time, he gave her a significant Look that she couldn’t read.

And then it happened, on a night when Emma was walking out of Granny’s diner with a bag full of carryout containers and a couple of donuts in preparation for an overnight shift at The Belfry. 

After three weeks of casual conversation, Killian asked her out for a drink. 

And Emma…she wanted to go.

Even though she barely knew him, she felt a spark with him, something that was more than just the thrill of his smoldering gaze.

“I’m actually seeing someone,” she said.

She hadn’t meant to sound regretful. She shouldn’t feel bad about dating Walsh, right?

“You don’t sound so certain,” Killian observed.

Dammit. “No, I am,” she said firmly. “He’s…nice.”

“All right,” Killian said. “I’ll see you around then, Swan.”

Emma released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That had been harder than she’d expected. And a little part of her had feared he wouldn’t respond well to being ‘friendzoned.’

She watched him walk away, swaggering, then turned and stepped forward - into something very solid.

Walsh.

A deep frown was etched into his features. Emma wondered how long he’d been standing there in the dark, and if he’d heard everything.

“Who was that?” he asked.

Emma didn’t like his tone. Clearly, he had been eavesdropping.

“Just someone wintering over,” Emma said. “We talk occasionally.”

“He seemed to want to do more than talk,” Walsh said. His jaw was clenched, and Emma frowned. Oh, no. They were not going to do this.

“It doesn’t matter what he wanted,” Emma said coolly.

“Come to dinner with me,” Walsh said. It wasn’t a question.

Oh, hell no. She was not going to put up with this possessive bullshit. 

“I have other plans,” she said.

“Like what?” he demanded.

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

Something flickered across Walsh’s face, then he abruptly deflated. “Sorry,” he said. “I know I have nothing to worry about. I just don’t want to lose you, Emma.”

Emma studied him, all senses on alert. But he seemed sincere enough. Still… “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” she told him wearily. “Right now, I have to get going.”

She made it to The Belfry just as Ruby was leaving for the day. “I left some bags of popcorn for you for later,” she told Emma as she pulled on her coat. “There’s some Milk Duds, too.”

Emma grinned. “You’re the best, Ruby.”

“I know,” the other woman grinned toothily.

Nights at The Belfry tended to be long. Emma only over-nighted once a week, and she used the time to binge watch shows. The last time she’d done it, Killian-the-bat had sat on her shoulder and squeaked at the screen.

She’d just checked the bats and was about to put a bag of popcorn in the microwave when she heard the front door open.

Emma froze. She could have sworn she locked it.

And then a familiar voice called, “Emma?” and she relaxed. Marginally. Why was Walsh here?

“Walsh, hey,” Emma said cautiously. “We don’t really allow guests this late at night.”

“I’m not a guest, I’m your boyfriend,” he reminded her. 

Emma went over to the front desk, sitting on the edge. Her hand crept over to the lamp on the corner.

“That doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? Is he here?”

Nope. Not doing this.

“Walsh… If you’re going to do this, then I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I’m not going to put up with someone who doesn’t trust me and stalks me at work.”

Walsh leaned back, staring down at her. But he made no move to leave. Emma braced herself for the inevitable meltdown.

Instead, he threw back his head and laughed.

At her shocked look, he said, “Did you think that would hurt me? It’s a relief, actually,” Walsh said. “Having to pretend to be interested in you is draining. You’re too abrasive, and you don’t trust anyone. Which, admittedly, was the right choice here. But it’s over now, and my master will reward me well.”

His eyes were red. Not bloodshot, but glowing a baleful crimson. “What the fu-”

Then their eyes locked, and Emma felt…something. It writhed around in her mind, clawing into her, leaving her feeling dirty. He was inside her head somehow, and she wanted him out, out, OUT!

Emma jerked her gaze away, and Walsh snarled.

“Why isn’t this working?” Walsh fumed. “You should be mine!” Then he smirked, showing off far too sharp teeth. “Guess we’ll have to do this the fun way, then.”

Emma reacted. Her hand flew to the heavy lamp on the desk corner, and she flung it at Walsh’s head. He didn’t react in time, and it hit him squarely in the forehead.

He didn’t even flinch.

It should have taken him down, or at least disoriented him long enough to continue attacking or escape. No man should have taken a direct hit to the head and just shaken it off.

He wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t human.

So Emma ran.

Her lunge to the side caught Walsh by surprise, and he didn’t immediately react. It bought her a few precious seconds to dart through the door leading towards the cage room.

There was an emergency exit in the back of the sanctuary. Emma sprinted towards it.

Walsh stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

<i>How?!</i> How had he gotten in front of her? It wasn’t possible!

“I’m not here to kill you, Emma,” Walsh said in exasperation. “I’m just going to take you to my master.”

Killian shrieked, beating his wings against the bars of his cage. Walsh ignored him.

“But…nobody said I couldn’t rough you up a bit.” His hands extended towards her, tipped in razor sharp claws.

Killian fell silent.

Emma dropped to the floor and kicked her leg out, hitting Walsh in the knee with bone-breaking force. It didn’t do more than stagger him, however, and he quickly recovered. Emma rolled away, but misjudged her direction and slammed into one of the cages. The bats inside fluttered their wings in agitation.

Walsh lunged towards her.

And then Walsh crashed to the floor. Something bumped and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop before Emma. Walsh’s head, the red fading from his eyes as they slowly dimmed. 

Standing over the body was Killian, the human Killian, dressed in black leather and wielding what looked like a pirate’s cutlass. “Are you all right, Love?” he asked.

His eyes had the same red glow as Walsh’s.

“What the fuck?” Emma shrieked.

Killian gave her a crooked smile.

A fang poked out from behind his lips.

“Apologies, Love,” Killian Jones said. The red was fading from his eyes, though the sharp fangs remained. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

Emma just stared at his teeth.

One of them was chipped. Just like Killian-the-bat’s.

“You’re…you’re…” 

“A vampire, yes,” Killian said. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. But Emma supposed that made more sense than what she’d been about to say: You’re my bat! “As was your…boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Emma muttered. “It was just a couple of dates.”

“Mmph.” He crouched down, examining Walsh’s body. Then, to her horror, he dragged his finger through the small pool of blood and put it in his mouth.

“He’s a neophyte; probably not more than a year since he was changed. Which means his master has to be close by, because a vampire this young seldom strays far from his master.” Killian studied her closely. “Which means he was specifically sent to seduce you. I wonder why?”

Emma didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t know, she wasn’t special. 

“You somehow resisted his attempt to control you,” Killian continued. “That’s a rare gift.”

”You should be mine,” Walsh had said. 

“How can you be a vampire?” There was a shrill edge of panic to her voice. This was too much, far too much.

“It’s a long story,”  he said. “I won’t get into that tonight. All you need to know is that I hunt vampires like him, those who break our laws and hunt humans.”

“But… I’ve seen you during the day.” Walsh, on the other hand, she’d never before sunset. She’d just assumed he was a night owl, not a freaking <i>vampire</i>

“I’m over 300 years old. I’ve developed an immunity to sunlight. I don’t like it, but I can go out in it.”

“Three hun-” Her brain stuttered to a halt. “Are you actually a pirate?”

Killian chuckled. “I have been called such, yes. I prefer ‘dashing rapscallion.’”

“You would,” she scoffed. 

“There’s that spirit,” he said approvingly. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

She tried to back away, forgetting in her panic that the cage was behind her.

“I’ve been here over a month, and you haven’t had any mysterious deaths or illnesses related to blood loss, aye?”

There hadn’t been, actually. The town had been as calm as it always was after the tourist season ended. That didn’t mean Killian didn’t do his hunting elsewhere, but she hadn’t heard anything from the nearest towns, either.

“So…you’ve been living in town as a bat and a human for a month, and no one even noticed?”

“The werewolf knows, but she and I reached an understanding.”

“The…the werewolf…” Emma repeated faintly.

“The lovely Miss Lucas,” Killian said. “She figured out what I was fairly quickly, but we came to an agreement.”

“Ruby…is a werewolf…”

“Aye. She’ll probably be furious that I told you, but she will vouch for me. She knows our laws, and how strictly we enforce them.”

This was all too much. Emma had snapped. She blurted out the next thing that came to mind. “Shouldn’t you be a <i>vampire bat</i>?”

Killian looked pained. “I don’t have the most fearsome bat form, I admit.” And then his expression became lascivious. “But I’m certainly one of the biggest.”

Of course you are, Emma thought. 

Emma’s hands were still shaking. She clenched her fists, hoping to hide the trembling.

He noticed, however, and his face softened.

“I mean you no harm, Swan,” Killian said softly. “I rarely need to partake in human blood, and then only with willing donors. This town is safe from me.” His gaze went to Walsh’s corpse. “His master, however, seems to have no such qualms. It appears we were right about his intentions.”

“Is…is that why you’re here?” Emma asked. 

“To find his master, yes,” Killian said. “We suspected that a powerful old vampire was no longer keeping to our laws, and I was dispatched to track them. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for some time. Though I suppose you’ll want me to find other accommodations,” he added regretfully. “Pity; you have some lovely fruit.” 

Emma assumed that was supposed to be an entendre, but when she looked at his expression, she realized that, no, he actually meant fruit. What kind of vampire fed on fruit? “You can stay for now, until you find something better,” Emma offered. “Although, you will have to put up with the Bat Education Program,” she finished apologetically. “Mary Margaret wants to make you the star. But somehow, I don’t think you mind being the center of attention.”

Killian grimaced. “I’ll tolerate it. But only if the children wash their hands,” he growled

“She’s calling you the ‘am-bat-sador,’” Emma warned.

”Bloody hell,” Killian groaned. “But it will help me guard the children. They’re preferred victims of rogue vampires,” he concluded grimly.

A shiver went down her spine, and this time it wasn’t because of his accent.

Something evil was coming to Storybrooke.

~fin~

[mie779]

MY CSSNS FIC

Finding Caldera -The Hidden World of Dragons

It has been such fun reading this year's CSSNS (@cssns ) contributions, some I still haven't read, but they are saved and I'll be subscribing to those who have started a multiple chapter fic.

This year my focus was on dragons, and while one could have picked the type of dragons found in Game of Thrones, I looked towards my kid's favorite dragon movie "How to Train Your Dragon". Movies I love myself, and find the story of Hiccup and Astrid very sweet and romantic, and their characters could deff be CaptainSwan in my world. So I changed the Vikings out with Pirates in this OUAT take on "How to Train your Dragon". And added a touch of steampunk too, just because I do love the old classic "Treasure Planet"

I had the pleasure of being paired with @undercaffinatednightmare as my artist. She made this beautiful mood board for the story

My beta help has been @th3capta1n who had been a valuable help fixing obvious grammar mistakes. Thank you.

Read it here FF.NET and AO3

[killiansprincss]

A Court of Vines and Shadow - for @cssns ‘23

SUMMARY: When Dark One Killian Jones makes Faerie Princess Emma of Misthaven spend 3 moon cycles a year with him to break a curse, Emma never expected to fall in love with him. Now she was walking down the aisle, meant to marry a man she doesn't love because she can never be with the one her heart wants. Or can she?

An ACOTAR Inspired fic written for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 23. Also on A03

Also it’s July 9th and Speak Now Taylor’s Version just came out I feel like Speak Now is the perfect song to accompany this fic!!

Huge thanks to @cssns for this amazing event which allowed me to bring this to life! And special shoutouts to @hollyethecurious for the amazing art and also to my awesome beta @blonde-of-sherwood 💙💜

White dress. The Spring fallen gardens filled with flowers upon flowers, petals scattered all the way down the aisle and vines spiralling the chairs and arch. Flowers Emma had grown herself with her magic, snowbells and lilies, her mothers favourite flowers, the ones she first learnt how to grow using her magic when it first manifested all those years ago.

Her mother was who she was doing this for. Marrying someone she doesn’t love. Her mother worked so hard to arrange the various meetings with suitors, all noble Fae men, only the best for the Princess of Misthaven. Her mother never got to have a big wedding, she met Emma’s father and fell in love almost as quickly as she fell pregnant. As newly appointed King of Misthaven, they had to elope quickly so the Kingdom would be more accepting of their new Queen, who also happened to be a demi-fae. Her mother, who Emma dearly loved, so much so that she was marrying someone she had had just 3 conversations with all to appease the Kingdom and not go to Civil War because of the man she does love.

Killian. That’s who her mind wandered to. The Prince of Darkness as the rest of the Kingdom saw him. It had taken a while to see past his shadows and darkness, which she now understands was built from the loss of his family and the only people he had ever loved. But she loved him fiercely, anytime they were apart it broke her. Having to say goodbye for the final time was the closest Emma had felt to heartbreak. 

So here she was, standing in her white dress, flowers in her hair and bouquet in her hands, where she would meet her father, take his arm and walk down the aisle to marry Lord Walsh. Pushing thoughts of Killian to the back of her mind as she walked towards the aisle to all the smiling faces of her Kingdom. She had to do this, she loved Killlian but they both knew they would never be together in the way they wanted. She just wished she had allowed herself to see past his darkness sooner and they could have had more time together. 

“Emma.” An all too familiar voice calls her name from behind the aisle. He uses his power to bind the shadows to him, making him appear in a sort of smoke of darkness as he steps towards his lover. One of his other talents includes stopping time, just for a few minutes, but those few minutes were all he needed.

“Killian. What are you doing here?” As much as she loved him, it pained her to see him here. They had said their goodbyes a few nights prior. Seeing him here, in a white dress about to marry someone else, it wasn’t right.

“I have tried, Emma, truly I have tried to stay away. If it made you happy I would stand by and let you marry someone else, but I can feel your pain all the way in Neverland. It’s causing me pain too, and I think I understand now, it’s why I was so drawn to you the very first time we met, why, even when you hated me you could never really stay away.”

“Killan, you’re not making any sense, what are you saying?” It was painful seeing him, she was hurting, thinking of their time together and how fate was so cruel to not allow them more time.

“You’re my mate.” 

His mate. Mates in this world were rare, her parents were never granted that luxury. She hadn’t known of anyone in the last 200 years who found their Mate. So why her? Why now?

Mates were equal in power and status, perfectly matched by the universe. A one true love, a soulmate. She never denied she loved Killian, but being his Mate was a whole other experience. It made sense in a way, they were drawn together at the ball when they first met. He could sense she was powerful, he recognised her untapped powers, something even her parents were unable to do. And she was never scared of him either, she had heard the rumours of course, and knew what he was capable of, but that didn't scare her. 

_______________

Emma had been to hundreds of balls in her lifetime, even when she was a little girl, she would sneak into the ones at her palace, and watch everyone dance. They all shared a unique beauty about them, from the way the light reflected on the dresses worn or the chandeliers making rainbows across the walls, they were a thing of otherworldly beauty. But this ball in particular was nothing like those she was used to. It was hosted just outside Misthavens borders, an old castle known to be taken up residence by a Fae many years ago known as “The Dark One”. Rumours began to spiral that the Dark One was back. It had been years since he had been seen and random killings had stopped, but who knew. The invitations went to all the noble folk in Misthaven and surrounding kingdoms and the signature was empty, leaving more curious minds. There were many debates surrounding whether they should go or not, but the Royal Family of Misthaven had to attend to keep peace.

As she grew older the balls became a chance for her parents to find her a suitor to marry, she was now 21 and it was considered uncouth for the Crown Princess to be unmarried, even by Fae standards. So in an effort to avoid dancing with a Duke, she would practise her magic. Every Fae was gifted a power linked to the four elements, and Emma had inherited Earth from her mother. At times she thought it was a boring element to have, her younger brother Leo had water, which was useful for everyday life as well as pulling pranks (to which she was victim of lately). But as she got older she learnt to appreciate it, she enjoyed seeing what she could make grow, especially in situations like right now. 

There would always be potted plants, pretty flowers surrounding the tables, she breathed into her powers and with a single touch could double the petals or even change their colours. Sometimes she would paint the pink flowers blue, or the white ones black just to test what she could do. Of course, her mother didn’t approve of using it for this. She was also gifted with the power of earth, but she preferred to make things grow or inject life back into a sunken plant, rather than mess with existing life.

“Not enjoying the festivities I see?” A voice from behind Emma startles her, she didn’t recognise him, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Dressed in an all black leather suit, not the typical style the men wore. His pointed ears stick out from his dark hair, Emma had always felt self conscious of her ears, so made an effort to hide them, but this man, whoever he was, was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“I come for the faerie wine and food only I’m afraid.” She tells him with a playful smile.

“Well if you’re here for the wine why aren’t you dancing? Most people get drunk off a few sips then don’t leave the dance floor all night.”

She leans in close, “I’m not like most women.” What was the harm in flirting, he was gorgeous and her parents would never approve which made him all the more exciting.

He holds out his hand to her, “Dance with me, I insist.” 

Dancing with a handsome stranger was not how Emma expected the night to go, but he was a great partner, unlike some of the suitors her mother had forced upon her in the past. He led her around the room with grace and it was as though they flew through the dancefloor together, no stepping on toes and he even spun her around a couple times, feeling the wine go to her head a little more. “You’re really good at this.”

“There’s just one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He whispers into her ear as he dips her. “You’re very powerful, you know Emma.” He tells her as she comes up.

“How do you know my name?” Sure she was the Princess, and most people recognise her at these things, but it was strange the way he said it so casually.

“I know a lot of things Emma.” He whispers, his breath close to her neck, making Emma feel a sense of arousal. A moment later the mystery man turned into shadow and darkness, disappearing from her hold and reappearing out of shadows at the top of the staircase.

“Welcome to my lovely guests. I guess it’s time I introduce myself?”

All eyes were on the mystery man now, they all saw his shadow power. That wasn’t one of the four elements, this was some other worldly magic. Then, for Emma at least, it clicks. The charming lustful energy coming from him, his ability to know things he shouldn’t, and his shadow and darkness powers. He was the Dark One.

That should have made her terrified, but for some reason, it didn’t scare her. Who was he?

“My name is Killian Jones. But I believe your people have a few different names for me, Dark One, Wronged Fae, Prince of Darkness is a personal favourite-though I bore no royal blood or status.”

_____________

And that’s where it began, he said he held this ball because he was supposedly cursed and needed someone with light magic to resolve it. Not just any light magic though, a very specific kind. And of all the Fae in the land, he decided Emma, after one conversation and dance that she was the Fae he was looking for, only she could break the curse. 

“All I request are 3 moon cycles with her every year until I decide otherwise, or my curse is broken, whichever comes first.” This was his deal, his bargain. As the Dark One, you would be a fool to refuse or dispute a bargain. 

Her parents were outraged, and tried everything in their power to stop them. They were a royal family, if he were anyone else maybe that would have been enough, but as the Dark One, he bore no allegiance to royalty. So for 3 moon cycles, she was to live with him, in his castle, doing who knows what.

____

The first moon cycle was absurd, The Dark One didn’t mention a single thing about his supposed curse. He made her practise her magic every single day. Barely spoke to her. Her main source of contact was with one of the servants, Belle. She would show her to her room, which wasn’t a prison or a dungeon like she was expecting, but it had lush carpets. velvet curtains and the most gorgeous and comfortable king size bed in the centre of the room. She would also take her down to the grand dining room where she was to eat all meals. The food was exquisite, the spices used were unlike anything she’d eaten before, it made Misthavens cooks look like a child in the kitchen. 

There was no sign of him for the first couple of days, he left Belle with a page of  instructions for Emma to get on with while she was here. The only thing on the list:

Read: The Complete Earth Elemental Magic Volume I

Read about her magic. That was the only thing she would do all day. For the first two moon cycles this is all she does, she sees him in passing, at mealtimes mainly. He is pleasant and they make small talk. 

When she arrives home, her parents pounce on her, needing to know everything. What she witnessed, who she spoke to and if he hurt her in any way. They were terrified, and it made Emma realise she wasn’t afraid of him the way others were.

“We have suitors lined up.” Her mother would tell her, desperate to get her married off in the strange fear the Dark One would whisk Emma away to be his bride before she could marry a noble born. She would play along and speak to the princes and lords her parents picked out for her. She tried, really tried to find something good in any of them, but her mind would wander back to the blue eyes and dark haired villain she would be seeing again very soon.

The next moon cycle comes along and her task is to again, read the magic book which she was now on volume III of. Enough was enough, she needed to know her place and what exactly he intended to do with her.

“I have read these volumes cover to cover. If I have to learn about the different ways a flower can be grown I think I will die of boredom. You mentioned a curse that first night. Tell me everything and I can look in those stupid books for something that might actually help.”

He smiles at her as she rambles on about being a useful Fae and powerful if he lets her see. He admired her courage and her passion. “Very well Emma.” The way he says her name makes Emma feel something inside her that she’s not sure is good or bad.

“Contrary to popular belief about the Dark One, I did not choose this power willingly. It was forced upon me by a former Dark One. You see, only one can exist at a moment in time, and the only way to steal the power is to steal the life that holds such power.” He then goes on to explain how many years ago, his brother’s wife had fallen sick from her pregnancy and they were not sure if the baby would survive, the three of them searched for a cure around different lands, different royal families, they had to find something to save her but had no such luck. “One night, we had grown tired and stopped to find shelter for the night, when Elsa, my brother's wife began to bleed, she was losing the baby. Liam cried out and an old man came to our aid, asked if we would do anything to help to which I naively responded yes to. He kills them both using a type of magic I didn’t know existed.’ He can barely get through his story without stopping every few moments, and it's clear he still has a heart. “He then tells me if I take the dagger and stab him in the heart, they will be revived and the baby safe.”

“He forced you to kill him so he would be free of his curse, and in turn it then cursed you?”

“Aye love. That night has haunted me for nearly 200 years, I was desperate and if I could go back and change things I would. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to free myself that doesn’t involve trickery. I also do not wish to burden another innocent life with this curse.” He then takes Emma’s hand and looks into her eyes, “That is where you come in, Emma Darling.  I saw a seer and she shared with me a vision. A golden haired demi-fae with an earth element bearing an unyielding amount of light magic has the power to free me without hurting either party.”

“And of all the demi-fae with an earth element, you believe it's me because?”

“That’s why I held the ball. I wanted to see who I was drawn to, and as soon as I met you Emma, it was clear you were the one. You are special” The way he looked at her as she said this, made her feel warm inside. For a split second Emma also thought he was going to kiss her, and that if he did, she would let him.

That was the changing point. The more time they spent together going over her magic the more confident she felt. She learnt more things about her magic that she had known were possible. She could end life as quickly as she could revive it, well, the life of a flower anyway. She could drain the life from a lily and then when it was wilting, press life back into it. Emma guessed the more she practised this, maybe she would drain the darkness from Killian.

“Have you ever experimented with other elements, Emma Darling?” He asks one day, it was the last day of the moon cycle and she was to return home. She hadn’t realised how much she would miss his company.

“I was only gifted with the earth element, my mother shares it too. My brother inherited water from my father.” She explains, “I haven’t heard of any Fae who were gifted more than one element, wouldn’t that disrupt the power balance?” 

She would also miss the way he would sit there and smile at her when she rambled, he really wasn't as bad as people said he was. They didn’t know him the way she did. “Emma, you’re special. You hold the element of earth, well all elements are connected to the earth, are they not? Why don’t you try to conjure fire?”

All Fae were granted one element, fire, air, earth or water, it was unheard of for someone to hold a double or even triple elemental magic, every scripture and teacher would tell you too much power would disrupt the power balance of the universe, and everyone would suffer. But then again if she were truly the Fae in his prophecy, she was already disrupting the power of the universe.

“I wouldn’t know where to start, I don’t know anyone with that power and even if I did I-.” He was already moving towards her before she could finish her train of thought.

“All power lives inside you Emma.” He stands behind her and places his hand on her shoulders, moving down to her abdomen, “you can feel it inside you, reach deep inside and find that extra source of power.” Emma had to focus on keeping her breathing normal, he was touching her and she was feeling very strange things at the moment. Still, she does as he instructs, she feels where she knows her earth power lies, she taps into it daily. But then she tries to focus on where that power was, and if she could feel anything else. At first she could only feel her earth, but then she felt something different, she wasn’t sure what it was but it was similar to the way her earth felt. 

“That's it, love.” Killian says, hand still resting on her abdomen, “hone in on that. And think of something that makes you angry, feel the fire before you conjure it.”

Pushing the way his husky breath felt on her neck aside, she thought of her mother and how she orchestrated all these suitors that were supposedly so ‘perfect’ for her, how she never listened to what she wanted and how angry she felt when she would come home from her studies to see a Prince or a Duke in her sitting room.

“Open your eyes Emma.”

Fire. A small flame coming from her palm was the sight Emma was greeted with when she opened her eyes. It didn’t burn for very long once she realised what she had done and couldn’t figure out how to control it. But she did that.

“I conjured fire.” She says with a mix of shock and excitement plastering her face. 

“I told you you were powerful Emma.”

 He was still standing behind her, so she turns to see him grinning at her and his gaze fixed on her, in awe of her. They’re both silent for a moment, clearly having the same internal battle inside their head. Their heads moved closer and closer until their lips finally met and Emma felt her magic on fire. Every sense was heightened with this kiss, a merge of power and lust building up from their shared time together. Killian deepens the kiss as his hand settles on her cheek while Emma’s hands find his hair. She’s being pushed up against the wall after a while, and Emma leans her head back and moans as Killian pressees kisses onto her neck and then back to her lips. 

Their time together was never the same after that. Being apart from one another became harder. Every time Emma would practise her newfound powers, her thoughts would wander back to Killian and how he made her feel. 

When they were together, they were rarely apart. She possessed all four elements, and took the time to learn and explore what she could do with them. Of course she had to keep this quiet when she was away from Neverland and from Killian. Her family and her court would be wary of her newfound powers, likely brand her as dark as her ‘captor’ as they referred to Killian.

“I wish you would stop calling him that, he has a name.” She finally snaps back at her mother upon her return after listening to her rattling her newest ideas on how to get out of the contract. 

“He forces you to be away from your family for a whole moon cycle. He is darkening your mind with his power if you do not see what is wrong with that my sweet child.” 

That taught her to keep her mouth shut. They didn’t understand. Yes, as part of a bargain she was to spend time with him, but she looked forward to those moon cycles, he understood her, listened to her, she felt he was the only person she could be herself around. Worst of it was, she was falling in love with him. No, she was in love with him. And she had an inkling that he felt the same.

The next time she comes home, yet again there is a suitor sitting in her living room. She didn’t know who this one was and frankly, she didn’t care.

“Emma. I’m glad to see you’re home in one piece.” Her mother says, and Emma rolls her eyes, pretending she wasn’t practically seething that comment. She would never understand Killian or how she felt safe with him.

“Hello mother. Who is our guest?” She asks with a fake smile, knowing full well this was another suitor she was not interested in.

The suitor offers out his hand and bows, “Lord Walsh of Oz. it is a pleasure to finally meet you, your highness.” 

He was an older man, older than she was, which was not uncommon for suitors as they had to be to have a title. He was average height, nothing particularly interesting about him was jumping out at her. Her mother clearly chose this one from the same place as all the others, he was polite and overly grateful to the Queen for inviting him. They would all sip on their tea whilst Emma made polite conversation with them and they would express their interest for children and make an awful comment about being the more powerful Fae and Emma would thank them for their time as she busied herself with something else to get away. She wondered how long this one would take to get rid of. 

“Lord Walsh is to be your husband. We have been setting arrangements whilst you were being held hostage.” She rolls her eyes at the hostage comment and was about to argue, until it hits what she just said.

“I’m sorry, we’re to be married when?” This was a new low, even for her mother. “Mother, may I speak with you in private?”

“Excuse us.” Snow tells Walsh as she guides her daughter into the drawing room.

“I can’t believe this. I’m away for one moon cycle and you have me married off already? I keep telling you, I want to marry for love.” She didn’t know what to feel right now, angry yes, upset yes, and also confused, why now, when the topic of suitors had never felt imminent. 

“Emma, every day you spend with the Dark One is a day closer to us never seeing you again.” She tells her as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“If this is still about him corrupting my mind, you have to know I’m still the same person as I was before the bargain.” As the Crown Princess, Emma didn’t have many choices in terms of clothing, free speech or political opinion, but she deserved the freedom to choose and to marry whoever she liked. 

Her mother touched her cheek, a way she did when Emma was younger. “Emma, the fact you don’t see it worries me. This is for the best. If we send a message you’re getting married, you can convince him to call off the bargain. This is a good thing Emma, things will go back to the way they were.”

She may have spent more moon cycles with the Dark One than planned, but she sure as hell was not dark herself, Killian couldn’t corrupt her when he was only trying to heal. She was different, she admits that, but it was a good different. She was powerful, confident in her abilities and her magic. Something that only came from being with Killian.

But she was the princess. Her parents, the King and Queen. She could fight with them about many things, but this was orchestrated by them. She could try to refuse this marriage, but she would need a valid reason, another prince or duke to replace Lord Walsh. It was a horrifying thought, but she didn’t have a choice. She was going to have to marry him.

What she wanted was to run away with Killian. She wanted to free him of his curse, help him heal. She did not want to be bound to him for a moon cycle at a time, she wished to spend as much time as she wished. But if she did that then her parents would come looking, they would send armies to search for her, it would cost the kingdom more money than they have. Running away would cause a civil war. 

All because she fell in love with the wrong Fae.

________________________________________

“I know you feel it too. Please Emma, don’t deny it.” He pleads, keeping the shadows clouding around them for a little while longer.

“I don’t deny it. I’m just in shock.” She admits. Having a mate in this world was rare, but those who were lucky enough to be granted one would be damned for all eternity if they chose to reject their mate. She had grown up with a legend of a male who loved another for years before meeting his mate, they chose to be apart and he died of heartache. She isn’t sure how much of that was true, but there was a reason they were chosen to be mates by the universe. She couldn’t marry Lord Walsh, no matter how hard her mother worked, marrying someone she had no love for knowing her mate, her true love was just out of reach would be too painful a life to lead. “Killlian, if we’re doing this, it has to be right, we have to follow the rules. If I run away now, it will only start a war.”

Killian nods in understanding, “We do this the right way. I claim you in front of everyone, and if you claim me back there is nothing they can do to stop.” He gives her a quick kiss before disbanding the shadows around them and hides from onlookers until it's time.

The crowd are unaware anything happened as she begins her descent down the flowery aisle. She spies her family in the crowd, her mother looking so happy, her brother next to her smiling brightly and her father trying not to cry as she takes his arm. He was meant to be giving her away to Walsh, but he was indirectly handing his daughter over to the Dark One. This was going to break their hearts, but she hoped they would see that Killian made her happy, the life she was choosing for herself was far better than the one her family were choosing for her. 

Walsh stands at the end of the aisle by the arch, his family were noble and would prosper from this union, more land and a grander estate. All of that was meaningless though, he didn’t love Emma either, it was his family pushing this marriage as much as it was her own. She was leaving a lot behind, her brother would become Crown Prince, and her mother would likely push a marriage for him too, likely to Princess Alexandra of the Western Kingdom to save the Kingdom from too much heartbreak of a runaway Princess. But it was worth it, the time spent with Killian made her feel alive for the first time in her life, she discovered things about her she didn’t know she could do.

“We are gathered today to witness the marital union between these two people. Lord Walsh of Oz, and Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

Emma spies Killians shadows from just beyond the arch, waiting for the right time.

“If there is any reason why these two should not be married, Speak Now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence from the crowd. Until shadows grow and at the other end of the aisle, Killian transfigures. “I object.”

The crowd begins to stir, chatter arises, some people even scream. “Under what grounds?”

“I have come to claim Emma. As my Mate.”

Shock horror from the crowd once again, she hears her parents cries and pleads not to go through with this, but she had no choice, this was for her own happiness, she was putting herself first for once.

“Do you claim me as I claim you?” He asks, knowing her answer.

“I claim you, Killian Jones, as my mate.”

Neither were sure exactly what would happen when they said those words, legend said mates had to claim one another in words, whether that be in public or in private. Considering mates were rare and neither had met or heard of anyone that had a mate, they were unaware if anything were meant to happen after they had claimed one another, whether it be lighting from the sky or if they would feel it in their hearts.

Neither were prepared for their right arms to suddenly have ink appear and spiral into a tattoo, matching with one another. Confirming their mateship and that they were now bound to one another, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

With a last look of pity and sorrow at her family, she runs into her new mates arms, and they disappear in a cloud of shadow.

 Emma was going home.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Four

I am more than a little embarrassed and sorry about how long it has taken me to update this story. It was never my intention to keep you waiting so long. However, here at long last is an update, and I hope to have another one to you this week yet - and this to be more regular (at least close to weekly) in the future. Thank you THANK YOU to those who have been patient and stayed interested in this story. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter!

Thank you as ever to the @cssns for running such a wonderful event that I have always been thrilled to be part of. And thank you for the gorgeous fic cover art to @eastwesthomeisbest and to @xarandomdreamx for the massively encouraging beta reading and thoughtful comments.

Can be read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Four: No Use Running Anymore

Killian Jones felt his own breath rasping frighteningly in his lungs, barely forcing its way raggedly through his chest as he watched Emma shuddering in his loose embrace, her whole body trembling and the gaze in her eyes glassy and faraway. It scared him, the intensity of the power which had taken her over - beyond either of their control - and he wasn’t sure what to do to help her. He could keep her from collapsing to the ground and lying there boneless in the dark, from hitting her head or flailing her arms, but Killian was at a loss as to how he might reach her wherever she had retreated to in her mind.

Finally, drawing in a sharp gasp for oxygen, Emma’s lungs seemed to fill, and she began to breathe more normally, her eyes were on her trembling hands and she edged far enough away that there was some distance between them, as if embarrassed at having leaned on him and letting him witness her what she’d just gone through. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and it  was clear she still felt uncertain and off balance; the weak tremor still running through her limbs as the after effects were visibly obvious. And yet it was the haunted pain clouding her eyes that held him captive, unable to blink, move, or even look away - though he could sense she would like him to do so. Emma might be able to read most of the folks around her and think to hide her own thoughts and feelings, but to him she was an all-too-open book.

At least somewhat assured that she was herself again, well on the way to recovering her breath and her composure, Killian’s mind returned to her staggering revelation without any conscious effort on his part. “Emma… what you said… about Rose’s killer? What did you mean?” he questioned gingerly. His dark brows lowered over his eyes intently, studying her with a concerned but necessary focus. “You said she wasn’t the only one.”

Looking up to meet his searching gaze, Killian could see Emma’s reluctance, and he hated himself for pressing her, even as he knew she needed him to do so. Still, the film of tears he saw in her green eyes and the way one spilled over the lower lid and trailed down her cheek, was almost his undoing; he bit back words rescinding the question with all the force he could muster. This was important, painful or not. Though he knew Emma had to recover, and that she had lived with her abilities - her “sight” - being pushed aside, ignored, belittled, even persecuted, all her life, there was a reason she could see the things she did. Her supernatural knowledge could help as well as hurt. He knew she had used it for just such a purpose in the years she had been gone. He might not have found the right time to tell her yet, but he had followed her successes in Boston, devouring each news story of the “psychic” - he could just see her huff of disbelieving annoyance at the catch-all term too - who could find missing people when all others had lost hope. He had cherished each article of a child found, holding every tidbit of praise for her close to his chest. He didn’t know how things had fallen apart in Boston, or what exactly had brought Emma back to Storybrooke, but he mourned the scars of youth that still lingered in her bearing. A part of him had never stopped hoping she might one day return, but he would never have wished for her to remain so alone and so haunted.

Her trembling fingers caught at his suddenly, as he moved to brush her hair from her flushed cheek, and she held on tight, needing his steadiness like a lifeline in a howling gale. Those wide, emerald orbs were searching his as if not sure what to make of his question. “W-what did you just ask me?” she murmured, voice fragile as a butterfly’s wing on the still night air amidst the crickets chirping and bullfrogs calling from ponds hidden in the trees at their backs.

Was she really so used to being doubted? After so many times she had saved lives, provided answers no one else could, and proven herself over and over, was it still that much of a shock to be taken seriously? Killian was ready to follow her lead, to charge into action at her back, once she had her bearings again and he was sure she would be alright.

“You aren’t going to ask how I know? Where the pictures come from? If - If I’m sure they’re real?”

He shook his head gently, never breaking eye contact with her for a second. This was important, and he needed her to see he meant every word. “Of course not, Lass,” he finally answered, words calm but sure. “I’ve known you all my life and have never known you to lie - or to be wrong in the visions you’ve seen… no matter how they might hurt.”

Looking down at their joined hands, their fingers now intertwined as he held onto her just as tightly. “No questions asked?” she mumbled dazedly, as though encouraging herself to take him at his word. “Really? Just like that?” And when she raised her face to meet his eyes again, there were still the shining tracks of tears on her cheeks, but they were no longer falling; she had blinked them away and a look of willful determination was taking over her features. “Why?” was all she whispered then, staring at him so open and raw it seemed as if she wanted to drink in his every word. “Why would you do that?”

Killian brought their joined hands up to his lips, bowing his dark head slightly over them as he hardly dared breathe, pausing to make sure she wouldn’t pull away before pressing the softest pursing of his lips to her knuckles and holding them there, breathing warmth against her skin. “Because, Emma, as I said… I know you. Love and trust, even basic kindness, have been all too rare in your life. People have always treated you a certain way - the wrong way - doubting you, hurting you, using you until they don’t need you anymore, and then throwing you away.” He wet his lips, trying to gather his nerve and praying he wasn’t about to say more than he should - or that he hadn’t done so already - then plunged on. “I aim to be different. I’m right here with you for the long haul, if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, Emma seemed frozen, stunned beyond response, but she finally shook her head wonderingly and offered him a tremulous smile, still clutching his hand but moving to stand, which he did as well, then helped her up beside him. “How did you…?” she finally asked breathily.

A crooked smile pulled at one corner of his mouth as Killian sighed, gingerly moving to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and guide her back toward his truck, still idling on the rough shoulder of the quiet country road. “I know that lost look in your eyes all too well,” he explained as best he could while he helped her with the high step up into the cab. “Our circumstances may be different, but the feeling is the same. We’ve both been lost for too long.”

He closed the door with those words, but Emma caught at his sleeve through the open window, keeping him in place before he could round the front of the vehicle. “Thank you,” she whispered - only two small words, but full of meaning. She would take the support, the belief in her, he was offering. She had been fully prepared for him to back away, to be too discomforted by what the visions did to her for him to stick around. She’d experienced more people like that in her life than she could count or even remember. But instead, Killian had witnessed the flashes of horror and darkness sweep over her, seen how much it took out of her and he was still standing right there looking at her the same way he always had. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rose had been the only person who truly seemed able to understand the magnitude of her gift and curse and was always there trying to help in any way she could. It made a poetic sort of sense that her brother might do the same.

“We have to look into this, Killian. If Rose w- wasn’t the only one…” she stumbled at the thought of her friend’s pale, bruise-mottled limbs against the muddy ground that morning so long ago, swallowing down the nausea in heaving gulps. “If her killer’s kept on all this time… I should have known. I should have done something…”

Tremors seized her once again until Killian pulled her into his chest, holding her tight until she steadied, and then pulling back just enough to firmly cradle her cheeks in both hands, pulling her focus back before she could sink into the void grappling to pull her under. “Hey, no, none of that,” he coaxed firmly, holding her steady until she nodded her assent. His own heart was beating against the confines of his chest, but he would calm it later; Emma needed his certainty. “We’ll figure it out, Swan. I promise you that. If you’ve seen there are others we need to find, Love, then that is exactly what we’ll do.”

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

Early evening dusk had come to rest lightly on the rumpled covers, smushed pillows, and his clothes tossed haphazardly all around the room when Dr. Graham Hunter blinked back into awareness near the dinner hour. Groggily, he berated himself for dozing off so early while attempting to piece together why he had stripped stark naked and went to bed before even having any supper. Then, his brain caught up with him, and he sighed, Ruby’s arrival in his office downstairs, her seduction and his weakness in falling for it once again, all coming back to him in a rush. He scrubbed a tired hand down his face and felt the weight of realization pressing heavily on his shoulders - even before he turned to look at the pillow beside him and his hand reached out for her to find empty space.

He was a fool. When it came to Ruby, he always had been, Graham admitted to himself as he rolled over with a frustrated curse, allowing himself a whiff of her decadent camelia perfume and honeyed musk on the pillow before flinging it away with a growl. How he fell into this pattern with her - crawling to her on his knees when she crooked her finger or batted an eye his way, and then waking up alone and picking up the pieces of his shattered dignity when she vanished (and she always did) - he wasn’t quite sure. He had fallen for it years ago, and yet somehow, despite knowing better, he was still such a lovesick pup over her that he settled for the scraps she offered him every time.

A noise downstairs caught his attention suddenly, breaking into the well-known litany of shame and self-recrimination. Maybe her trying to slip out unnoticed had been what woke him from his doze. Without pausing to think or second guess, Graham vaulted out of bed, pulled on the track pants he’d draped over the chair in the corner after his morning run, and pounded down the stairs, intending to catch Ruby before she made her quick exit. Fueled by angry hurt and adrenaline, he could only think she wasn’t going to get off quite so easily this time.

He caught her with her fingers grasping the door handle, her wicked heels held tightly in her other hand; her intentions blatantly clear. At his strangled call of her name - sounding a far sight more desperate than he’d meant for it to - she whipped around with a guilty, wide-eyed look painted across her face as she stared back at him over her shoulder. Neither of them moved or spoke for several long moments; Graham because he was practically vibrating with desperation, hurt, and anger in equal measure, Ruby seemingly waiting to see what he would do.

‘Or figuring out if she could sweet talk her way back into his good graces,’ his more realistic inner voice chided. ‘Had he still not learned how ridiculous he was to hope for anything else from her?’ Trying to steel his heart against the natural inclination to charm and cajole her back upstairs, to try to get her to stay while he made supper and to spend the evening together - just spend time with him out of bed, actually allow him to get to know her, or even show that she could want something more from him than the occasional physical thrill he could provide.

Before he could find a way to put any of this into words, Ruby tilted her head slightly, a guarded and slightly embarrassed half smile pressing a sweet little dimple into her cheek as she prepared to wheedle her way out of the awkward spot, just as he had predicted.

“Hey there, Handsome,” she crooned, the smile growing when he didn’t interrupt, clearly gaining confidence in her comfortable and familiar ploy. She let her graceful fingers release the door, her hand falling back to her side as she took a step closer to him. “Sorry if I woke you. I wanted to let you rest, even though I got a call and had to head out. No reason you shouldn’t be able to enjoy a break. You work hard enough, you’ve definitely earned it.”

Damn her for knowing exactly what she was doing to him! Graham swallowed hard as Ruby stood before him coyly biting her lower lip and staring up at him through her lashes innocently. One brightly lacquered red nail traced up along his bare chest between his pecs, and he struggled not to flinch, not to let the way his body immediately reacted to her touch be known.

But, of course, she did know what a word, a look, the slightest caress of hers could do to him. He had allowed her to play him like a fiddle too many times before for her to be convinced now by feigned indifference. Graham clenched his fists, closing his eyes for a moment and praying for strength, before catching her wrist and removing her hand from his chest, holding her gaze determinedly as a muscle in his jaw flexed with his aggravation and the amount of restraint it took not to pull her into his arms and give into her playful touch, pretend to buy the poor excuses and give into her charms. He didn’t want to force the coming confrontation; he knew it was going to hurt and likely wouldn’t end in any way he would hope for. Yet, he couldn’t go on blindly like this either - not anymore. He could only hope, deep down somewhere, as he barely allowed himself to wish in his quietest, most raw moments, that she needed more too, that she did care for him more than she wanted to admit. Maybe - just maybe - if he forced her into honesty, she might grasp it and open herself up rather than let him go.

“Please,” he managed to choke out, his voice rasping, but steadier than he had feared it might sound. “Just stop with the excuses,” he pressed on, hating the way her eyes clouded with hurt, those ridiculously big, liquid brown eyes he usually couldn’t deny a thing. “We both know there was no phone call. You just wanted to get out of here before I woke up and tried to get you to stay, to really be here with me longer than it takes for a romp and to scratch your itch. I’ve done a poor job of showing it,” he hurried on, seeing she was about to interrupt, “but I’m not a puppy to trail along behind you and be at your beck and call. You know how I feel about you, Ruby; I’ve been more than half in love with you since we were about ten years old. But I can’t live on scraps anymore. No matter how much…” The words back up and he shook his head angrily, turning his face from her when she reached out to him again.

He’d heard her gasp sharply at his declaration, but she too was shaking her head, a lone tear running down her cheek. There had never really been much hope left within him that she could give him what he needed; she wasn’t ready, or wouldn’t allow herself. The expression on her face and the tension in her long, lean frame - poised to run - told him all he needed to know.

Finally, his eyes dropped to the floor, no longer even wanting to look at her and think of all they could be together, and what he would never have. With a final exhalation of defeated breath, he gave her his terms. “Don’t sneak in here like this anymore, knowing how I feel about you, when you plan to sneak back out again with the sunrise and not give me anything of yourself in return. I can’t do it anymore.”

Ruby’s breath caught on a ragged inhale, as if she were gathering herself to argue with him and then the words fled her in the face of his honesty. He knew if he met her gaze it would be glossed  over with unshed tears, panic covering her features at losing the passion and connection they had always shared, but unable to expose her true self - her psyche, her heart, her soul - to keep him. He forced himself to hold his resolve; if he allowed her pain to catch at him, he knew he would have to comfort her. It was who he was, and where his weakness had always been when it came to Ruby Jones.

“Graham…” she finally whispered shakily, her voice a wavering breath not much like the silken purr she usually employed. “I can’t - you don’t understand - “

But he cut her off, gently taking a step back, a safer distance away from her before he crumbled and gathered her up in his arms. “I understand more than you think, Ru. You’re not the careless, untouchable vixen you try to play. There’s more to you, more than anyone else has bothered to see, more than you let show. I want that for you… and for us. And I can’t keep tearing myself apart hoping while nothing ever changes.”

Her shoulders slumped as she saw that his mind was made up, and she blinked moisture from her lashes quickly, biting her lip in determination that she wouldn’t be hurt enough to cry. “You’ll regret this, Graham. You know that, right? Can’t the fact that you are special to me, that I always come back to you, be enough?”

“Not this time, Ruby,” he murmured, sorry already, even as he spoke, but still adamant that he deserved more than the dregs of her attention, even if that meant she left his arms forever.

“You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Hunter,” she commented sadly, one last plaintive attempt at banter with a half-hearted smile that died before the upward curve of her lips was completed. “Ever think maybe you’re asking too much of me?”

But he shook his head slowly, studying her intently now - in a way that didn’t allow her to avoid him. “No, I don’t.” He spoke softly, deliberately, intoning the words that he genuinely believed. “For far too long, I haven’t asked enough. There is so much more within you, Ruby Jones. A capacity for love and greatness that you refuse to let yourself experience. I know that… whether you can see it yet or not.”

She shook her head regretfully, mouth twisted in a sort of grimace. “Then you may need to have your head examined,” she retorted, her hand on the door again.

With her almost gone, and not knowing when he would see her again, or be able to speak with her or touch her, or smell the sweetly ripe and enticing scent of the shampoo she used on that silky mahogany curtain of hair, Graham panicked a bit and recklessly reached out, clutching her upper arms and pulling her just close enough to press his lips to her forehead and breathe her in once more, knowing it might have to hold him indefinitely. He almost took it all back, but clung to his pride by the very tips of his fingers.

“You know, I’ll be here… right?” he murmured, breath hot across the skin of her brow. “If you ever decide you want to make a real go of this…”

Ruby had her pride too though, and that wildness and fear which twined together to keep her running and at enough of a distance from everyone that she had convinced herself she couldn’t be hurt. Tall and as elegant as a statue, that poise trained into her since she could walk, she let out a watery chuckle. “You had your chance,” she warned, trying for offhanded nonchalance. Though it fell far short of her mark, she didn’t back down. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” She pushed the door open and slipped out of the clinic as quickly and quietly as she had appeared hours before.

Sadly, Graham sighed as he raked his hand through his disheveled curls before bowing his head in defeat. It hadn’t seemed that he had another choice, and yet in the moment he felt as though he had just made the worst possible mistake… and lost something he might never get back.

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

Once she’d left Graham’s clinic, Ruby found herself wandering aimlessly. Of course she’d returned to her snazzy little car and rummaged around in the duffle she’d stashed in the back for a more normal and less blatantly seductive outfit. She didn’t have any trouble wriggling into it in the backseat undetected. It was a slow, sleepy, late afternoon in a small town, creeping toward dusk, and there was no one in sight. However, by the time she had finished and settled herself back in the driver’s seat, Ruby was sniffing back tears and angrily wiping the silent tracks of those which had already escaped down her face. ‘Why did he have to ruin everything?’ ran on a fuming, repetitive loop in her head, crying out against her desire to shrug it off as if it didn’t matter that much anyway. They’d had some good times, and he was a catch, sure, but Graham Hunter wasn’t irreplaceable she tried to convince herself.  ‘He wasn’t happy with her in his bed? Fine. He’d be sorry once he’d been without for a little while.’

The rant she was trying to build up in her head sounded good, but she couldn’t put any feeling behind it - not really. She wasn’t even fooling herself. Graham was different from the other men she had charmed, toyed with, and strung along for a time. He always had been. She simply hadn’t wanted to admit that truth, and now it was boring its way into the center of her chest with all the strength of a drill bit. ‘How in hell had that happened?’ She’d sworn she wouldn’t give a real damn about anyone - not since even her own parents couldn’t be bothered to save a care for her. ‘How did he sneak through the cracks?’

‘Because he does care about you,’ a chiding but concerned voice that sounded a lot like how she remembered Rose’s whispered in her mind. He was there before you tried to lock everyone out, it added, and she shook her head, trying to scatter the unwanted reminders. With a growl of frustration, she swung back out of the little two-seater, noticing vaguely that though Storybrooke did not look very lively there were several small shops heading back toward the town square that had not yet closed for the day. ‘A distraction,’ she decided firmly, with a sharp dip of her chin and squared shoulders. ‘Take my mind off it for a minute, and before long, he’ll be in my rearview.’ The self-comfort rang a bit hollow, but she was already loping down the sidewalk with purpose, looking for something to catch her fancy.

The Sweet Shoppe on the corner had their door open, allowing a decadent and enticing scent of buttery pastry to drift out to passersby. Ruby grinned, cheered at least a little by the prospect of flaky layers of cinnamon sugar, crackly baked dough and butter in one of their famous pinwheels. One of those treats certainly wouldn’t right all that had gone wrong since she’d woken in Graham’s second story apartment an hour ago, but it surely couldn’t hurt, and she was grinning in spite of the hollow ache which had settled beneath her breastbone by the time she opened the door and entered the shop to the sound of the little bell above it chiming merrily.

Sure enough, she did feel rejuvenated after biting into the freshly-made and still warm delicacy. By the time she stepped back out of the bakery onto the sidewalk - one pinwheel happily devoured after practically melting in her mouth, and another bagged up for later in her hand - things didn’t look quite so bleak.

As Ruby headed on down the sidewalk, slowly starting to convince herself - for the time being at least - that she was recovering her equilibrium, she found herself reaching Emma Swan’s new store front, the displays in her window truly beginning to look much like a big city gallery and the potted flowers out front on the walk looking nearly ready for the upcoming grand opening. Some old, deep-seated pettiness stirred at first, as her dark eyes took in the signs of Emma’s determination not to quit - every bit as stubborn as any of the Joneses, too much so to back down, no matter who tried to keep her away.

But the longer she stood there on the pavement hopefully out of sight of anyone who might be inside since she was standing there gawking like she’d been frozen in place, Ruby couldn’t muster up the indignation and hateful bitterness she’d harbored before. Much as she had been hopeful to at last please her mother with her compliant agreement, or continue to feel hurt and jealous over the kinship Emma Swan had shared with her lost twin, the anger just wouldn’t come. In hindsight, with the light of day and the wisdom of years in between, she knew that Rose’s murder, the horror of that nightmarish day lost in the muggy, strangling soup of that long, horrible summer had not been Emma’s fault. In many ways, Emma had been another victim; one who kept being punished instead of laid to rest.

Despite the messes she had already made that day, Ruby determined that she was going to stop following the chosen family line. She would never earn Cora Jones’ elusive approval anyway, so why should she continue making herself and others miserable in pursuit of it? She had just reached out to try the door, just in case Emma was there, when the woman herself pulled into a parking space and exited the ancient VW that Ruby actually remembered her leaving town in years ago.

“Ruby Jones?” Emma questioned, her brow knit in concern as she moved to stand beside her on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”

Ruby shrugged a bit sheepishly, with what she hoped was a convincing smile. She wasn’t about to admit all that she’d just been thinking, and so she was at a loss for how to explain her presence. 

“You can’t think I’m crazy enough to leave the place unlocked, surely?” Emma queried, moving the bag she carried to the opposite arm and fishing a ring of keys from the bag at her side. “Not with how many people hate me setting up shop here. Speaking of, wouldn’t egging the place be a little simpler than trying to break in?”

She quirked a challenging brow at Ruby, but also waited patiently for an answer, standing in the opened doorway as the warm air drifted through around them. And Ruby had to give her that one; she had never dropped even a single hint that she would simply pay Emma a friendly visit.

Finally relocating her usual sass, she winked, slipping in the door on Emma’s heels before the other woman could change her mind. “Nah, that’s for the riff raff. I can do better than egging if I really want to make my point.”

“I bet you can,” Emma drawled, looking bemused by the whole situation.

Rather than saying anything else for a moment, Ruby roamed around the small but beautifully arranged space, taking in all that Emma had done to make the building her own and have it looking its best. She couldn’t help being drawn in by the photographs themselves as well. While she might have been too hardheaded to acknowledge it before, her eyes were open now to recognize that Emma Swan truly had a gift - one for capturing her subjects in a way Ruby had never seen the like of before.

Emma, meanwhile, had moved to the counter to deposit her things and turned to watch Ruby Jones with genuine curiosity. Not speaking, she merely observed, wondering what had changed to bring a self-appointed enemy to her doorstep, seemingly anxious to play nice. Someone could have knocked her over with a feather, as the old saying went, when Ruby suddenly turned with a broad smile from where she’d stopped to study a huge canvas bearing a close-up of a single, stunning, blood-red azalea blossom as its focal point. Some sort of mischievous glint was in her eye that Emma didn’t fully understand until she asked, “Any chance you’d sell this one to me before your official opening? It’s just the thing my mother ought to have for her birthday.”

Too startled to catch the surprised snort of laughter that escaped at Ruby’s words, Emma slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. The brunette vixen she had always somehow felt was looking down her nose at her, looked genuinely pleased with her reaction, her pearly white smile broadening even more to look sharp and dangerous as well as alluring.

When she thought herself capable of calm speech instead of disbelieving laughter, she met Ruby’s eye and replied, “Oh, that can certainly be arranged, especially for such an illustrious recipient as your mother.” Emma was capable of her own sweet as pie with steel beneath expression, and she employed it now with a stealthy smirk of her own that made Ruby’s eyes widen in their turn. “Of course, I might have to charge you extra for not letting me be there to see her face when you gift her with one of my photos.”

The deal was struck, and somehow the unexpected exchange between them was healing. Nothing more needed to be said, but the years of avoiding one another, skirting painful history and old grudges, were past, and a weight fell from both their shoulders. They were two completely different people, with very different experiences and unique wounds to bear, but the one person they both had in common, and the fierce, proprietary love each had held for her - which had always stood between them - had brought them together at last. Just as Rose had always wished. As they laughed at their own impudence, and the vision of Cora’s affronted face when she realized the full import of the present, Emma gift wrapped the large frame, and Ruby gladly paid her for her first sale. Emma could almost feel her old friend’s presence over her shoulder and the echo of Rose’s sweet voice cheering her on.

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

He’d nearly gotten caught that morning, lingered almost too long as the dawn’s first rays spread across the sky, bringing light and warmth to the the early gray and beginning to dry the dew on the grass. ‘Should have remembered the little hellcat can’t sleep through the night! Never has been able to!’ he cursed to himself as he awkwardly lunged into the deep underbrush a few feet from the porch. He felt damned lucky she’d chosen to come back to the little cabin of horrors so close to the woods, and so secluded from any neighbors… That could have been a fine end to things before they could really get going - and he’d bided his time far too long already, been more patient than a man should rightly have to bear - to get caught with his hand in his pants on her front porch and blow everything he’d worked for. She’d go running then - just like she’d done before.

Emma Swan would not escape him a second time. Just as they had been all those years ago, all the points were aligned, but now he was ready and prepared - he wouldn’t allow her to slip from his trap. Still, he needed to be careful… couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Dark, hungry eyes watched from the safety of the trees as the screen door flew open and his quarry dashed across the porch, down the rickety steps and into her car. He drank in her curves like a wino would savor the first sip from a hard-won bottle. Hard again, he gritted his teeth before succumbing to the empty pleasure of his own hand. ‘Not much longer,’ the mantra repeated in his head. ‘Not much longer, and she will be mine.’ 

It was almost too easy; she had stepped into his web better than he could have planned, more naturally than he had dared to hope. It wouldn’t pay to get overconfident, but he could feel everything falling into place.

Oh, he could bide his time a little longer - after all, he’d waited this long - but soon she would be within his grasp. Just the two of them, and no one near enough to interrupt, or be any the wiser. She wouldn’t be able to run from him then.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @wefoundloveunderthelight @belovedcreation @scientificapricot @kday426 @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @ineffablecolors @blowmiakisscolin @elfiola

[kmomof4]

Return to Me: A New Fic for CSSNS24

Here is my second fic for the final @cssns!!

Ohhhhhh, I am SO EXCITED to share this fic with you!! I have to tell y'all, I thought I had an idea of what the original Dracula story looked like, and that idea is what inspired this fic. But turns out, I had no idea what Dracula was really about, which shouldn't have surprised me since I've never read the book nor seen any Dracula movie. Too much of a wimp... But anyway, that idea is where this fic came from, even if the idea bore almost no resemblance to the original story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

@snowbellewells and @hollyethecurious deserve all the love and long distance internet hugs for their beta work on this fic. They both had suggestions and insights that made it so much better!!! Thank you so much, ladies!!!

@motherkatereloyshipper did her magic AGAIN on the artwork!! Isn't it gorgeous? Please give her ALL the love!!!

Summary: Vampire Killian Jones has been waiting for his bride to return to him for 250yrs, and now that she has, there are a couple of obstacles that must be overcome before they can truly be together. Will they succeed?

*Spoiler Alert*

Of course they will. Happy endings are ALWAYS guaranteed with me...

Words: 7300

Rating: M for violence and smut

Tags: CSSNS24, Vampires, Reincarnation, TLK, Happy Ending, Temporary Major Character Death

On ao3

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

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

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza

@djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling

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

@captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones

@mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Return to Me

Queen Emma stood at the window in the highest tower of the castle she called home and watched as her love led their army away to fight King Malcolm - the despot of a cobbled together kingdom some leagues away, who’d now turned his sights on adding her husband’s small kingdom to his dominion. 

She had no doubt that Killian would ultimately emerge victorious, but she couldn’t help the dread that squeezed her heart as she watched him march away, leading his men into battle. Their kingdom was small but prosperous, their people strong, loyal, and eager to defend their homeland and their Sovereign from the aggression of a very well-known and universally hated tyrant. The people of Malcolm’s kingdom were little more than slaves to his oppression, with no real strength or motivation, other than fear, to conquer strong and well-defended lands. 

There was nothing she could do but hope and pray for his safe return to her, so she turned away from the window and prepared herself for the day ahead. She was no stranger to duty and was ready to fulfill hers while her beloved was away. It was important for the remaining people in her kingdom to see and to know that their welfare would not suffer while their Sovereign was absent. And that duty fell now to Emma alone. Just as her husband wouldn’t fail their kingdom, she would prevail in her charge as well.

Many hours later, a large hand slammed over Emma’s mouth, waking her from a sound sleep. The strangled scream that burst from her was muffled both by the offending appendage and the way she struggled within her assailant’s grasp. It was only moments before the hand was replaced with a gag that was stuffed in her mouth and a bag placed over her head. A strong arm was wrapped around her middle as she did everything she could to escape. There were several of them, as evidenced by the grasping hands trying to grab her flailing limbs. They were finally successful, and her hands and legs were bound securely as she was carried through the silent halls of the castle. The guards who should have defended their queen had obviously been dealt with when her kidnappers approached her chambers. 

They emerged into the night, evidenced by the slight breeze against her bare arms. She was unceremoniously thrown into a cage of some sort - the wooden bars solid and tearing at her exposed skin. She tried to stand in her prison as, with a jerk, they began to move, but her tied hands and feet made that impossible. She fell into a heap, tears of pain and fear filling her eyes.

Still blinded by the bag over her head - the stink of it making it difficult to draw a deep breath - Emma tried her best to keep her wits about her and not panic.

Who were these men and where were they taking her?

~*~*~

She must have fallen asleep at some point in their journey, because she was jerked into wakefulness when they came to a sudden stop. The air didn’t seem as close now as when they set out from the castle, and the sounds of many horses and low murmurs among the clanking of iron told her she was in the camp of an army. King Malcolm must have sent men to kidnap her to give him an advantage in the coming battle. She could hear her captors dismounting and coming to the door of her cage.

She positioned herself as far away from the door as she possibly could. There was blessed little hope for escape, but she wouldn’t make it easy for them. The gate of her prison was opened and, from the lurching tilt of the cage, she knew the man who’d just climbed inside was quite large. She held her breath waiting for him to put his hands on her. She suppressed a shudder of revulsion as a large hand wrapped around her bound ankles and began to pull her forward. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as his stench reached her. The moment she perceived that she was close enough, she pulled her head back and then forcefully jerked it forward, hoping beyond hope that she’d make contact with some tender part of her aggressor’s anatomy.

A sickening crunch and a howl of pain reached her ears a moment later. The hand around her ankles disappeared, and Emma began kicking her legs, trying to keep anyone else from laying their hands on her person. But her victory was short-lived. Similar to the night before, strong arms wrapped around her middle and hauled her bodily out of the cage she’d traveled in. 

She twisted and flailed as much as she could while in her captor’s grasp, until she was put down on her feet and tied securely to some kind of post or tree. Only then was the bag over her head removed.

She blinked furiously against the bright morning sunlight that was just cresting the hill on which she stood. Once her eyes focused, she could see the army bearing the colors of her kingdom on the opposite hill, on the other side of a small valley where the two armies would presumably meet in battle. The army and her beloved were too far away to see clearly, but she now knew with certainty who had kidnapped her and also had a pretty good idea of his plans for her.

She turned her head to the side to see King Malcolm, a gloating sneer on his face. Finally seeing him in person rather than conjuring him in her mind's eye, he wasn’t nearly as impressive as the tales made him out to be. He was only slightly taller than she was - certainly not as tall as Killian - stocky, and with straight hair the color of dirt. His teeth were yellow, though the beard and mustache he sported was neatly trimmed.

He stroked his chin as he moved toward her. “It’s a shame that I’ve already bound myself to Lady Fiona,” he mused, his sneer turning lascivious as he looked her up and down. “You’d make quite a lovely bride…”

His words came to a sudden stop when Emma spit in his face. He roughly grabbed her chin in his hand and moved closer to her, his face inches from her own. He stank, like the rest of his men, and Emma was glad she’d had nothing to eat for hours, or she would surely lose it from the foulness invading her nostrils.

“Now you listen here, you draggle-tail.” The sneer was back in full force, and Emma glared with all the animosity she held in her heart for this foul coward of a man. “The only reason you’re still alive is because I want to be sure King Killian sees what happens to those who defy me.” He turned away from her, and over his shoulder she could just see the line of her kingdom’s army charging down the hill toward the valley.

They were too far. He was too far. He’d never reach her in time. A calm resolve settled about her shoulders. King Malcolm intended to kill her to punish Killian. She could see him now at the front of the army, though he was still too far to make out any details of his beloved face.

She thought back over the past weeks and months of their lives together. Killian approaching her father to arrange their marriage. The flutter in her heart and instant connection she felt with him when she saw him for the first time as she entered the church to join her life to his. After their wedding, when she was escorted to her chambers - Killian explaining that he did not expect consummation of their marriage when they’d only met a few hours ago at the altar - turning to her husband and informing him that she expected consummation and would be sharing his bed henceforth. Killian’s affectionate appellation the exchange engendered. The days, and nights, since then, the love and happiness they’d found together. 

She gasped in pain as the blade King Malcolm carried found its mark. Numbness spread through her body from the fatal wound as her lifeblood spilled to the ground below. 

She could see Killian now, far enough ahead of the main line of the army, even as darkness encroached on her vision. His scream of anguish reached her ears even as she sagged against her bonds, her strength failing her. Her vision was blurring, but she struggled to keep her eyes on him until the last possible moment. 

I love you, Killian.

Then her eyes closed and Emma knew no more.

~*~*~

Many, MANY years later

Killian awoke from his slumber at dusk, yet another long and lonely night stretched out before him. No different from every other night. He sighed, melancholy settling on his shoulders like a cloak. He didn’t know how much longer he could endure this lonely existence. But when he thought of the future - the future he was waiting for, that he’d been promised - he knew he could wait forever. To the end of the world, or time. 

As he moved through the corridors of the castle, something came over him. He could smell a freshness in the air, a sense of anticipation that rivaled the longing for spring when the first crocuses and snowdrops pushed through the frozen ground.

Turning his attention to the village below his castle, he sent forth his preternatural hearing to try and locate the source of this difference in the air. The village was growing quiet as shopkeepers closed their doors, children were called inside, and families gathered around the table for the evening meal. All was as it should be. As King of this tiny kingdom, he took his duty to see to the welfare of his people seriously. Just as he had during his days of life. Even if it wasn’t strictly necessary any longer.

The inn on the edge of the village drew his attention as he focused in on the newcomer who’d just entered the common room. The kingdom didn’t have visitors. Since the day his existence had changed, no one but those specifically traveling here for some reason had ever come. So this man had a reason for being here, and Killian needed to know what it was. The man’s voice had an oddly familiar huskiness to it - something about the cadence and inflection, the way he uttered the words more than the words themselves - that made Killian want - no, need - to see exactly who spoke.

With a wave of his hand, he transformed into a bat and quickly flew down to the large pine tree in the open courtyard of the inn. This particular perch would give him a good vantage point to see inside both the stables and the common room, as well as many of the private rooms inside, in case he wasn’t immediately able to put eyes on the speaker who had brought him down to the village in the first place.

He hung upside down from one of the lower boughs of the tree, peering inside the common room, when the freshness of the air he’d noticed earlier permeated his concentration causing him to turn his attention to the stables. An involuntary gasp in the form of a high pitched squeak- too high for humans to hear- left him as his eyes beheld his love for the first time in centuries.

His shock was profound as he transformed back to himself and hid in the shadows of the huge tree. Blood tears filled his eyes as they eagerly drank in everything about his Swan - his pet name for his beloved bride because of her beauty and fierceness if provoked. Long golden hair that curled slightly was gathered at the crown of her head, but still hung down to her shoulder blades. His keen eyesight could see the green of her eyes and even the dimples on her chin and on either side of her full pink mouth that he’d traced many times with his tongue in the throes of passion. It was all the time he had before she entered the common room of the inn, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Killian moved to the window, still careful to remain in the shadows, to see if she joined the man he was seeking or if she was traveling alone. She sat down at a table across from a man whose countenance tickled the edges of Killian’s memory, but he couldn’t quite place him. They were sitting close enough to the window that he had no trouble hearing their conversation.

“Neal, what is going on here?” she asked, furtively looking around, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You bring me to this… place… not on any map, out in the middle of nowhere with no explanation other than you have some mission to fulfill before the wedding. This looks straight out of, I don’t know, almost Medieval times. No paved roads, or vehicles for that matter, other than carts and horses. The women are all dressed like…” She looked down and motioned vaguely at her own attire of pants tucked into tall boots and a close-fitting shirt with no evidence of a corset underneath, all covered by a red leather jacket that barely skimmed her waist. “Not like me.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “It’s like time stood still here.” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I think it’s time you told me exactly what this mission is and why we’re here.”

Just at that moment, the innkeeper approached their table holding two keys. “Dr. Cassidy, Miss Swan,” he began. Killian was shaken down to his marrow to hear his own sobriquet applied as a proper name to his reincarnated love. She looked at the innkeeper confusion furrowing her brow. 

“We’re together,” she informed him. “We just need one room.”

The innkeeper shook his head. “Separate rooms for men and women who are not married,” he informed her. “King Killian would never allow otherwise.” He left the keys on the table and withdrew just as one of the serving girls laid down plates of roasted chicken, vegetables, and fresh baked bread in front of them.

The consternation on her visage was very familiar, and Killian felt a surge of inexpressible joy that brought a wide smile to his lips. 

“Is he kidding?” she asked this Dr. Neal Cassidy. The stare she pinned him with was also very familiar, and Killian could almost feel sorry for the man as he seemed to squirm a bit under her intense gaze. “Explain. Now,” she continued. “What is this place? What are we doing here?” 

The man leaned across the table and lowered his voice, obviously not wanting to be overheard. 

“Ems,” he began, glancing around to make sure there was no one near enough to hear him. Too bad he didn’t know Killian stood just on the other side of the wall and could hear every word that proceeded from his lips. “The reason we’re here - the mission - is to kill…” His love’s eyes widened as Dr. Cassidy glanced around again to be sure there was still no one within earshot, “a vampire.”

Killian let out a resigned breath as full recognition flooded him. Here we go again, he thought. The reason this Dr. Cassidy sounded, and then looked, vaguely familiar to him was because he was of King Malcolm’s bloodline. The last in a long, long line of adversaries who refused to leave him in peace. 

“A… vampire?” she asked, incredulously. “But…”

“Don’t say they don’t exist,” Cassidy interrupted, his hand waving dismissively about. “I can assure you, they do. And this one has had a vendetta against my family for 250 years.” Killian could clearly see the disbelief in his love’s eyes as the man continued his impassioned explanation. “This vampire has killed every single one of my male ancestors, from my own father to my great-great-great-whatever going back to 1768. Why, I have no idea. But I didn’t want us to begin our lives together with this shadow hanging over us. So I’m here to kill him, before he comes after me. And I will succeed.”

The words took a moment to register, but once they did, Killian’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in suspicion. This man, this Dr. Cassidy - descendent of Malcolm, the man who’d… - was planning to marry his Swan. He stood rooted in the shadows unable to do anything but watch and seethe in helpless fury.

“Neal…” she began, doubt and confusion in her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he insisted, interrupting her rudely. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but you wanted an explanation and you got it. Just trust me, ok?”

“Fine,” she said, though her eyes told a different story altogether. “Let’s say I trust you, and vampires are real.” The skepticism in her tone was on full display, and Killian knew she still didn’t believe Dr. Cassidy’s words. “What if you don’t kill him?” she asked. “What if he kills you, too?”

“He won’t,” he assured her, reaching across the table toward her. “We’ll attack during the day, while he’s asleep. A stake to the heart and cutting off his head will ensure his death. Then we can return home, get married, and live our lives in peace.” 

Killian ground his teeth in anger at the lies Dr. Cassidy was spinning. Why the man felt the need for deception about the history between his family - King Malcolm’s progeny - and Killian himself, he could only speculate. But the man was obviously not worthy to call his Swan his own. 

“And you know how to find him?” she asked.

Dr. Cassidy nodded and pulled out a small notebook. “This has been handed down to me from my father and from his father before him. Everything we need to know to kill the creature is right here.” He opened the book and flipped to a page with a map. “This is a map of the castle, so yes, I know exactly how to find him.” 

They finished their meal in relative silence. Once they’d satisfied their respective appetites, they each took a key and walked toward the stairs on the other side of the common room. Killian’s gaze fixed on Dr. Cassidy. He had some plans to make before he’d surely face this latest adversary come dawn.

~*~*~

Emma Swan rummaged through her duffle and pulled out her sleep shorts and tank top as she tried and failed to put Neal’s words from her mind.

Something about his explanation didn’t ring true to her. She had a sixth sense type of thing- she likened it to a superpower- but she could always tell when someone was lying to her. And as she ran back over his words about the vampire, she knew he was not telling her the truth. Not about the vampire himself, though. As unbelievable as his words were, they were not the rambling mutterings of a madman. And her superpower had been completely silent when he spoke about its existence. It was only when he spoke of the reason for the vampire’s vendetta that her intuition awoke, telling her of his deception. He had to know why, why the vampire was targeting his family. That was the only thing he said that wasn’t straight facts. For some reason though, he didn’t want her to know what the reason was.

She crawled into bed, closed her eyes, and prayed sleep would find her quickly.

It seemed only minutes later that Emma felt a feather light brush against her cheek and heard whispered words laden with tender affection.

“Emma. Emma, my Swan.”

Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze landed on the most handsome man she’d ever seen. There was something very familiar about him, though she couldn’t say just what it was. It didn’t even occur to her to be alarmed at the presence of a strange man in her room. His hair was black as midnight and his blue eyes shone in the moonlight spilling into the room. His skin was unnaturally pale and neatly trimmed scruff the same color as his hair covered his jaw. He was tall and well built. His pants clung to the long lean muscles in his legs and he wore a dark shirt that wouldn’t look out of place on a pirate of old underneath a red brocade vest. 

“Who are you?” she asked as she sat up in the bed. “How do you know my name? What are you doing here?”

He knelt beside her bed and extended his hand toward her. She placed her hand in his, feeling inexplicably drawn toward him.

“I am Killian Jones,” he said. His voice was low and rich and it wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. “I am the Sovereign of these lands, and you are my love. I’ve waited for you for 250 years.”

“What?!” she cried, pulling her hand from his. His last words made her mind race back to what Neal had said earlier as she quickly put the pieces together. “You’re the vampire!” She couldn’t contain the horror in her voice or, she was sure, on her face. “Oh, God! You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” She could hardly believe what she was seeing, visual confirmation of Neal’s words. She pulled her legs toward her chest and scooted as close to the head of the bed as she could, trying to present as small a target as was possible. “Why me? Neal said you targeted his family! I’m not his family, yet!”

“No, my Swan,” he assured her, gentle compassion beset on his features, his hand still outstretched, her superpower as silent as could be. “I am not here to kill you. You are my bride. Returned to me. As promised.”

Bride? Returned to me? As promised? “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nobody promised anyone anything!” she exclaimed. Without fully realizing what she was doing, she extended a hand towards him, and he gently clasped her fingers.

Love. A deep and abiding love that she’d never known swept over her as pictures filled her mind. Pictures narrated by the man kneeling before her. 

“King Malcolm demanded tribute from our small but prosperous kingdom. He was nothing but a tyrant, and I refused. Our people were loyal and strong, and I knew that we could defeat him if it came to battle. The dawn when we were to meet, our lookout ran to me with his spyglass. I opened it and trained it across the valley to where his army was mustered.” 

A gasp of profound grief filled her mind as she saw what Killian saw through the spyglass. A woman tied to a post, her face covered with a dark bag. The obvious leader of the army, King Malcolm, grabbed the bag off of the woman’s head, her long blonde hair settling about her shoulders. There wasn’t time to get a good look at her face, but the scream of anguish from Killian told her that whoever it was, was someone of great import to him. He sounded the advance - the thunder of hooves and battle cries of the men deafening in Emma’s mind. Watching the scene now through Killian’s eyes, as they got closer to the opposing army, King Malcolm drew his blade across the throat of the blonde woman, Killian’s cry of fury now filling her mind. The armies met, and Killian was relentless against his adversaries until he met King Malcolm himself. The fighting between the two men was brief - Killian obviously a far superior swordsman. It was only moments before Killian’s sword was buried in his enemy’s gut, withdrawn and brought down again where King Malcolm’s neck met his shoulder, literally slicing the man in two. 

The battle was over, and Killian rushed to the dead woman on the other side of the valley. Emma watched through Killian’s eyes as he gently turned her face towards him. Emma’s breath caught and she couldn’t look away from the ashen visage of Killian’s beloved- her own face. His grief and despair poured from his lips as he gathered his love to his chest, uncaring of her blood that covered him. 

Killian’s narration resumed.

“King Malcolm was soundly defeated, paying for his hubris with his life. But not before he took my greatest treasure away from me. My Swan, my bride, my Emma. We’d only been married a few months when I rode away to war. If I’d known what his plans were…” 

His words drifted off for a moment before resuming again. “I’d heard of a witch who lived in the woods near the border of our kingdom. I’d left her in peace because, to my knowledge, she didn’t use her magic for nefarious purposes. I took the body of my beloved to her, mad in my grief, hoping that something could be done to bring my love back to me.”

Emma watched as Killian emerged into a clearing with a small hut on the opposite side. She could smell the woodsmoke tinged with aromatic herbs from the chimney. Could hear his gasping cries and the sound of his pounding fist upon the door. When it opened, Emma gasped in horror. The witch had no face. Long matted red hair framed a pale visage with thick black stitches where her eyes should be. She spoke in an otherworldly whisper as she invited Killian Jones in.

He laid the body of his beloved on a pallet on the floor and begged the witch to do something, anything. Holding her hands out in front of her, Emma gasped again at the bright blue eyes in the center of each of the witch’s palms. She slowly moved her arms back and forth, the eyes darting around, before she began to speak.

“I am powerless against the bonds of death, Killian Jones,” she murmured, but with an undertone that reminded Emma of the swell of the ocean pounding against the rocks of the seashore. “But know this, your love will return to you one day, not by my hand and many lifetimes hence. I will give you a potion that will enable you to live until that time. When she returns to you, her True Love's Kiss will restore you to life and you will live out your days in peace.”

The witch fell silent and her arms dropped to her side, the unnerving eyes now covered from Emma’s sight. The witch turned to a shelf laden with bottles and her hands moved surely among them until they settled on the one she sought. She turned back to Killian and handed him the bottle before speaking again.

“Drinking this will give you endless life, and will freeze time within the confines of your kingdom. The night will be your domain, and you will thirst for blood. Until the time your True Love returns to you.”

Killian uncorked the bottle and downed the contents in one go. It was only seconds later that he doubled over in excruciating pain, his cries surely reaching far beyond the woods in which they all stood. It seemed forever to Emma, but his cries finally came to an end and he straightened upright again. His eyes darted around the hut before landing on the witch. Emma could feel the struggle within him - his thirst for blood was overwhelming, but his gratitude for the witch’s prophecy and the potion kept him from slaking that thirst on the first available person he met. His hands shook as he reached out toward her, expressing his thanks. He turned and picked up his bride and quickly took his leave. It wasn’t far into the woods before the thirst took him completely. He hid his love and found a deer to satisfy his hunger. Emma had never hunted anything in her life and couldn’t watch this particular scene. As she waited for it to be over, she heard his voice in her head again.

“Since this time, I have never left my lands.” His voice was sad, resigned, the weight of centuries contained within it. “I’ve only left my halls to feed on the animals of the forest as I waited for you to return to me. Malcolm was the first, but he was by no means the last, to seek to forcibly take my dominion from me. Over the centuries, father and then son have sought to destroy me, but all have failed. Your Dr. Cassidy is the last of that line. Each one has come after me. I have never, in 250 years, sought them out. Malcolm was the one who took you from me, and he tasted my wrath. I held no ill will toward his progeny. I have only ever defended myself against their aggression.”

The scenes came to an end, and Emma was back in her room in the inn, Killian Jones, still gently holding her hand in his own, kneeling before her.

“I knew he was lying,” she whispered. “He said he didn’t know why you targeted his family, but you didn’t. They targeted you.” He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “His great-great…” Emma shook her head slightly, “whatever murdered your love… Murdered… me?” He nodded again. “And you’ve been waiting for me to return to you all this time.” Emma’s heart broke at the sadness in his eyes, and she moved to the edge of her bed, placing her feet on the floor, only inches separating them. “I can’t. I won’t allow this to happen.” She brought her hand to his face and cupped his jaw before lifting his face to hers and placing a gentle kiss to his lips.

A prism of rainbow colors blew through the room, and Emma gasped as she pulled back from him. Memories of her previous life flooded her mind - the contract of marriage drawn up between her father and Killian, her love for him from the moment she laid eyes on her betrothed, the swan nickname that he’d called her when she insisted on sharing his bed on their wedding night. She remembered the happy days of their lives before Killian had ridden off to defend their home from Malcolm and then being kidnapped and murdered on a high hill, her beloved on the other side of the small valley that lay between them.

“Killian,” she cried, falling into his arms where he still knelt on the floor. She kissed him fiercely, her hands in his hair, her body held in strong arms and lined up against his from their knees to their lips. They separated briefly, and Emma thought she could drown in the bottomless pools of blue that stared back at her. His skin was no longer pale, but glowed with youth and health. Her fingers trailed lightly down his face to his neck where she could feel his pulse fluttering under her fingers.

“Emma,” he whispered. “You’ve returned to me, and brought me back to life.” He was too overcome to say anymore and rose to his feet, his beloved still in his arms. Taking a deep breath, he was completely without words to express the love and joy flowing through him, not to mention the blood flowing through his veins! He was alive! At long last! He lived again, and his Emma, his Swan, was in his arms after 25o years. He captured her lips with his, teeth and tongues clashing with all the fervor of lovers long separated, finally reunited.

He lowered her to the bed and drew back, his eyes raking over his beloved, taking her in from head to toe - green eyes like emeralds glazed with passion, blonde hair fanned out over her pillow, her lips were red and kiss swollen, her chest heaved, nipples at attention as she struggled to catch her breath. Her long long legs writhed on the bed, seeking friction for the arousal she clearly felt.

“You are so beautiful, my Swan,” he murmured. His fingers trailed lightly down her arms, then sought the bare skin underneath the bodice she wore. She gasped and grasped the bottom of the garment before drawing it over her head in one smooth movement, baring her breasts to him. 

Killian quickly removed his own clothing as she took her bottoms off before returning to her on the bed. Stretching out beside his love, his fingers lightly grazed the side of her breast as his mouth sought hers again. His moan of rapture came from the depths of his very soul. His beloved wife was returned to him. There were times over the past two and a half centuries that he despaired of ever seeing this day, but now that it was here, it seemed all these years without her were but a blink of an eye.

The fervent and frantic motions between them calmed when Killian captured her lips. Emma clung to him, drawing him closer and closer to where she desperately needed him. Her hands traced the long lines of his back from his shoulders to his ass, and delighted at the lean strength she found there. She rolled to her back, bringing him with her, settling him between her legs. Pressing her hips against his hardness, she shuddered at the exquisite pleasure that raced down her spine.

Killian released her lips and dipped his tongue into the two dimples on either side of her mouth and the one on her chin, just as he had remembered doing earlier this evening when beholding her for the first time in so long. He worked his way down the graceful slope of her neck, nibbling and biting, leaving open mouth kisses and raising gooseflesh in his wake. He circled one nipple and then the other with his tongue before drawing it into the warm cavern of his mouth, sucking gently. Her moan of pleasure went straight to his cock and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to wait to be inside her until he brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy. 

“Killian,” she breathed, writhing beneath him. “Killian, please. I need you so much.”

“Patience, dearest,” he replied in between kisses down her torso. “I must quench my thirst on you now.” She released her breath on a shaky exhale as he spread her legs and blew gently on her soaked folds. Killian couldn’t help but chuckle as she squirmed, but his need was also great, so he dove into the decadent feast laid out before him and was rewarded with a burst of sweetness on his tongue and a high pitched cry from his beloved signaling her climax. He lapped up every drop she bestowed on him before moving up her delectable body once again. Capturing her lips once more, he lined himself up with her channel and pushed into her scorching hot depths.

“Emma,” he cried, “How I love you!” He began to move, slowly at first, but then with more speed as his passion overtook him. 

“I love you, too, Killian,” she moaned. “Take me. Mark me. Make me yours! Please!” 

“I have missed you… so much… my love…” He buried his face in her neck and obliging her words, sucked on her pulse point, drawing heat to the surface of her skin. Her walls gripped him as she fell again, and he could hold himself back no longer, emptying himself into her with a roar of euphoria. 

He collapsed onto his love, but couldn’t open his eyes for several minutes, his newly alive body utterly exhausted. When he could move again, he rolled off of her and gathered her into his arms, nuzzling and kissing her neck. She hummed in satisfaction and met his lips with her own. 

“At times, I would despair that this day would ever come,” he murmured into her lips.

“But I’m here now. And I’ll never leave you,” she promised him. “We need to do something about Neal. He plans to kill you come dawn.”

Killian chuckled amusedly. “Let him come. I’m human again. I won’t be asleep like he expects. I’ll be waiting for him.”

“Let me,” Emma said, her green eyes flashing, her voice filled with passion. “His ancestor started all this - trying to take everything from you and separating us for 250 years by murder, no less. And Neal lied to me about you. Allow me recompense for all that he and his ancestors have taken from us.”

Killian stroked her cheek tenderly. “As you wish, my love.” He gathered her close, her head resting on his chest. “Once we awaken in the morning, you’ll meet him and I’ll slip away to the castle. I’ll be waiting for you in the great hall.” He smiled gently at her. “We will resume our rule of this land, side by side. As it should be.”

“I can’t wait,” Emma murmured. She reached up and kissed him gently before settling her head back on his chest again. It wasn’t long before her breaths evened out and deepened, indicating her peaceful slumber. Killian struggled to remain awake for just a few minutes more of finally holding his love in his arms again after so long. He stroked her hair gently and kissed the top of her head before his eyes slowly closed.

~*~*~

Killian peeled his eyes open and sat up, alarmed, to find himself alone in his chambers at his castle. The magic within him - that bound him and his kingdom - always made sure that he was safely ensconced in his castle before dawn. And the remnants he could feel now left within him must have done the same. Even if it was no longer necessary. He gasped in fear and looked down at his hands in a panic, terrified he might find it was a dream and he was still a vampire. The sun was just beginning to rise over the trees and into his chambers and he could clearly see that his hands were warm and pink with life, rather than the pale ashen color he’d seen for so long. 

He rose from his bed, still naked, his eyes darting around his chambers. It was dawn, and he was awake! He was alive! He hadn’t seen the sun in 250 years and it was glorious! The comparison to Emma’s hair was completely unavoidable. 

Emma!

She’d be here with Dr. Cassidy soon, and Killian needed to prepare himself. He dressed himself carefully and proceeded to the great hall to receive his guests.

~*~*~

Emma and Neal approached the castle, bold as brass. When she’d awoken alone that morning, Killian’s clothes were still scattered around the room, testimony to the night of passion she’d shared with her love, besides the sizable hickey he’d left on her neck. She’d needed to leave her hair down to hide it from Neal when they left the inn on horseback about forty-five minutes before. Now they could clearly see the gates of the castle, wide open.

As if they were expected.

It was exactly the same as her memories of her past life. As they passed under the portcullis, she knew what she’d see - the wide courtyard where the market day was held weekly, or the army Killian commanded practiced drills. They approached the keep, and Emma held her breath. Neal strutted forward as if he was the lord of this castle, and Emma ground her teeth in anger. 

She followed behind him as he consulted the notebook he’d shown her the night before. They continued through the halls of the castle until they entered the Great Hall. Emma’s heart leapt to see Killian on the other side, silently waiting for them. 

“Killian,” she cried, running to him, completely uncaring about Neal’s reaction. He rose to his feet, unspeakable joy on his face. Catching her in his arms, their lips met in a kiss so full of passion, she never wanted it to end. 

Much too soon for her liking, Killian pulled back. 

“My love,” he whispered, trailing his fingers down her cheek. The move was so full of tenderness, it made Emma want to weep.

She met his sapphire gaze with her own and whispered. “Soon,” she assured him before turning to Neal, who stood dumbfounded where she’d left him by the doors. Taking slow, deliberate steps, Emma crossed the room until she stood just a few feet away from her former fiancé.

“I imagine you have some questions,” she began. “Are you wondering how we could possibly know each other, what that kiss was about, exactly what is going on here? I am very happy to answer those questions,” she said with a satisfied smirk on her face. She paused for a moment, before taking another slow and deliberate step toward him. “But not before you hear what I have to say to you.” 

Another step.

“You lied to me,” she accused softly. “You said that this monster had a vendetta against your family, and you didn’t know why. When actually, it was the other way around. Your family held on to a hopeless vendetta against him.” The blood drained out of Neal’s face, and Emma couldn’t help the small smile that touched her lips. “You and each of your male ancestors have come against him. Never has he come against you. Not once in two-hundred-fifty years.”

“Emma…”

“Now, for the questions… And the answer is really all rolled up into one. What exactly is going on here? Justice. You came here, the last in a long long line, expecting to finally destroy the vampire whom you claim has plagued your family for centuries. When actually, my True Love and I will be exacting retribution for your and your family’s crimes against us.”

Neal’s voice shook as he whispered, “True Love?”

“Yes,” she replied. “True Love. And you want to know how I know?” She nodded at him, a knowing and gleeful smile on her face. “I know because after he told me the truth, his kiss brought the memories of my past life back to me and brought him back to life again. This vampire has waited for me to return to him after your ancestor murdered me in cold blood, in full view of him and the armies they both led. Since then, your family has come against him, over and over again, until this very day. You are the last. And you will be the last. With no son to take up your vendetta, we will live out the rest of our lives in peace.”

With those words, Emma reached into the bag at her side where she carried all the weapons Neal had brought along on his fruitless quest. Quick as lightning, she pulled out the wickedly sharp wooden stake that he’d planned to plunge into Killian’s chest and plunged it into his neck. Blood poured through his fingers, too much to be stopped. He staggered forward, his other arm reaching for her, his eyes glazed and unseeing. Emma stepped back out of his reach into Killian’s warm embrace.

It was only moments before he was completely still. Emma turned to face her True Love and was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s over,” he said in a whisper.

“It’s over,” she repeated, nodding gently. 

“And you’ve returned to me.” A tear slowly tracked down his face as he looked into her eyes and tenderly, reverently stroked her cheek.

“And I’ve returned to you.” She lifted her hand to his face and drew him down to her lips, her kiss promising forever.

The End

~*~*~

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

[cssns]

Alright, Y’all!!!! It’s Time for CSSNS24!!!

The FINAL Year!!!

Yes, you heard that right… after this summer, the CSSNS will be sailing into the sunset.

It has been an absolutely AMAZING run and I could not be more grateful for all the enthusiasm and excitement and, of course, all the INCREDIBLE fics and art we’ve enjoyed all these years!!!

Now, please know, that if you still have an unfinished fic from previous years that you want to work on and complete, the blog is not going ANYWHERE and I will ALWAYS be around to reblog and flail if and when the muse comes back or real life lets up or whatever is keeping you away from writing.

But enough sadness, we still have THIS YEAR to look forward to!!!

So let’s GET EXCITED!!!!

Signups will open on Wednesday, February 7 at 12:01am Central Time USA and run until 11:59pm Central time, Thursday, February 29.

So SPREAD THE WORD, Y’ALL!!! We need writers, artists, betas, and cheerleaders!!! Come one, come all for ONE MORE ROUND!!!

[jrob64]

Ghosted

Chapter 3 - Plans

So, it appears this story will wind up being 4 chapters long. The final chapter is in the midst of being written.

Fair warning - this chapter also has some rather intense scenes, so if the previous chapter threatened to give you nightmares, as some of you commented (and of which I'm secretly proud), don't read it just before going to sleep!

A huge thank you to my beta @hookedmom, who looked this over despite having just gone through emergency eye surgery for a torn retina. Please send her your thoughts and prayers for a quick and complete recovery. I can't thank @kmomof4 & @motherkatereloyshipper enough for the wonderful pic set. And of course, the mods of @cssns for having this great event.

Please continue to forgive me for any errors pertaining to ghost hunting and being a YouTuber.

Story Summary: When Emma Swan’s ex-boyfriend dies, she’s haunted by his ghost. Her neighbor, Killian Jones, a ghost hunter who has a YouTube channel, realizes what’s happening and offers to help. However, there’s more at stake than simply helping the apparition move on. There’s also the matter of Killian telling Emma he’s in love with her. 

Rating: T (subject to change)

Words (Chapter 3): 8542

Previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

*********

Belle put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, while a grim-faced Killian rubbed his hands up and down Emma’s biceps in an attempt to soothe her. Will said bluntly what they were all thinking. “The bloody bastard thinks you’re his and wants to drag you to hell with him?”

Emma looked up at Killian, tears shining in her eyes. “Can he do that? Is it possible?”

“No, Love,” he assured her. “Those movies where you see people being pulled kicking and screaming to the Underworld aren’t factual. He may keep haunting you, but he can’t physically take you somewhere against your will.” He looked at Belle and Will. “I think we’ve all had enough for today. I’m going to walk Emma back to her apartment.”

“We’ll clear things away here while you do that, won’t we, Belle?” Will stated.

She nodded her agreement and rose from her chair, moving to where Emma was slowly standing up, too. Taking her hands, Belle said, “Try not to worry about anything, Emma. These guys are good at what they do and I have no doubt that, in time, they’ll be able to get Neal to move on.” Then she wrapped her arms around the other woman in a warm hug.

“Thanks,” Emma murmured, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. When Belle released her, she turned to Will and said, “And thank you, Will.”

“Yer welcome,” he replied, giving her a quick hug, too. “Like Belle said, don’t you worry ‘bout that git. Me and Kil, we’ll take care of him once and for all. Ain’t that right, Kil?”

“Aye,” Killian said softly, intertwining his fingers with Emma’s. “All you have to do is trust us and give us some time.”

Emma sighed. “I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m ready to get back to my boring, ghost-free life.”

Killian kept hold of her hand to lead her out of the room. Once they left his apartment, they meandered to her door, neither in a hurry to get there. Coming to a halt, he turned and faced her. “Are you going to be alright?”

She shrugged ever so slightly. “Until he’s gone, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder and thinking I hear something. This whole ordeal has made me paranoid and I hate it.”

Nodding in understanding, he said, “I know, and I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“You’re doing all you can and I truly appreciate it. I guess it pays to have a ghost hunter as a friend, huh?” she said, managing to give him a small smile.

He took a step closer, reaching up to brush some hair over her shoulder. “As I said before, I’m here for you, Emma - day or night. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need me, okay?”

“You might regret that offer.”

“Never. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t ready to follow up on it.”

Her lips ticked up in another hint of a smile, then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Killian.”

Holding her tightly, he rested his cheek against her silky hair. Having Emma Swan in his arms was something he had longed to do, so he decided to take advantage of the opportunity, despite how much he hated the circumstances.

After several long, comforting moments, Emma pulled away, looking up to give him one more grateful smile, before turning and going into her apartment. Killian stood staring at the closed door for a while, breathing a prayer that she would have a long period of respite from the imbecile who had made her life miserable for far too long.

*********

Belle and Will were ready to walk out the door when he returned to his apartment. He bid them goodbye, taking note of how Will slung his arm across Belle’s shoulders as they walked down the hallway.

He knew from experience that going straight to bed following a lengthy review of everything they collected during an all-nighter, wouldn’t result in him being able to fall asleep. Instead, he went through his regular routine of getting something to eat, taking a long, hot shower, and making himself comfortable in loose sleep pants and a well-worn T-shirt. Then he settled into bed on his side, flipping through the pages of a magazine he kept on his nightstand.

His eyelids were just starting to droop, when he felt a familiar sensation. “Liam? Are you there?” he called out.

Sure enough, the apparition of his brother appeared in front of him. “Aye, little brother. I’m here.”

Killian opted to ignore the moniker that irritated him so much. “I was just about to go to sleep. We had an all-nighter at Emma’s apartment last night. Her ex-boyfriend provided us with a lot of stuff to analyze. He’s definitely haunting her, and get this - from what we deciphered, he’s determined to take her with him into the afterlife.”

Liam chuckled. “He hasn’t figured out it isn’t possible, huh?”

“He’s still an idiot,” Killian sighed. “And I hate the effect he’s having on her. Hated it while he was alive and hate it now that he’s…”

“Dead,” Liam finished for him. “You can say the word, you know. It’s not going to bother me. I’m well aware of my state of being.”

“I know, but I’d rather not think of you like that.”

“Killian,” Liam began, and Killian knew what his brother was about to say was serious. He rarely addressed him by his given name. It was almost always ‘Killy’ or ‘little brother’. “You know the day is going to come when I’m no longer with you. I’m going to have to…”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Killian interrupted.

“Well, it’s going to happen, whether you want to face it or not. May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you afraid of me moving on?”

“I’m not afraid,” Killian said indignantly. “I just…I don’t want to be left all alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone. You have Will and that lovely lass, Belle…”

“Friends aren’t the same as family.”

“What about Emma?”

“What about her?” Killian hedged.

“If you were to marry her, she would be your family.”

Killian flopped back onto his pillow, hands over his face. “Not this again,” he said, voice muffled. “Why are you so insistent I ask her out?”

“Because I want to know you’re happy before I move on.”

“I’m not unhappy with my life,” Killian defended.

“I never thought my brother would grow up to be a coward,” Liam said.

Killian whipped his hands away from his face and sat up. “I’m not a coward! I have good reasons for not asking her out.”

“Excuses, you mean. You forget that I saw how upset you were every time she went out with someone, and how it tore you apart when she started seriously dating that guy, Neal. She’s a beautiful, fetching woman. Do you think she’s going to remain available until you finally get up the nerve to ask her out yourself?”

Killian didn’t answer, his head bowed and jaw ticking.

“Listen, little brother, I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I love you and only want the best for you. I don’t want to move on without knowing you’re going to be okay.”

“Then don’t move on.”

“Is that one of your excuses for not asking Emma out? You’re afraid I’ll move on?”

Killian looked up at his brother’s translucent form. “That’s your unfinished business, isn’t it? Making sure I have someone here to love so I won’t be alone. That’s why you‘ve pushed me so hard to ask Emma out.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Liam said, his voice fading as it always did before he disappeared. “You might not want me to go, but you need to live your life among the living, not hanging on to me. Think about that. I’ll see you soon, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Despite having gone through his established routine, it still took Killian a couple of hours to fall asleep after Liam left, his words ringing in Killian’s ears.

********

For the next three days and nights, there was no paranormal activity, allowing Emma to have restful sleep. Ruby informed her that the crime lords’ house of cards came tumbling down, and included a prominent judge, who was discovered to have planted a guard in the prison to take Neal out. There were several arrests and it appeared that Neal’s death helped put numerous dangerous people behind bars.

Emma began to hope that Neal’s unfinished business was to see justice done to those who were responsible for his death, and then he moved on. She informed Killian about everything that had happened, enabling him to join her in hoping her encounters with Neal were over.

Everything was beginning to feel almost back to normal, when the nightmares began again. Two nights of feeling as if she was being suffocated left her anxious and exhausted. After the second night, she texted Killian.

E: I thought the nightmares were over, but they came back. I had them for the last two nights.

His response was almost instantaneous.

K: We can do another all-nighter and try to talk to him again, if that’s alright with you.

E: I’ll do anything to get him to leave me alone.

Killian and Will set up the equipment again and were able to capture more light anomalies, evidence of an apparition in Emma’s bedroom and more words on the spirit box which sounded like he kept repeating ‘you’re…mine.’ Killian tried for over an hour to get the spirit to answer questions on the flux, to no avail.

When Emma sent another text stating that nothing changed, Killian and Will set up and ran the equipment for a third time a few nights later. When they arrived at Emma’s apartment to prepare everything, Killian was taken aback at her appearance. Her complexion was sallow, her hair limp and lifeless. Her usually sparkling eyes were sunken and dull, and she told Killian and Will she had taken sick days the last two evenings because she didn’t have the energy to work.

In the midst of them setting up, Emma left to use the bathroom. “I hate to say it, boss, but she looks bad,” Will whispered.

“Aye, she does. We’ve got to get Neal to move on before he completely wears her down.”

“D’ya think that’s what he’s tryin’ to do? Keep comin’ to her in her nightmares to drain her life force, like ghosts sometimes drain batteries?”

Killian’s eyes shot up to meet his assistant’s. “Bloody hell! I think you could be right, Will. I think his intention might be trying to make her so sick she dies, so he can take her with him!”

“Just like he said he’s gonna do,” Will spat disgustedly. “Are ya gonna tell her?”

Killian pondered the question, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t think so. She’s almost ready to break as it is. Knowing our theory about what he’s trying to do might just send her over the edge. We’ve got to give it our best shot tonight to get him to move on. If we’re not successful…”

“We have to be,” Will said decisively.

That night, it was nearly two AM before Emma finally fell into a fitful sleep. Killian was ready with the flux response device as soon as signs of Neal’s appearance were seen and heard through their monitors.

He entered her bedroom, his heart nearly shattering when he saw how she was thrashing about in her sleep, a look of desperate fright on her face. Setting the device on the nightstand with hands that were trembling with rage, he once again knelt beside the bed and began asking questions.

“Are you Neal Cassidy?”

There was a long pause. Just when he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, the green light glowed.

“Do you know you are dead?” Green light.

“Do you know how you died?” Green light.

“Do you still have unfinished business?” Green light.

“Once you’ve completed your unfinished business, will you move on to your eternal home?”

He waited several minutes before asking the question again. As soon as he did, the green light flicked on.

“Is your unfinished business getting justice for your death?” Red light.

“Is it saying goodbye to your loved ones?” Red light.

Killian drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, unwilling to ask the next question for fear of the answer he thought he might get.

“Is it…causing Emma to die?” After several tense moments, the green light lit up.

He cursed under his breath. How was he supposed to talk a spirit out of such an insane idea?

Tasting bile in his mouth, he swallowed hard, then asked, “Do you love Emma?” The response was immediate - a green light.

“Don’t you want her to have a long, happy life?” No response.

He decided to rephrase the question. “Would you rather have her die and be with you than go on living?” Green light.

Sick, selfish bastard.

Killian was done asking questions. He needed to somehow persuade Neal to move on.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, and Emma told me she is, too. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the men who caused your death have been arrested and are going to be held accountable. The whole crime ring is toppling and they won’t be able to kill anyone else like they killed you.”

“It’s time for you to move on, Neal. Your plan to take Emma with you won’t work. Look at her.” He gestured to where she lay wrestling on the bed. “All you’re doing is causing her to be exhausted and miserable. She doesn’t want to die…”

His breath was stolen away, as what felt like a cold blast of air passed through him. The room went completely still and he realized Emma was no longer struggling or whimpering. He stood and looked down at her, then sat beside her on the bed, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face. “Sleep now, Swan,” he whispered.

He was tucking the sheets around her, when Will cracked open the door and stuck his head in. “I think he’s gone, boss,” he said softly. “All the instrument readings are normal again. Should I pack up, or continue to monitor?”

“Let’s keep monitoring for another hour or so, just to see if he comes back. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Will nodded and closed the door with a soft click. Killian looked down at Emma again, surprised to see her eyes open. Her hand snuck out from under the sheet and gripped his wrist. “Please don’t leave me,” she rasped.

“We think Neal may have moved on.”

“I heard, but I still don’t want to be alone.”

“We’ll stay the rest of the night,” he assured her. “We’ll be out in the living…”

“No,” she interrupted, beginning to sit up. “Stay here with me. Please, Killian.”

Her pleading nearly undid him. He cupped her cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. “Alright, Love, relax. I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

She laid back down, but didn’t let go of his wrist or close her eyes. “Killian?” she said, her voice smaller than he had ever heard it.

“Aye?”

“Will…will you hold me?”

He blinked, absorbing what she was asking of him. Then he quickly toed off his shoes and laid down beside her on top of the covers. Without hesitation, she moved into his open arms, tucking herself tightly against his chest.

He slid one arm underneath her and wrapped both around her rigid form, murmuring reassuring words into her hair. It took several minutes, but he finally felt the tension begin to recede and heard her breathing deepen and even out.

Will peeked in again. “Do ya want me to turn off the video camera, Kil?”

Killian didn’t turn to look at him. “You can leave it on,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ll stay awake and keep an eye on things. You can sleep if you want.”

“Thanks, Will.”

Then, holding the woman who held his heart, he took Will up on his offer.

*********

Emma awoke slowly the next morning, her foggy brain trying to figure out what felt different. When she tried to move and wasn’t immediately able to, she began to panic, pushing at the solid body in front of her.

“It’s okay, Swan. It’s okay,” a deep voice soothed. At the same time she felt the arms around her loosen.

As soon as it registered that it was Killian, she exhaled his name in relief, then said, “You stayed.”

“Aye, Love. Will packed up the equipment and left a couple of hours ago. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

She pulled away to look at him. “Thank you. I haven’t slept that well since Neal...”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian interrupted, making no move to let go of her and get out of bed.

She rested her cheek against his chest again. “Do you…do you think he’s really gone?”

“I told him to move on and that’s when I thought I felt him leave, which the equipment verified. Whether he’s gone for good, though - only time will tell.”

Emma sighed deeply and sat up, running her hands through her unruly hair. “Were you able to communicate with him at all? With that spirit box or flux capacitor thing?”

Killian swung around to sit on the side of the bed, chuckling. “I think you have my show mixed up with ‘Back to the Future’, Swan.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was his turn to sigh. “He did respond to quite a few questions I asked using the flux response device.”

When he didn’t continue, she said, “Are you going to tell me now, or will we watch it on the video later?”

“Um…” Killian stalled, trying to decide which option would cause Emma less pain. He felt her hand on his back and turned to look at her over his shoulder.

“Killian, what aren’t you telling me?”

Shifting on the bed to face her, he forced himself to meet her eyes. “I found out his unfinished business.”

“Which is…?”

His gaze shifted to where her hand rested on the bed. Taking it in his own, he concentrated on their linked fingers. “He’s…he’s, uh, planning to somehow cause you to die, so he can take you with him into the afterlife.”

“What the actual FUCK?” Emma exploded, gripping his hand so hard, he winced in pain. “He…he can’t…can he really do that?”

“It’s unlikely…”

“But not impossible?”

“Look how exhausted you are because of the nightmares. You haven’t even been able to work the last couple of days. Exhaustion can lead to serious illness, so while it’s improbable, it’s not entirely impossible.”

He watched her carefully as she digested what he said. Then she looked at him with glassy eyes and said flatly, “He’s not gone.”

“Emma…”

“No, Killian. I know he’s not gone. He wouldn’t give up that easily. You witnessed firsthand how persistent he was after I broke up with him. He’s obsessed with me, and being dead obviously hasn’t changed that. How am I gonna get away from him? Telling him to move on hasn’t worked…”

“Me telling him may not have worked, but you telling him you don’t want to die might,” Killian said thoughtfully.

“How am I supposed to do that when he only comes to me while I’m sleeping?”

Killian ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I wish I had an answer for that. I’ll talk to Belle and Will about it today. Maybe together, we’ll come up with an idea.” Slowly, he stood to his feet. “I should probably go home. Will was going to crash at my place for a few hours, then we were going to review what we collected. Do you want to be there when we do?”

Emma chewed on her thumbnail, pondering. “No,” she decided. “You already told me about his plan. Hearing it once was enough.”

“I understand completely.” He studied her for several moments. “Are you going to be okay?”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “I think so, at least for today. Now that I got some sleep, I should be able to go back to work this afternoon.”

“Alright, then.” He picked up his shoes and moved to the doorway, turning to give her a smile. After he opened the door and stepped through, he heard her call his name. Poking his head back in the room, he asked, “Aye?”

“Thank you for staying with me last night. I just really didn’t want to be alone.”

“It was no hardship at all, believe me. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you figure out anything. Thanks again, Killian. For everything.”

“My pleasure, Love.”

*********

When he entered his apartment, he could hear voices coming from his office. He tossed his shoes in the living room, went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker, then walked down the hall.

He stopped short just before he went through the doorway, catching Will’s words.

“...was wondering if ya might, uh, might be interested in goin’ out with me.”

Killian took a step backward to be sure he wouldn’t be spotted and ruin the moment. There was a short pause, during which he held his breath, hoping that, no matter what Belle’s answer was, Will’s heart wouldn’t get broken.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask,” she said.

“Are ya sayin’ yes?” Will asked, and Killian could hear the nervous hopefulness in his friend’s voice.

“Yes, I’m saying yes,” Belle said with a giggle. “I would love to go out with you, Will.”

“It’s about bloody time,” Killian said, entering the room to see the couple embracing. They turned around to look at him, both with wide smiles on their faces.

“Were you eavesdroppin’ on us, boss?” Will asked. He tried to sound indignant, but was too happy to be successful.

“Technically, it’s my apartment, so I’m entitled to listen to anything going on here.”

“I’m not sure that’s an actual rule,” Will grumbled good-naturedly.

“My home, my rules,” Killian grinned.

“Will tells me you got a lot of responses on the flux overnight,” Belle said, effectively changing the subject.

Killian dropped down into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Aye. Has he told you any of Cassidy’s responses?”

“No, we were just cueing up the video to watch it when you came in.”

“Got sidetracked, huh?” Killian teased.

Belle and Will’s faces both reddened. “Maybe we should talk about how ya spent the night in Emma’s bed,” Will said.

“What?” Belle exclaimed, whipping her head around to look at Killian. “How did that happen?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “After the apparition left, she asked me to stay because she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted me to hold her and the only way I could do that was to lay in bed with her, but all we did was sleep.”

Belle gave him an understanding look. “Poor Emma. Will told me you think Neal’s spirit may have moved on. What do you think? Is he gone for good?”

“Sadly, Emma doesn’t think so, and neither do I. The guy wouldn’t take no for an answer when she broke it off with him, and now that we’ve learned what his plan is, we’re sure he’s not going to give up easily.”

“What’s his plan?” Belle asked.

“Let’s watch the video and you’ll find out,” Killian said, swiveling in his seat to face the monitor.

She nodded and tapped the space bar to wake the computer up, while Will took his place behind her chair. She clicked the play button and they saw Emma’s bedroom on the screen.

“This is just before her nightmare started,” Will said. “We should see evidence of that asshole’s ghost entering the room pretty soon. Pardon my language, Belle.”

“There’s no need to apologize. In this case, I completely agree with that assessment.”

They focused their attention back on the screen, and within a couple of minutes, saw a streak of light appear in the left side of the room. It seemed to pass through Emma’s sleeping form on the bed and they heard her let out a soft cry.

“You’ll see me come in soon,” Killian said.

Sure enough, Emma’s bedroom door opened and he entered with the flux response device. The three of them watched in silence as the exchange between Killian and the apparition took place.

When it ended, Belle paused the video and turned to look at the men, a look of incredulity on her face. “He has no regard for her life or what she wants? And he claims to love her? I think calling him an asshole is being far too kind!”

“Agreed,” Killian said.

“You truly don’t think he’s gone, boss?” Will asked.

“No,” Killian sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “I probably just pissed him off, so he left. I think Emma is going to have to be the one who tells him to move on, but he’s only there when she’s asleep. She can’t talk to him then because in her nightmares, she feels like she’s tied up and gagged. I told her I would ask the two of you if you have any ideas.”

They contemplated for several moments before Will declared, “That’s a head-scratcher. I’ll have to give it some thought, after I get some sleep.”

“I’ll think about it, too,” Belle said. “I just came over this morning to see the new material from last night. I’ve been editing and putting together what we have so far. This is going to be the longest episode we’ve ever had. We might have to split it in two.”

“I hope we won’t have much more to add to it,” Killian grumbled. “I want this to be over, for Emma’s sake.”

*********

Once Belle and Will left, Killian went through his regular routine, but had trouble falling asleep. He was sure it was because he slept for a few hours at Emma’s, added to the fact that he had so much on his mind.

He didn’t have a clue how to solve the problem of getting Neal to leave. Even if Emma was able to talk to him, that didn’t guarantee he would heed her plea. After all, he didn’t listen while he was alive, when she told him to leave her alone.

Killian finally dozed off on his couch late in the afternoon, waking up just after ten PM. After fixing himself a sandwich, he grabbed a beer and wandered back to his office to review some of the footage they had collected, hoping to find something they missed that might spark an idea.

An hour later, he was in the midst of repeatedly replaying the video from the previous night, when a scream caused him to jump, knocking over the nearly empty beer at his elbow. He quickly righted it before it spilled over his equipment, then got to his feet. “Emma,” he gasped, once his brain registered what he just heard.

He took off running through the apartment and was halfway out the front door, before realizing he needed the key for Emma’s apartment. Spinning around, he skidded into the kitchen, yanked open his junk drawer and began digging through it.

“Fuck!” he cursed, flinging miscellaneous items onto the counter as he searched frantically. Finally locating the key, he dashed out the door and over to Emma’s apartment. As he fumbled with getting the key into the lock, he heard another scream.

Once he got the door open, he ran to her bedroom to find her splayed out on the bed, her head agitatedly rolling from side-to-side, arms and legs thrashing about. She was choking out moans that were heartbreaking to hear.

Killian had purposely kept himself from touching her while they were recording, knowing it could awaken her and ruin chances of getting usable information. This time, however, he ached to bring her out of the nightmare that seemed to be causing her so much pain.

He shouted, “Swan! Emma! Wake up, Love!” then sat on the bed, grabbing both of her shoulders.

As soon as he touched her, a strange sensation that felt like a slight electrical current passed over him and his eyes slammed shut. When he tentatively opened them a few moments later, he was shocked to find himself in an alternate reality. He was able to see things fairly clearly, but it was like looking through a textured glass. Everything looked slightly distorted, as if he was in a Salvador Dali painting.

As the shock began to wane, he looked around and spotted Emma standing mutely in front of him. She was facing away from him, but he could tell by her slumped form, she was debilitated. He called out to her, but she showed no signs of hearing him. He moved until he was facing her. She stared blankly off into space and he realized she was in a trance, unable to respond.

Then he heard someone speaking, chanting something over and over. Concentrating harder, Killian was able to make out the words.

You’re mine, Ems.

You belong to me.

I’m taking you with me.

You’ll be happier with me.

Just let go of your sad, lonely life and come with me.

Neal Cassidy, the selfish son of a bitch, was holding Emma captive in her nightmare, trying to coerce her to end her life and join him.

Killian became enraged. “Emma!” he hollered, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. “Don’t listen to him! Wake up and come back to me!”

Suddenly, Neal’s apparition appeared over Emma’s shoulder, teeth bared and eyes blazing. “You can’t have her!” he screamed maniacally. “She’s coming with me! She’s MINE!”

“Leave her alone!” Killian replied. Judging by Neal’s reaction, he realized that, unlike Emma, Neal could hear him. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to come with you? She has a life and wants to keep living it!”

“I don’t give a fuck what she wants! I want her and I’ll have her!”

“Stop torturing her, you sick bastard! You’re dead! Move on!”

With a primal screech, Neal came at Killian, circled around him, then flew off and disappeared, trailing a string of expletives behind him.

Silence descended and Killian blinked, finding himself once again in Emma’s bedroom, still grasping her shoulders. Her body was unmoving, but her eyes remained tightly closed, giving her face a pinched, pained expression.

“Swan,” he said, gently shaking her. “You can open your eyes now. Your nightmare is over.”

Slowly, her face relaxed and, at last, she was looking at him. Then, she was in his arms.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he crooned, as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I’ve got you, Love.”

“Wh- how…oh, how are you here?” she asked, voice breaking with emotion.

He buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I heard you scream, so I used my key to come in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here,” she cried.

Killian pulled her into his lap so he could hold her more tightly. Her sobs gradually lessened and her body sagged against him. “I…I can’t take this much longer,” she whispered.

“I know, but you have to stay strong. We’re going to get this figured out, I swear.”

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Because he’s twisted and demented. I told him you want to keep living your life, but he said he doesn’t care what you want…”

She pulled back to look at him. “He talked to you? You mean through that flux thingy?”

Killian could feel the heat creeping into his face. This wasn’t the way he planned to tell her. He was hoping to have time to prepare her before he told her about his experience.

Reaching up to rub a finger behind his ear, he explained haltingly, “I, um, when I came into your bedroom, you were thrashing about on the bed. I tried to calm you by putting my hands on your shoulders. When I touched you, I was…I was drawn into your nightmare somehow. I could see you and talk to you, but in your dream, you were in some sort of…trance. It was like you were frozen. You couldn’t respond to me.”

He paused and swallowed hard at the look of absolute shock on her face. Her mouth hung open, her breathing labored. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Neal…he…his spirit…was there. We could see and hear each other. He was…he kept trying to get you to go with him. He was completely unhinged. When I told him to leave you alone and move on, he screamed and vanished, but I…I’m sure he’s not going to give up.”

“You…you were in my nightmare? How the hell were you able to do that?”

“I don’t really know,” he confessed. “I…I’ve always had a…an ability to sense paranormal activity. Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse, but maybe that has something to do with it. I’ve never been able to be immersed into a dream like that before, though.” What he was thinking, but wasn’t going to say, was that his emotional connection to Emma might have something to do with it.

She heaved a sigh and rested her head against his chest. “Why did I ever get involved with that idiot? I have such terrible taste in men.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right one yet.”

“Well, when I do, I can just imagine how it’s going to go. ‘I’ll marry you, but oh, by the way, I’m being haunted by my jackass ex-boyfriend, so there’s that’.”

He chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. “At least you still have your sense of humor, Swan.”

Suddenly, she sat up straight. “Wait a minute. If you were able to get into my dream, couldn’t you do it again and figure out a way to break me out of that trance? Maybe that’s why he keeps hanging around - because I haven’t been able to respond to him. If I can, I’ll tell him there’s no way I’m going with him.”

Killian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation. “I suppose it’s worth a try. I wonder if Cassidy is somehow causing you to fall into a trance to make brainwashing you easier. Perhaps if I’m here with you from the very beginning of your nightmare, I can prevent that from happening.”

“You would be willing to do that?”

“Of course, Emma. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. I would have to stay here overnight, though. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You stayed last night and were a perfect gentleman.”

“Well, I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned.

She laughed, then sobered a bit. “The thing is, I don’t have a nightmare every night. I’m sure Neal is the source of them and if he doesn’t show up, I might get a good night’s sleep.”

“I understand. With your permission, I’ll plan on being here every night until we have a chance to test our theory.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“I am,” he assured her. “The way he took off, I really don’t think he’ll be back any more tonight, though.”

She nodded and climbed off his lap. “I’ll let you go home and get some sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.”

Killian stood up, turning to face her. Unable to help himself, he cupped her chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll plan to be here tomorrow night. If you need me before then, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay. Thanks, Killian,” she said. “You’re such a good friend.”

He fought to keep the smile on his face, deflated that she obviously only thought of him as a friend. “Goodnight, Emma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once he got back to his apartment, he went through his nightly routine and went to bed, where he lay wide awake, thinking about all that transpired at Emma’s. He had just decided to take his mind off of it by going into the living room to watch TV, when he heard the familiar sound of Liam’s voice.

“Greetings, little brother.”

“It’s pretty late for a visit from you,” Killian commented, sitting up in bed.

“Sometimes I pop in to see if you’re awake.”

“You mean there are times I miss visits from you because I’m asleep?”

“I always come back the next day. Why are you awake tonight?”

Killian pushed a hand through his hair. “Something really strange happened tonight and I’m trying to make sense of it.”

Liam’s apparition moved closer, but didn’t touch Killian. In the past, if he came in contact with his brother, it caused an uncomfortably cold chill. “You look very shaken. Can you tell me about it?”

“Last night, Will and I were doing another all-nighter at Emma’s…”

“That wanker’s ghost is still giving her trouble, then?”

“Aye, but I was finally able to get some answers from him on the flux response device last night. Basically, he admitted that he wants Emma to die so he can take her with him.”

“That’s nigh impossible, isn’t it?”

“He’s causing her to have nightmares and she’s utterly exhausted. You should see her, Liam. She’s still beautiful, but him haunting her is wearing her out physically, mentally and emotionally. She had to take a couple of days off work because she has no energy. If this keeps up, I’m afraid she’s going to end up becoming very ill.”

“Which could lead to…”

“Please don’t say it,” Killian interrupted. “I don’t even want to think that way. Anyway, I tried to tell him he needs to move on and I felt his spirit leave the room. When Emma woke up, she asked me to stay with her.”

“Don’t tell me you refused, little brother.”

“Of course I didn’t. She needed me, so I stayed the rest of the night. And before you ask, yes, I was in her bed, and no, nothing happened, except that we both got a good night’s sleep.”

“Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have insisted on you being such a gentleman.”

“Do you wan’t to hear the rest of the story, or not?” Killian asked peevishly. “You’re never here very long and if you keep interrupting, I won’t be able to tell you everything.”

“Sorry,” Liam said, making a circling motion with his finger. “ Continue.”

“I told Emma about Neal’s plan. She was understandably upset, but being the brave lass she is, she carried on with her day and so did I.” He ran both hands through the sides of his hair again, tugging slightly on the ends. “Then around eleven tonight, I was doing some work in my office when I heard a scream coming from Emma’s apartment. I ran over there and let myself in. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and when I grabbed hold of her to try to wake her up, I was pulled into it.”

“Into what?”

“Her nightmare. I could see her, but she couldn’t see or hear me. She appeared to be in a trance-like state. Neal was there and he could see and hear me. The two of us had a bit of a row and he took off in a rage.”

“He moved on?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’s a stubborn S.O.B. and he’s determined not to move on without Emma.”

“That was the strange occurrence you mentioned?”

“That was part of it. I told Emma what happened, which came as a shock to her, of course. Then she had an idea. She wants me to try to get into her dream again, to break her out of the trance somehow. That would give her a chance to convince Neal to move on.”

“Will you be able to do it? Get into her dream again, I mean.”

“I don’t even know how I did it tonight. I guess touching her had something to do with it, combined with my abilities with paranormal phenomena. I’m hoping being with her from the onset of her nightmare will allow me to keep her from being put into a trance.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Liam asked. “Do you have a plan B?”

Killian shrugged. “Not really. Shouting at her and snapping my fingers in front of her face didn’t have any effect on her.”

“Perhaps you could try a true love’s kiss.”

“You’re hilarious, Liam. And also not very helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. True love’s kiss is supposed to be strong enough to break any curse.”

“Yeah, in fairy tales. In case you’ve forgotten, this is real life,” Killian grumbled.

“I guess I’ve been dead too long to remember what real life is like.”

Killian looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, brother.I was only joking. Think about what I said and tuck it in your pocket for a backup plan.”

Liam’s voice was fading fast and Killian knew his time with his brother was coming to an end. “I’ll try it if I’m desperate enough. Thanks for your help, Liam. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t need me. You’re smart enough to figure it out by yourself. I have to go, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Then he was alone in his bedroom again, thoughts swirling even more than before his brother’s appearance. Giving up on trying to go to sleep, he tossed back the covers and went out to the kitchen. After getting a glass of water, he settled on the couch and flipped on the TV.

He had just selected a crime drama show to watch, when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His brow furrowed, wondering who would be texting him this late. Picking it up, he saw a notification from Emma.

E: You asleep?

Quickly, he typed a reply.

K: No, I can’t turn off my brain.

E: Lol. Me neither.

K: Do you want to talk?

E: Maybe. Do you mind if I come over?

K: Not at all.

He had just gotten the door unlocked, when there was a light tapping on the other side. He pulled it open to reveal Emma, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly. “Are you sure you don’t mind? It is nearly 1:30 in the morning.”

“I’m sure. I was getting ready to watch a show. Do you want to watch it, or would you rather talk?”

She shrugged. “I’m not really in the mood for television.”

He picked up the remote and hit the power button to turn it off. “Can I get you something to drink, or a snack, or both?”

“Water would be great. Do you have any Cheez-its?”

“I always have Cheez-its, because a certain neighbor of mine is obsessed with them.”

As he turned to head into the kitchen, he heard her call after him, “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.”

He returned moments later to find her sitting with her back against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out in front of her. He handed her the water, set the box of snack crackers on the coffee table, then sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

She moaned as he pulled her bare feet into his lap and began massaging them. On the odd occasion when she worked an afternoon shift at the hotel and later they shared a pizza over a movie, he found that she adored foot massages. As he rubbed and kneaded every part of her delicate feet and ankles, she purred like a contented cat, proclaiming his hands to be magic. He loved giving her those moments of pleasure and longed to use his magic hands on other parts of her enticing body.

She took a drink of water, set the bottle down and picked up the box of Cheez-its. Popping a couple into her mouth, she offered him the box, but he shook his head. “Suit yourself,” she said. “More for me.”

The room was quiet for several minutes, save the crunching sounds Emma was making.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

“You just did.”

“Haha, funny guy. Earlier tonight, you said you’ve always had a gift for sensing paranormal activity. How did you figure out you could do that?”

“When I was a young lad, my mother found me talking to someone she couldn’t see. She thought I had made up an imaginary friend, and didn’t think much of it. Small children do that, you know. But one day I asked her why our neighbor, Mr. Shaw, always looked so sad, didn’t bring us sweets anymore, and entered our flat through the wall. I was shocked when she said he had passed away, because I could clearly see him.”

“Did she figure out that you were seeing a ghost?”

“I’m not sure, but I do know after that, whenever she heard me talking to someone whom she couldn’t see, she would ask who it was. Several times, it was a person who recently died. Sometimes she would see me staring off into space and ask if I could see someone. She never made a big deal of it, just treated it like it was a normal thing. When she passed, I saw her soul leave her body and drift upwards. By that time, I had realized my ability wasn’t normal, and at that moment, I was very glad I had it. That way I could tell my brother Liam she went to Heaven.”

Emma leaned forward to rub his shoulder. “That must have been very special, but also terrifying.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“If you can see ghosts, why do you have to use all of that equipment?”

One hand moved from massaging her feet, to scratch behind his ear. “It seems that I can only see them if I have a close connection to them. Mr. Shaw, our babysitter Mrs. Lucas, Mum, Liam…”

“How long ago did Liam die?” she asked solemnly.

“He was killed six years ago.”

“So his spirit appeared to you after he, um, passed away?”

Killian nodded, his eyes not meeting hers.

“Did you get to see his spirit move on to Heaven, too? Like you did your mother’s?”

He began massaging her feet again as he contemplated how to answer. He had never told anyone about being able to see and speak to his brother’s spirit, but now that he’d told Emma this much…well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“He, uh, he hasn’t moved on yet.”

She sat up a little straighter. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” he began, then looked up to make eye contact with her, “he still comes to see me.”

Her eyes widened. “He does?” She started looking around the room, “Is he here right now?”

“No,” he chuckled, a bit relieved she seemed to take it so well. “He drops in sporadically, but can never stay long.”

“Why not?”

“I think it takes a lot of his paranormal energy to appear and talk to me and…”

“He talks to you, too? Do you have to use your equipment to hear him?”

“No, I did originally buy it to communicate with him, but he was able to figure out a way to actually talk to me. I think he somehow channels his energy to do that, so it gets sapped quickly.”

“The fact he hasn’t moved on means he has unfinished business, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Killian dropped his eyes once again, rubbing his thumb along the arch of her foot. “He’s always been my protector. He won’t move on until he knows I’m happy,” he answered, a bit vaguely.

“You seem happy to me.”

He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I have friends and a job I really enjoy, so I’m content.”

“Being content isn’t the same as being happy,” Emma pointed out.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed. “But it’s not as if I’m unhappy.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready for him to move on?” she asked quietly.

He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him out to be incredibly selfish. “After Mum died, Liam was my only family. Our father deserted us when I was a baby and we never saw him again. After I lost Liam, I was a mess. I moved to the United States because I thought getting away from where I experienced so much sadness would help. It did, to a certain degree, but when Liam started making appearances, I guess I became somewhat dependent on him again. I just…I don’t want to be by myself.”

“But you have people who care about you, Killian. You have Will, Belle…”

“You?”

She smiled. “Yes, me. I think this whole experience with Neal has made us closer, don’t you?”

“Well, nothing draws people together better than trying to get someone’s ex-boyfriend’s ghost to move on,” he quipped.

They fell quiet for a while as she munched more Cheez-its and he continued lightly rubbing her feet. “Can I ask you something else?” she finally said. “And don’t say I already did.”

He laughed. “Sure.”

“I don’t claim to know everything you do all the time. I try not to be a nosy neighbor, but it seems like you never…go out with anyone. On a date.”

The tips of his ears felt like they were burning. “I, uh, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the chipped red polish on her toe nails.

“I mean, I bet you could have just about any woman you want,” she added.

His heart began hammering so hard, he was sure she could hear it. “Why do you say that?” he blurted out.

“You’re a great listener, very sweet and helpful, easy on the eyes…and you give great foot massages. What’s not to love?”

Her choice of that phrase made him swallow hard. “Perhaps, like you, I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Or… maybe I just haven’t worked up the nerve to ask her out.”

Her brows rose. “Sounds like you already have someone in mind.”

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he said next would inevitably change their relationship. He simply didn’t know if it would be for better or worse. Shifting on the couch so he could fully face her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

*********

Thanks for reading! The CSSNS24 event already has numerous fantastic stories and pieces of artwork. Be sure to check out all of them!

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[teamhook]

The Last Witch Hunter:: CSSNS

Hello. I know I shouldn’t start a new one but I couldn’t stop myself. I hope this will be incentive for the Muse.

Thanks to the @cssns

Thank you to my lovely beta that is a saint @ultraluckycatnd

AO3   FFN

Summary:            

Witches are among us. After centuries of conflict, a truce was forged. Only one strict rule, magicks could never be used against humans. Killian Jones is the last witch hunter; he serves The Order of Blazing Sword and Cross and protects humans. Now, though, he needs help from an unlikely ally to put an end to the darkness that is worse than any known threat, and has been lurking in the shadows, threatening to destroy humanity

The fallen tree branches intertwined with the overgrown roots that covered the ground. The humid air made it difficult to breathe. The valiant champions included a widowed Killian, his priest brother, and their father. They were amongst the last line of defense. They had all lost so much already. Wives, fathers, mothers, husbands and children; families torn apart. They were walking into a death trap knowingly as they split away from each other. Each falling prey to traps and illusions created to not only torment their minds but end their lives. The only hope left was to end the Queen Witch’s power and in her death, humanity would find their salvation at whatever the cost. The band of brave men made their way through the ice cold mountains to her lair. The darkness of the forest aided the evil hag and her minions as they killed the men one by one. The screams echoed within the trees. They needed to reach her nest; the Hexen dwelled within the tallest tree in the center. The giant sequoia stood in the middle of the field covered in shadows, the vines bulging from the ground across the path. The perfect abode for those who worshiped the darkness. Light had no place here.

 The temperature dropped as the brave man could see his breath in front of him while he struggled to keep his wits and focus on the task at hand. He stepped over his fallen brethren while making his way deeper into the nest. He knew there would be no surviving the quest but failure was not an option.  

 The ground shook abruptly and grumbled. His attention was drawn to the silhouettes in front of him. One was crouched on the ground, and the other was kneeling in front of the first one. He moved swiftly to get a closer look, and to his dismay, he could now see the witch had her hand inside the chest of a man. It was an older man whose features were enhanced by the flame of the fire surrounding them. It was his father.

 "Liam!!" He bellowed for his brother to help as he rushed to save their father.

 His father looked at him one last time as life was crushed out of his heart.

 The ground trembled again, and it became icier as the sudden snow flurries covered his body. He reached the crone as she stood up to face him with an evil smirk. She moved quickly in front of him, and reached for his heart. He was able to evade her hands with a spin; he swung his iron blade at her as she cackled, mocking him.

 Killian finally managed to do the unbelievable and get the upper hand. The witch struggled to stay upright and she shoved her hand inside his chest. "I curse you to eternal life. You will continue to live and see all those around you die. You will be left behind. Forever alone." She squeezed his heart one last time before taking her last breath.

***

 His eyes shot open at the violent yawing of the craft. This went beyond turbulence. It was freezing. It was an abnormal storm. He stood up to find the culprit but the flight attendant stopped him. "Sir, you need to go back to your seat," the woman said as she pressed her hand on his hard chest.

 Killian could see the interest in her eyes but right now was not the time. "I'm sorry, lass. I need to use the facilities," he said in a low voice while invading her space.

 She smiled in return. “You should return to your seat.”

 “I promise to do so after I’ve done my business.” He crossed his heart.

 She looked around and noticed no one was paying attention to them. “All right, but try to be quick.” She smiled, hoping her leniency will earn her a nice lay over.

 Killian walked past the restroom to the small flight attendant station. He grabbed a cup of water and pulled out a pouch from his wallet. It had a couple of small tools including a needle, which he quickly dropped in the water.

 The plane jerked violently due to what appeared to be turbulence. The other passengers were beginning to panic as the oxygen masks dropped.

 The needle guided him to the source, a redheaded young woman hugging a black bag. Luckily the seat next to her was empty, so Killian sat down. The girl looked up with wide eyes. He smiled and said, "Lass, hand it over." He extended his hand for her to place the bag in. She was about to object then she gasped as she realized his identity and placed the bag on his waiting hand. He opened it and noticed the runes were stuck. "Bloody hell, lass. Why did you think jamming weather controlling runes together was a good idea?" Killian scolded as he sped up his actions; he poured a potion to neutralize and separate the runes using tweezers. “I've been looking for these for a very long time. Lass, these tiny things manipulate the weather. Rain, cold, wind, heat... and you thought it was a good idea to put them together in your bag? Do you know what you get when you mix a thunderstorm with cool, moist air? You almost killed us all. We are lucky you didn't get them wet. You witches have no idea the power you possess." He shook his head in disbelief as he pulled out a case from his jacket pocket and placed each rune inside after covering it carefully with a cloth.

 “I know you are the witch hunter. Are you going to kill me?” the girl asked.

 “Why would I kill you, lass? I just saved your life,” Killian said. “I have a code.”

 “Are you going to turn me in to the witch council? I didn’t do it on purpose. I inherited those from my sister. I swear it was an accident.”

 “No need to fret. Enjoy your stay.” He winked at her and stood up, leaving her behind to go back to his seat.

 The flight attendant noticed him walking back to his seat while she finished providing some water to the passengers to help calm them down.

 "Excuse me sir, I thought I told you to go to your seat?" the flight attendant said, annoyed.

 "I'm sorry, love, but a young lass was in distress. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't anymore. My name is Killian Jones, I much prefer being called that.

 How about I buy you a drink to make up for my lack of listening skills?" he said with a sexy raised eyebrow.

 The woman tried to play it as if she wasn't tempted but the blushed cheeks gave her away. "Well, Killian, I suppose that would be all right."

 "We can meet at baggage claim and set sail from there," he said as he raised her hand to his lips.

 Witches are among us

 Descendants from an ancient race called Hexen

 Their magick diluted, half-forgotten but dangerously powerful

 After centuries of conflict, a truce was forged

 Witches would live freely if they followed one strict rule, magicks could never be used against humans

 A truce is a fragile thing…

 There are those who long for the dark days of the Witch Queen, Gothel.

 It is those whom Killian deals with.

 For centuries, he has

 served The Order of Blazing Sword and Cross.

 I serve The Order in a different manner.

  I write Killian's history.

 I am his handler, his confessor, and his friend.Together we have kept watch and kept the peace.

 I’m Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo

Father Nemo arrived at Killian’s place to take the report from the most recent mission.

 The doorman smiled at the older man. “Father Nemo. I’m sorry, but he is in a meeting. Could you please take a seat while you wait?”

 The elevator opened and a woman exited wearing a flight attendant uniform.

 “I think the meeting is over, my boy,” Father Nemo said as he rose from his seat to walk to the elevator.

 Killian opened his door with a wide satisfied smile on his face. "Hello, old friend."

 Father Nemo rolled his eyes. "You know you are older than me."

 Killian shrugged. "However, as you can see, I've maintained my youthful glow."

 "That doesn't explain why you have no sense of time," Father Nemo scolded him.

 Killian rolled his eyes fondly.

 Father Nemo smiled at the man in front of him. Killian was physically younger, but was actually much older than him. However, time stands still for no one.      We should get to business    , he thought as he pulled out his journal and pen from his bag to prepare for the details. "I assume the mission was a success and you were able to recover the weather runes without incident?"

 "Aye, they are safely put away in the vault," Killian replied. "Old man, really? You get upset at my teasing but I believe you secretly enjoy it. That is why you are not willing to use any of the tech I gift you with. Where's the iPad I gave you?"

 "If you must know, I regifted it. Besides, you will not need to worry after my retirement." Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo reaffirmed his decision it was time to move on.

 "Oh, you were serious. I thought you would reconsider but since you are set in retiring, I got you a small token." Killian smiled as he handed a box to his old friend.

 "You didn't have to do this." Father Nemo grabbed the box and opened it to find a very rare, expensive Waterman 402 pen. "Oh my. I thought you didn't get sentimental. This is lovely but truly too expensive."

 "We've had a good run. We took out many dangerous covens. I finally got used to you and now you want to find greener pastures."  

 "I'm going to miss you."

 "You know you can still keep the pen if you reconsider," Killian said with a hopeful smile.

 "I'm leaving you in modern hands. Besides, the vow was not til death but to face it at your side."

 "You do know there are only two Dolan's advice I have ever listened to: my brother Liam, the first Dolan, and you."

 "Fine company I'm in but wait a minute, you ignored it all the time!" Nemo said irritated.

 "Perhaps, but I always listened."

 "Killian, what if you could retire too? What would you do?"

 "Ah, but I can't."

 "Just humor me."

 "I'm not blind to the importance of my job. Every day I wake up, the world is safe."

 "I wish you could live. Truly. You are missing the best part. The one that goes beyond ships passing in the night. Flight attendants or whoever you found for the evening."

 "There's nothing wrong with a dalliance."

 "You need to find someone to trust and share your life with."

 "Old man, let's finish this then."

 After they finished the report they parted ways. Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo left to finalize his report and hand over the file on Killian Jones to his replacement, Dolan the 37th, Father Gideon.

 Father Nemo's words of advice for the young Father Gideon were to serve with distinction and to remember that Killian was more than a weapon as the elders of The Flaming Sword and Cross loved to refer to him as. He was beyond his success rate or the numbers of witches in detention or the ones that paid the ultimate price for breaking the law.

 The next day, Killian's phone rang. "Hello?"

 "Mr. Jones, this is Dolan the 37th, Father Gideon. I'm sorry to inform you that Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo passed away in his sleep peacefully. The ceremony will be tomorrow."

 Killian was alone now. His friend was gone and it served as a reminder to not allow anyone else to enter his heart.

 The unexpected death of his old friend had reopened the scars left behind by the loss of his wife Milah, their young daughter Alice, his father Brennan, and brother Liam months later. Killian had spent years protecting his heart and focusing on the job, claiming he had a right to seek vengeance for all the world had lost. Now he was grieving for the last person he allowed himself to care for. He truly would die alone. The Order hadn't even given a proper burial to his friend as they now pledged the new Dolan. Killian couldn't stomach the ceremony and stepped out. He sat down on a bench and contemplated his life.

 The young Dolan the 37th sat next to him.

 Killian's eyes stayed focused on an object as he spoke. "Do you see that cornerstone?"

 Dolan, the 37th, nodded. "Yes, Sir. I do. I'm-"

 Killian interrupted him. "I watched them lay it in when all that was there was a cornfield. That was long ago. Everything changes, only I remain." Killian finally faced the young man.

 "Sir, I'm sorry for your loss. I wanted to pledge my life and loyalty to you. Please, call me Gideon."

 "Father Gideon, there are levels of evil everywhere. However, I've never seen people get old, retire, and die on the same day."

 "Sir, I know this isn't the proper time but I need to sort you out with a new identity and all that comes with it." Father Gideon stated as he pulled an envelope from the briefcase.

 Killian rolled his eyes. "I understand all of you Dolans are fierce rule followers but I will be clear. First, I don't need a new identity. Second, there are more pressing matters. Something doesn't add up. You were the last one to see Father Nemo. I need to go to his place." Killian stood and walked towards his black super sport 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle.

     At least it's not red,     Father Gideon muttered as he opened the car door and slipped in. "Sir, I understand, but a low profile is important to keep. As for Father Nemo, what are you thinking?

 "I'll know when I see it."  With that he started the car and drove to Nemo's home.

 They entered and Killian looked around. "How do you know when there's magic in the vicinity? It comes from four elements; fire, water, earth, and air. The correct alchemical triggers will reveal its presence." Killian informed Father Gideon as he continued his inspection. "It appears there was no magic here. However, if the window hasn't been opened, how did this get in here?"

 Gideon looked at the dead flies on the floor.

 "One means nothing. Two perhaps a coincidence but three, that means trouble. He was killed by witches."

 Killian got his confirmation once the glamor spell was lifted. "This is a declaration of war."

  @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @caught-in-the-filter @andiirivera @anothersworld @apiratewhopines @artistic-writer @batana54 @beckettj @bethacaciakay @bixisarusher @branlovestowrite @brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue @carpedzem @chasedancer17 @cocohook38 @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan @djlbg @donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart @elizabeethan @gingerchangeling @gingerpoliglot @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee​ @kymbersmith-90​ @laschatzi​ @lassluna​ @let-it-raines​ @lfh1226-linda​ @lonelyspectator12​ @mariakov81​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @officerrogers​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @onceratheart18​ @pirateherokillian​ @purplehawkcaptain​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @revanmeetra87​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @sals86​ @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes​ @seriouslyhooked​ @shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @sotangledupinit​ @spacekrulesbians​ @spartanguard​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @swanslieutenant​ @tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @thepirateandhisson​ @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite​ @tiganasummertree​ @tomeandflickcorner​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @wellhellotragic​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @winterbaby89​ @winterbythesea @xarandomdreamx​ @xsajx​ @zaharadessert​ @myfearless-love @cosette141 @grimmswan​ @fleurdepetite​ @hookmecaptain​ @once-upon-a-pirate-ship​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @4getfulimaginator2022​ @nachocheese-itsmycheese​

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (4/5)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. ~13.4k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

A/N: It's back, at long last! Thanks to my wonderful beta, @snidgetsafan, and to @ohmightydevviepuu for all her help with the tarot stuff. And, of course, a HUGE thanks to my artist, @eirabach. She made me a gif for this chapter! A gif! How freaking cool is that! Lastly, thanks to the ladies of the IAS for their support as I poured blood, sweat, and tears into this. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.

Stay tuned later tonight for me to post a short epilogue, and this one is done.

Tagging those previously interested: @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @wistfulcynic, @iverna, @stahlop, @cssns

Enjoy!

----------------

Nick sees things - things other people don’t see. He always has. Sometimes they’re things that have already happened, and sometimes they’re things that haven’t happened yet, but they’re there. He knows them, the way he knows what he had for breakfast and what his sister’s face looks like. True, unchangeable things, no matter what anyone else does or doesn’t see. 

(People don’t always believe him, of course, but that’s alright; Nick doesn’t need to be believed. Whether or not people believe what he sees does not have any bearing on the truth of the matter.)

A long time ago, Nick had seen Henry at the Circus. He’d told Ava that much; by the time Henry had shown up that second time, the year they’d turned sixteen, they’d known to expect him, and known that his fate was tied inextricably to the Circus and to themselves. It’s one of the reasons Ava had asked Henry to stay - that absolute certainty that he belonged in the Circus, grounded in the things Nick had seen. 

It hadn’t been the right time. Nick didn’t say it, but he knew all the same. The future only ever comes in flashes - a crude ring, towering flames, a sense of cold and stillness, and Henry, somehow in the middle of all of it, still young but grown, a few short years in the future perhaps. It’s unmistakable. It’s fate, of a kind that is yet to occur. 

If there is one thing Nick knows, it is that not all futures yet to come should be spoken aloud. Henry Mills’ entwinement with the Circus, whatever it yet may be, is one of them. 

Still - as Henry and his sister mourn the early train from miles apart, Nick smiles to himself. 

This story, whatever it may become, is far from over. 

———

Knowing the nature of this competition doesn’t make things any easier, Emma discovers. In fact, it only makes things harder. 

Maybe, at a certain level, she always knew it had to end like this. Maybe she just didn’t want to face it - Regina’s pointed silence on the subject, the increasing weight of this endeavor as the years had rolled on, the way Regina and Gold both had tried so hard to establish a divide between her and Killian. Now, however, is the era of facing this hard truth.

Mulan is right; falling in love with Killian made this an even greater tragedy than it already would have been. Winning was always a distant concept, but now it is simply unthinkable - knowing that her winning would mean his death. 

It does not help knowing that he would say the same thing. 

The Circus weighs heavier on her each day. It’s been nearly twenty years since they welcomed their first visitors, and even longer since this whole endeavor started. On the surface, Emma may still look like a young woman, but she feels each of those years in her mind and her body and her soul as the days tick by. Knowledge of how this must end only makes her more aware of the burden.

Some days, she wonders if it would be easier to just… give in. Accept the inevitability of the extent of the magic she carries. It would spare Killian, for certain, physically if not emotionally. What stays her hand each time is all the other lives tied to their competition now. Dozens of lives and livelihoods rest on her shoulders now, a thing she doubts anyone considered at the beginning of this all. What would happen to everyone whose lives have been put on hold if she lets go? What other unimaginable fallouts might come to pass?

No answer is immediately evident. No matter how much Emma searches her books, she fears the outcome will be the same: that there’s no way to minimize this damage, no matter how much she tries. 

———

Henry is 18, and the world has lost much of its shine and glorious possibility. 

He’d been an imaginative boy, and an imaginative young man, but those kinds of thoughts seem impossibly far away now. More than anything, Henry wants to learn, to go to telegraph school or maybe even college, but that just feels like a foolish dream most days, when he trudges down to the shipyards for another day at work, barely making enough pay for a little bit of lunch and the rent for his boarding house’s landlady at the end of the week. It is grueling work, constructing cargo ships and ocean liners, and Henry won’t pretend he enjoys it, but they’d been hiring when the sisters had made it clear he’d need to find his own way in the world and he couldn’t afford to be picky. Besides, he’s good at this; Henry may not be as strong as so many of the men he works with, but he’s quick and wiry and precise, able to wiggle into tight spaces when needed. This is not the life Henry ever imagined for himself, but that’s living, he supposes - settling, making do, focusing more on the business of surviving than any lofty goals.

Still, in a box under his bed at the boarding house filled with the little treasures he’s collected over the years, lives a single white glove, still soft and pristine after all these years. On nights that Henry indulges himself in dreams, he pulls the glove out and remembers the circus, all the lights and the smells and the people, the kind vendors who’d slipped him popcorn and Emma the magician and especially Ava, who’d kissed his cheek under the autumn sunlight and made him feel like he could be somebody. 

We’ll see each other again - I promise, she’d said, and Henry had believed her. Even now, six years of heartache and disappointment and waiting later, there’s still a part of him that believes. It’s why he’s stayed here, within easy distance of the old fields where the Circus had unfolded, when he could find a better job with the railways. He can’t leave, not when they might still come back. After all - Ava had promised.

Henry will wait, and remember. But each day, it grows a little harder to dream.

———

There is a bonfire at the center of the Circus.

Bonfire, perhaps, is too mundane a word for the structure before you. The flame itself dances in unnatural ways, higher and then lower, swirling in patterns you’ve never seen fire take, tendrils periodically flashing with brilliant bursts of color before settling to a brilliant orange again. Surrounding the marvel is a cast iron cauldron, delicately constructed and appearing brilliantly strong for the contrast. Everything else spirals out from there - every path, every tent, every performance. Every bit of the Circus, with that fire throbbing at its center like a beating heart. 

You’d come years ago, too, when the Circus was still young, and the bonfire had flared at its center then too. Something is different now, however, you can’t help but feel. There’s something more… intense, about the flames, something more demanding and frantic and pressing. Where the fire had once lapped gently, like waves against a wrought iron shore, it burns furiously and desperately now, higher and higher. It speaks of something imminent, that might yet still be terrible or glorious. 

You step away, trailing back outwards along a silver-paved path. The bonfire seems now to mix wonder with fear, in a way you didn’t notice before. 

But then again - what else will a fire do, if not burn?

———

Belle - 

You told me, once, several years ago, to be careful - that change was coming, was in the air and in the cards. You also told me, in an entirely different conversation, that love was entirely too risky and wonderful to let pass by. 

Who would have thought that both those warnings would come together at the same time, and in the same person? I think, perhaps, you may have been bright enough to see the writing on the wall. I, for one, was not. 

Love is beautiful, Belle. She is beautiful, and brilliant, and so bloody good that it takes my breath away sometimes. Is this how you feel, with your Will? This overwhelming love that makes me willing to do anything, give up anything to make sure she’s happy? It is powerful, and terrifying, the way I wake up each morning willing to throw it all away if only she asks - maybe even before. Perhaps there’s an irony in the fact we’re meant to be competitors, diametrically opposed in every way - or, perhaps, the forces that set this all in motion never stopped to think that the very ways in which we were opposed made us more compatible than any other two people in the world. 

In truth, I’m writing to you today, Belle, because I think I know what needs to be done, and I don’t want you to worry. This is my choice - and I will always, always choose her. Things are changing, and I’m not entirely sure where that will leave me at the end of this. But as you once said - I’m choosing to believe that change is for the better. 

With all my love,

-Killian

———

Belle Scarlet, nee French, likes to start her day with a cup of tea and the paper and her correspondence. This morning brings a letter from Killian, and with it, more questions than answers. Her old friend’s words are simultaneously joyous and desperate in tone, leaving her puzzled more than anything else. 

Belle doesn’t read her cards very often, anymore. There’s no real need to. The years of telling visitors a never-ending string of futures had been some of the most joyous of her life, but she’s enjoying this quieter existence. Killian’s words, however… it’s enough to send Belle for her personal set in her desk drawer, to see if the universe will be any more forthcoming. 

The cards… the cards are a mess. Belle struggles to find any sense in what possibilities they present. She’d read for Killian, or she’d intended to, but what she sees in front of her speaks more to the Circus instead, like the two have become too intertwined to separate. Swords and their conflict flash throughout, the Lovers, the Devil and the Chariot and Judgement. The message is unclear, but there’s an undeniable urgency that speaks to her. At the center of it all is the Hanged Man. Belle knows this card, and its many meanings; knows how often it should be interpreted as events churning forward without one’s control. But it sits there, ominous in its depiction anyways, spurring Belle to action. She’s almost out the door, coat in hand, when she remembers something. Doubling back to the same drawer that keeps her cards, she retrieves the small, velvet pouch Mulan had pressed into her hand the day Belle left the Circus. 

If Belle isn’t mistaken, she’ll finally have cause to use it. 

It’s been years since she visited Killian in his apartment, but Belle still remembers the way, his address imprinted on her mind as the place this all began. It had always been an unassuming little set of rooms, never the kind of place you’d expect to find a powerful magician. Maybe that makes sense, in a way - the possibility of finding magic in the quietest, least likely places. 

When Killian opens the door, he looks exhausted, more than Belle has ever seen. She can’t be certain what has happened the past two years, her friend’s letters always rather vague on specifics, but she can see how it presses down on his shoulders. Behind him, the apartment is in disarray in a manner she’s not used to seeing, books abandoned still open on every spare surface. On his desk in the middle of it all sits a paper model of one of the Circus tents; if Belle isn’t mistaken, it’s one that belongs to Miss Swan, the illusionist. 

Oh, Killian.

“Tell me what’s happened,” she says gently. 

He gestures her in, though sitting space is at a premium, books and scraps of paper taking over every space. As Belle gently rearranges things to perch on the arm of an armchair, Killian himself collapses into the seat behind his desk. 

“It’s the competition,” he tells her. “I finally know how it ends.”

“And?”

He tilts his head in her direction, smiling sadly. “It’s a test of endurance,” he finally says after a heavy pause, “not of skill. The last one standing wins.”

Killian’s words set off a chill down to Belle’s bones as their truth sinks in. It is unsurprising, somehow, after years of mystery and deflection, but that doesn’t make it any less horrifying. “And you love your competitor,” is all she can say in the end. 

“Aye. I do.” Killian’s hand fumbles for a glass of dark liquor on the sideboard, taking a long drink. “To lose, after all this time, seems unthinkable. But to win… that would be even worse.”

“A situation in which no one wins, really. Except, perhaps, your benefactors.”

“Exactly that.” He takes another drink before Belle rises to gently pry the crystal out of his hand. There’s a fire in his eyes as he looks up at her, a sort of determination, but the tragedy still lurks just behind his gaze. “I know what I need to do, Belle. I do. But there’s the Circus to consider, and even then… I don’t know that she’ll ever forgive me.”

“Does she love you, as you love her?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

“Then she’ll forgive you,” Belle says simply. “She’ll understand. But something is at hand, Killian, something with the Circus. Something immediate, that will not be ignored.”

“Something that will have to happen without me.” Killian’s gaze is distant as he looks out his window overlooking a very English street.

Belle pulls him into a hug as her mind churns. She’d had a suspicion when she came here that her intervention was necessary - it’s why she’d grabbed Mulan’s gift, after all - but it’s another thing to face the moment with certainty. Whatever is about to happen, she knows it will be the last she sees of her friend. 

(Surreptitiously, she slips the Hanged Man into his pocket. When she’d first seen the card, she’d thought it heralded doom, and perhaps it still does. The Hanged Man, though, represents so much more: sacrifice for a cause, and surrender to greater forces, and letting one phase end for the sake of a new beginning. A merciful death with eyes wide open. 

Some fates are unavoidable. And some endings are necessary to usher in something more.)

“Not necessarily,” she tells him, stepping back out of their tight embrace.

“Not necessarily? Belle, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but if I don’t even know what’s going on, there’s nothing I can do from here. Whatever’s about to happen - I can’t stop it. It’s not possible.”

“Oh, Killian,” she sighs fondly. You know, it’s funny - there’s no reason to make this moment more dramatic than it already inherently is, but after all of Killian’s own dramatics over the years… it feels fitting. Belle carefully draws the little bag out of her purse. Inside is a fine powder that Mulan had promised could transport someone back to the Circus if the time was right and the circumstances necessary. Unlike so much of the Circus, the powder is a shining gold, fine and soft when Belle tips the pouch’s contents into her hand. “You’ve forgotten one important thing,”

His face draws into a suspicious expression as he watches her hands move, seemingly cluing into the fact that she has plans of her own. “What’s that?”

Maybe the question is responding to her words; maybe it’s responding to her motions. Either way, her answer is the same. “There’s magic in this world, Killian. And that makes so many impossible things real.”

And with a sudden gust of breath, she sends the powder Mulan had gifted her to envelop Killian, surrounding him in a golden cloud. When the powder finally dissipates, Killian is gone, his glass on the desk the only sign he’d even been there. 

There’s a feeling in Belle’s heart that maybe, this is the last time she sees Killian, but whatever that feeling is, it isn’t quite dread. Acceptance, maybe, and inevitability.

Belle lets herself back out into the street and slips into the early-morning crowd. Whatever happens - she’s played her part. Things are the way they’re supposed to be. 

———

When the dust settles, Killian finds himself outdoors. A brief glance reveals him to be right in the center of the Circus, mere steps from the bonfire. Despite the rainy weather, the flames still dance and flicker, the center force of this whole enterprise churning ever forward. Somehow, he’s been transported thousands of miles, clear across the ocean from London to Maine. Others, he knows, would be shocked by such a sudden change; Killian has become far too weary for that. 

That same glance also reveals Mulan waiting as if she knew he was coming, her fingers tapping on the pommel of her sword the only indication of a less-than-perfect patience. It is even less surprising, somehow, than his abrupt transportation. 

“Ah good,” she says. “The former Miss French still shows impeccable timing.”

“So this is your doing?”

“That would, perhaps, be an overstatement,” she admits, handing him an umbrella. “I simply provided her with a tool. I thought it might be of use.”

“And yet you knew to wait.”

“I do not have Belle’s gifts; I will not pretend to such things. But the magic is… fraying, shall we say. Spiraling out of control. I can recognize a crisis point when it is upon us.”

Killian waits for her to continue, but the next words never come. After far too long a silence, he waves a prompting hand. “And?”

“You were clever at the start of all this,” Mulan tells him. “Tying your portion of the Circus to the book, and to the bonfire - that was wise. The separation acts as a pressure release valve, taking much of the burden off yourself. Miss Swan…” She pauses. “Well. Miss Swan, despite all her talents, has not done the same.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.”

“Yes, but do you know the extent? If Emma were to drop dead right now - the entire Circus would collapse in on itself. It’s a stroke of luck that this breaking point has not come while we were in transit, or the resulting crash would likely prove fatal to many of those here.”

“So you are asking me to - to end it.”

“Not exactly.” Mulan smiles cryptically. “Have you had much cause to speak with Nicholas Zimmer?” Killian shakes his head. “Young Mr. Zimmer is blessed with a rare gift - to see those things that happened long ago, with the kind of clarity most cannot see the present. One of his favorite tales is that of Merlin. Are you familiar?”

It rings a faint bell, like something he’d read in a book once. “The sorcerer, aye? And the tree.”

“Precisely. Now, most stories say he transformed himself into a tree, but it was something more similar to binding his spirit. Somewhere out there is an ancient oak, with the soul of a powerful magician trapped inside. That is what I ask of you. The Circus is born of both yours and Emma’s talents - and no matter who takes themselves off the board, it will cause a catastrophic collapse. But if you bind yourself to the Circus…”

“You believe it will keep the operation going. A loophole, if you will.”

“Exactly. Enough time to more effectively separate Miss Swan from her own magical bonds, and leave this place fully self-sufficient. But only if you’re willing.”

If he’s willing. What kind of question is that? If it will save Emma, and protect what they’ve created… it’s no question at all. “Do it.”

Mulan smiles. “I thought you might say that.” She lifts her hands briefly, as if about to commence immediately, before dropping them again. When you know what to look for, the similarities between Mulan’s and Emma’s magic is unmistakable - the intricate motions like weaving a tapestry out of thin air. “Is there anyone you need to speak to, first?” she asks, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. 

Killian thinks of Emma, and of his brother. Liam will understand, he thinks; something like this has been coming for most of their lives. Emma…

Perhaps it is best that Emma not know. He already knows she’d never agree. 

“No. There are not many people in my life, and I think they’ll understand. Do as you must.”

With a solemn nod, Mulan lifts her hands again, weaving intricate patterns. Behind Killian, the bonfire flares, growing taller and hotter and stronger. There’s a glow in the space between them, now, something that might be magic or might be the fire or might, even, be both. He can feel something pulling at his back, like strings knotted over and over to tie him to the bonfire. 

Killian almost closes his eyes, lets himself surrender to the binds, when he hears a sudden shout. Through the growing blaze, Killian can just see Emma, running at full speed, beautiful in a blue dress and determined in a way he’s never seen. Mulan diligently works through the disturbance, hands moving as fast as they can, but Emma’s faster, and the spell hasn’t quite set, and - 

He opens his arms on instinct, accepting Emma’s weight as she latches on to him, and lets them both fall. 

———

(Emma hadn’t really thought it through before she threw herself at Killian - she’d just seen Mulan’s hands moving over the Circus book and so many strings looping around Killian and the tome and the fire and she’d just - reacted. 

There’s a bare moment of burning as his arms close around her, like that first moment when a strange man had given her a stranger ring, before it fades to the kind of comforting warmth she’s only ever found with Killian. Then they’re falling, falling, falling - 

And then, blessed nothingness.)

(If this is the end - well, Emma will always wonder if they were able to save the Circus that so many call home. She hopes so. But if this is the end, she’s glad to have faced it with him.)

———

The fire folds in on itself, absorbing both competitors as it extinguishes, and suddenly Mulan is the only one left at the metal grate. This turn of events is not what she expected, precisely, but it does not surprise her either. 

Love makes one do foolish things. Mulan only wishes she had accepted that sooner. 

The Circus is still around her, all the lives within it paused with the cessation of the lifeblood fire. It pulls at Mulan, too, but she’s never much heeded such things if she does not want to. That’s the wonder of magic. 

For now, there’s nothing else to do but wait. She’d talked to Nicholas Zimmer beforehand, and Mulan knows there is still more that must be done. Young Mr. Zimmer hadn’t seen Miss Swan’s sacrifice, but he’d seen the fire extinguished and an iron ring and all of them, there at the edges. 

He’d told her about another piece, too - someone who hasn’t arrived yet. And if she isn’t mistaken, that will be the crucial linchpin. 

Mulan strolls leisurely towards the gate, prepared to wait as long as is necessary to see the end of this competition through. 

———

When the brightness of the fire dims - or perhaps that blinding light had been the work of the spell; he had been a bit distracted by other things rather than sorting out the difference - Killian finds himself in the Labyrinth. Alone.

It is not what he expected. 

The last thing he remembers is his arms around Emma, falling into nothing, but he wakes up to a familiar snowscape, all alone. Killian knows this maze like the back of his hand, however; has seen its chambers sprawled in paper across his desk, has watched each addition with joy and affection and wonder. There is nothing in this maze that can stop him from finding Emma - at least nothing that’s been conjured yet. 

Killian trails through all the familiar rooms they’ve built together these last several years: the playing cards and the paper animals and the room he knows is Emma’s favorite, with plush cushions scattered on every surface and something floral drifting through the air. 

The Circus has always been his - has been theirs - but this space more than any else. 

He finally finds Emma in the paper seascape. That’s fitting in its own way, he supposes -  to find her again in this room, where his love is written on every surface. There’s been an unnatural lightness even since he came back to himself in the snowy hall, something that means the ink never stains his shoes and he seems to pass straight through all the detritus of their surroundings, but Emma is warm and there when he cups her cheek. There’s something like heartbreak on her face, and something like exhaustion, but something like relief, too.

“Killian,” she breathes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t I?” It seems to him that he’s exactly where he ought to be. 

“No, you shouldn’t! You should be in London, and safe. I had a plan - ”

“Ah, but I had a plan too,” he interrupts. “In fact, you interrupted my particular plan.”

“To - to sacrifice yourself? Allow me to win? What sort of plan was that?”

Can she be so obtuse? Or is she simply selfless to the point of self-destruction? “One that would let you live.”

“And what use is that? You’ve got your brother, Belle -”

“But I wouldn’t have you.” It’s baffling, the way she discounts her own worth to him. “Don’t you understand, Emma? I told you I love you, and I meant it. What would my existence be if I survived at the cost of your own life? So yes, I was going to sacrifice myself, so that you could have the life that you deserve. I was trying to save you.”

“Maybe I didn’t want that,” she says. Emma meets his gaze steadily as she lifts her hands to gently grasp his lapels, like she’s imploring him to heed her words both in look and action. “I would have been alive, yes. But I wouldn’t want that, if it meant losing you. I love you, Killian,” she tells him - certain, sure and strong. “I know I never said it, but I do. I have for a long time. If you were willing to do this because you love me - is it so hard to imagine I’d do the same?”

He’d known, on some level, that she loves him - or hoped as much, at least. But hearing the words still sends what left of his soul soaring and his hands pulling her into an embrace, head dipping to share a kiss. They’ve had first kisses, and last kisses, and everything in between; happy kisses and sad kisses and so, so many scared kisses for all these years they’ve had to hide their love. This kiss now feels like something beautiful and new: a kiss tinged with the taste of freedom, that finally feels like their own. Maybe it’s absurd, under the circumstances, but Killian feels a lightness to his soul that makes him lift her on a whim until her face tilts down to meet his instead, spinning their entwined bodies in a slow circle. It’s silly - but it’s joyful, too, in a way they aren’t usually granted.

They’ve earned a little lightness after all this dark, he thinks. 

Killian brushes an escaped curl back behind Emma’s ear once they finally separate and he sets her back on her own two feet. “I love you, Emma Swan,” he says. “I don’t regret the choices I’ve made, not if it means we have this. Happy endings aren’t always what we think, love - but if I get to spend it with you, that’s plenty happy for me.”

Killian brings his mouth back to her own, savoring the way her smile tastes. 

For the first time, it feels like they have all the time in the world. 

———

“It still weighs on me,” Emma confesses, once they’ve finally drunk their fill of kisses. “The Circus, I mean. It pulls on me heavier than ever, and I have to spend so much concentration just to keep everything supported, and - ” She sighs heavily. “I’m so tired, Killian. When will we get to rest?”

“Soon, I think.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulls her closer into his arms. Mulan has a plan, if he’s not mistaken; there’s no other reason she would have been waiting for him tonight, already ready for his unexpected arrival. “Just hold on a little longer, love.”

They’ve been pawns in someone else’s game for so long; what’s a few hours more?

———

The Circus arrives at night. 

There is no warning, no whispers of what is coming, but Henry still keeps his eyes and ears open for news about the fields just outside of town, and he knows what those particular tents mean.

It has grown harder to imagine and to dream as the years have trudged on - eight of them, now, since Henry last saw the Circus when he was ten - but the news ignites a new fire in Henry that burns with the force of magic and memory. Once upon a time, when he was just a little, little boy, a not-quite princess in a black and white dress had promised him that the Circus would always be there for him; four years later, a different blonde had promised the same. But Henry has waited now, an entire two thirds of his life, and he’s done delaying those promises. This time, when the Circus leaves, Henry intends to go with it, one way or another.

The Circus arrives on a Thursday; these things never seem to happen on a day he has off work. The boys at the shipyard are already talking about the turn of events, discussing when to take sweethearts or siblings or families, and Henry - well, Henry shares the sentiment, in some ways. He can’t wait to visit, either. But Henry doesn’t have anyone to bring, the way they do; everyone he’d ever want to take is part of the Circus, leaving him the lone man out. 

It’s been raining all day, getting heavier and heavier as the day goes on. The Circus will close for inclement weather tonight, surely, but Henry takes the short trip out of town anyways. There’s something that draws him in to the site - this need to know, for certain, that this isn’t just another dream. That the Circus is here, and waiting, just for him.

(He takes a brief detour home, first, on the kind of instinct he’ll never be able to explain later. His little room doesn’t hold much, and he’s attached to very little of it, but the white glove still lives in a discarded cigar box underneath his bed. Henry doesn’t know what will happen next - if Ava’s offer still stands to run away with the Circus, if she and Nick will even recognize him after all the ways he’s changed - but he knows he wants this with him. 

It’s only later that he realizes just how lucky he was to have slipped the glove into his pocket.)

There’s a stillness about the place when he arrives, however, that belies even the expected closure sign. Henry’s been here before during inclement weather, but it never felt like this. The Circus has an energy about it that’s somehow… missing now. Like something’s wrong.

(Henry hopes he’s wrong about that, but in his heart, he knows he’s not.)

He’d assumed he’d have to break into the grounds again, though he hadn’t been sure how. When Henry arrives, however, there’s a woman already waiting at the front gates, huddled underneath an umbrella to block out the worst of the rain. There’s a sword at her side and she wears intricate Chinese armor in the same blacks and whites and silvers of the Circus, though Henry does not yet recognize her on sight. Beyond her, the Circus is silent and still, like she’s standing guard over everything within those gates. 

“Henry Mills, I presume?” Her voice holds a gravitas that belies its soft volume. Henry nods cautiously in return. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” It takes a moment before the first part of that sentence hits home. “Wait - how do you know my name?”

“The Zimmer twins speak highly of you,” the woman tells him before turning on her heel and starting down one of the paths at a brisk pace. “Now come along, keep up. We don’t have much time.”

“Not much time for what?”

She slows briefly, just long enough to cast a wry look in his direction. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

“Well, you keep answering them.” 

“Touché, Mr. Mills.” There’s something about the woman’s mouth that almost looks like a smile before it’s gone again. It’s hard to say when she resumes her determined speed, talking as they go. “What do you know about the Circus?”

“I know the Circus is magic,” he says. No one ever told him as such so bluntly, but Henry had put it together over time. Certain things just can’t be explained, certain things in the same category as Nick’s second sight - and besides, he’d been young enough to believe it, back when he first realized. “I know things happen here that shouldn’t be possible, but are. It’s wonderful.”

“It is. It’s also complicated,” she tells him. “The Circus exists because of a competition, and because of its two players. They’ve built something beautiful. But do you know what happens in competitions?” Before Henry can answer, there’s an odd noise. Just over the woman’s shoulder, one of the smaller tents starts to cave in on itself. She nods like that’s enough of an answer - and when she speaks, Henry realizes that maybe, it is. “They end,” she tells him. “This way will be quicker; as I said, we haven’t much time.”

“So this… competition,” he prods. “It’s over? That’s why the Circus is falling apart?”

“Yes… And no,” his guide replies cryptically. It’s frustrating, asking so many questions and receiving so few answers. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, young Henry. There’s nothing enjoyable about this.” They walk on in silence for a moment, veering off down another path, before she speaks again. “One of our contestants, Mr. Jones, was prepared to take himself off the board, and I was prepared to help him do so in a way that would provide something like a permanent spine for the Circus. Miss Swan, however, interfered, resulting in some… unexpected circumstances.” With that, she draws back the flap to the tall acrobats’ tent. 

The group inside looks like an inclement weather party interrupted. Tables are still laden with food, candles flowing warmly. Every living thing within the tent, however, is frozen in unnatural stillness. Some people are clearly mid-conversation, or mid action, bites of food stilled halfway to mouths and hands stilled mid-gesture. A group of musicians appear to have been mid-song, instruments still raised in a playing position.

(Even as they stand there, watching the stillness, one of the chairs suspended from the roof of the tent for the acrobats to perform with drops, barely missing a clustered group as it shatters on the ground. The Circus may have been suspended too - but for how long?)

“In many ways, the Circus was built on the love Emma held for each and every person within its bounds; maybe not at first, but over time, it’s become inseparable from the very fabric, like the supports holding it all up,” she explains. “When Emma and Mr. Jones folded themselves into the Circus… I don’t know if it’s something one of them has done purposefully, or if the Circus or the magic has acted of its own accord, but this place protects its own. But that can’t last forever. That’s where you come in. What we’re about to ask you - it will make sure the Circus survives, but it cannot be done without your help.”

It is a lot to spring on a person, especially one that this woman doesn’t know, but Henry already knows his answer. “What do you need me to do?”

(What else would he say, when what’s at stake is a place like this and all the people it protects?)

“No hesitation? Just jumping in feet first without all the details? That’s an awful bold decision, Mr. Mills.”

“Would you do the same, for the Circus?”

It gives the woman pause for a minute before she dips her head and a kind of concession. “Touché.”

(“I thought you said this was a shortcut,” Henry mentions when they finally slip back out of the acrobats’ tent, veering sharply in a new direction. 

“It was a shortcut in explanation. If you assumed it would be a shortcut in distance - well, that was your assumption, not my words.”)

They finally halt in front of a tall tent with light faintly glowing beneath the fold of the fabric opening, just illuminating where the words Wishing Tree glimmer in the scant moonlight on a subtle sign. Under other circumstances, Henry might have marveled at the elegant branches stretching around the tent, illuminated in softly glowing candlelight; tonight, he’s more distracted by the two nearly-translucent figures standing at its base, a man and a woman. The woman he recognizes as the magician - Emma, the person who’d first made this place feel like home. The man is unknown to him, but certainly not to Emma; he leans into her space as if drawn to her by magnets. Maybe it’s just practical - this not-Emma seems barely able to stand upright, and the man’s arm around her waist seems more like a lifeline than a simple comfort - but Henry thinks it’s more than that. The man looks at Emma with worry, yes, but with awe too. Like he can’t believe he’s here with her, even in such a way. 

Henry may be young, but he can still recognize love when he sees it. 

“I take it that you remember Miss Swan?” his guide asks. “And beside her is Mr. Jones.”

“Mulan, why have you brought him here?” Emma asks. 

“You needed a solution, and I’ve found you one.”

“This is your solution?” Emma asks. Somehow, the emphasis sounds concerned rather than derogatory. “Are you sure?”

“He is willing.”

“He’s a child.”

“I’m eighteen,” Henry mumbles. “And I’m right here.”

“He tried to run away and join the Circus two years ago. Did you know that?” his guide asks Emma, still ignoring Henry. Mulan. He’ll have to remember that, if they ever allow him to speak. “He loves the Circus. It is enough.”

“Is that true, Henry? Do you love the Circus?” the man - Mr. Jones - asks. “What we’re about to ask you - it will require a deep love, not a passing whimsy. So forgive me for asking, but be honest with me - do you love the Circus? Enough to make significant sacrifices?”

“More than anything.” Maybe it sounds fanciful - maybe it sounds naive - but it’s the truth: maybe even the greatest truth that Henry knows. “I’m an orphan - a foundling. I don’t know if you remember that,” he says with a nod to Emma. “There are so many things I haven’t had in my life - opportunity and family and home. But the Circus…” He pauses before pressing a closed fist to his heart. “When I’m here, I feel something in here. Like contentment, maybe. I love this place because it’s wonderful, but I love it mostly because it feels like a home.”

“What we’re asking you is to bind yourself to the Circus, Henry,” Emma tells him. “You wouldn’t be able to leave, not for long periods of time. We can bind you in a way so that the Circus does not press on you the way it presses on us, but it will still be yours, in a permanent sort of way. This will not be something you can undo, not without breaking quite a bit of complicated magic and undertaking quite a bit of effort.”

“But it will save the Circus? And save both of you?” Henry doesn’t know much about love, he thinks - not yet, at least - but he knows already it’s worth preserving. 

Emma nods. “We believe so.”

“Then what do you need me to do?”

———

The bonfire is the living heart of the Circus, Mr. Jones had explained to Henry before sending him back out into the night. If we have any hope of saving it, and transferring the Circus into your hands, you’ll have to restart the flame. 

It had sounded so easy, phrased like that: a matter of some matches and some luck of the weather. But this is magic, and Henry is slowly realizing that with magic nothing is quite that straightforward. Emma and Mr. Jones have come up with a list of items he’ll need, like ingredients: bits and bobs he wouldn’t have thought meant anything (a certain vial from a tent full of glassware, an abandoned hat at the edge of a burned-out fire, a black velvet jacket draped across the back of a chair in a secluded train car), but are apparently crucial to making this work. 

Mulan drifts back into his vision as he collects the hat, a sudden and startling presence somehow more other-worldly than her ghostly compatriots. There’s a card laying in the dirt beside the upturned hat - a tarot card, like he’d seen so many years ago in a tent of this very circus. This card features a surprisingly placid man suspended by his feet and the inscription The Hanged Man. 

Mulan huffs a subtle laugh over Henry’s shoulder as he picks up the card. “It is fitting, is it not?” she asks. “We are all suspended here, waiting for whatever may yet still come to pass. It’s the brink of something more.” 

“You know tarot?”

“I know many things, Mr. Mills,” she says. “This just happens to be one of them.”

Henry takes the card with him as they leave. Somehow, it feels like a piece to this story yet to unfold, even if it is not one he was directed to collect. 

(On a whim, he slips Ava’s glove out of his pocket as well and adds it to the pile - his one tie to the Circus all these years. Maybe it’s foolish, but it feels right too.)

The leaves of the Wishing Tree have started to fall once Henry and Mulan return to the tent, Emma visibly exhausted in the middle of it all. Mr. Jones’ face is creased with concern, his hands fluttering to soothe and support, but there’s only so much that can be done when the Circus is trying to collapse in on itself. 

“You’ve found everything?” Mr. Jones asks. His tone is sharp, though Henry can’t much blame him; under the circumstances, responding that way seems almost reasonable. Henry nods, lifting his haul instead of tendering a proper response. Mr. Jones nods briskly in turn. “Good lad. Now, we’ll need to move to the fire cauldron - ”

“Henry,” Emma interrupts, her voice tired but firm. “Are you certain? I know we are asking so much of you, and I know you already said yes, but I want you to know it’s alright to say no. This isn’t something you should be pressured into, and no one will be upset if you decide you can’t.”

Henry doesn’t really understand all of where this is coming from - not really. He’s only interacted with Emma less than a handful of times since he was a boy, and only briefly at that. But even in that short time, it’s been easy to see how the Circus presses on her, especially now. It is kind of her to try to ensure the same thing won’t happen to him, not without communicating the risk. 

Still. There are things worth taking risks for, and making sacrifices for. In some ways, Henry thinks he made his choice long ago. 

“It’s okay.” Henry reaches out a hand towards Emma without thinking, like some kind of reassurance he isn’t quite sure how to give, only for his hand to pass right through her own. “I meant what I said before. The Circus feels like it could be a home for me, and I want to protect that. But also…” He pauses. “This feels like something I’m supposed to do. Like maybe, this is the reason I’ve always felt so drawn to the Circus. Maybe this is what everything has been leading to for as long as I’ve been alive. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” Emma’s hand isn’t quite solid when it comes to rest against his cheek, but there’s something there - the ghost of a touch, and all the comfort it still brings. “I’m proud of you.”

“Not to interrupt a touching scene,” Mulan interrupts, “but time is of the essence. If Henry intends to take the mantle of the Circus, we need to act now. Before it’s too late.”

———

It feels deceptively easy, in the end. Henry carefully wraps all the bits and bobs he’d collected up with a length of yarn Mulan seems to pull out of nowhere, tying them into a misshapen parcel that he places into the cauldron. At Mr. Jones’ direction, he extracts a nondescript volume from beneath the cauldron itself. Dozens of signatures line each page, the smallest dot of blood punctuating the end of each name. Meticulously, Henry adds his own name to the book. The twists and loops of his name look so insignificant on the page, but he knows it’s a momentous thing he’s just done. As Henry presses his own thumb to the paper, blood beading from the digit where he’d sliced the skin with a pocket knife, there’s a kind of energy that chases through his whole body. Magic - beautiful and mysterious and binding. 

Eventually, there’s nothing left to do but get it over with. Henry holds a candle from the Wishing Tree in one hand, just waiting for his cue to light it and re-ignite the fire. There’s magic in a wish, Emma had told him before sending him for the ingredients. I think we can use all the magic we can get. 

“There’s one more thing,” Mr. Jones - Killian tells Henry. He’s more stable than the flickering illusion of Emma, but he’s still ghostly, tents foggily visible through his middle. “To make this as stable as possible, we’ll need to bind you to the Circus.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? I thought that’s why I signed the ledger.”

“In a way, yes,” Killian agrees. “But what we’re asking you to do - that’s a different kind of bond than the book. The rest of the individuals who signed don’t carry the Circus the way you’ll have to. Emma and I - when we were young, we were bound to this venue before it even existed. We think doing something similar now will make it more likely this transfer will be successful.”

“And it won’t…” Henry pauses. “I know that whatever bond you had with the Circus was slowly killing Emma.”

“The man and woman who sealed our bonds - they didn’t much care what happened to a pair of pawns,” Emma explains. “We aren’t in danger of making that same mistake.”

“Then do it.”

“Good lad,” Killian smiles. With a touch of his hand, a curl on the cauldron lengthens until it’s twisted into an iron ring, breaking off neatly into his palm. As he waits, Henry fiddles with the candle he still holds, digging his fingernails into the wax. The enormity of it all is starting to set in, ushering in nerves along with it. 

“That has always been my favorite tent, you know,” Killian tells Henry, nodding towards the candle. If he’s not mistaken, the older man is trying to deflect his anxieties about what’s about to happen; even knowing that, Henry gladly seizes on the distraction offered. As he talks, his fingers sketch complicated figures in the air, making the iron ring in his palm alternately glow silver and gold and every shade in between. Henry knows Emma’s magic now, can recognize it like an old friend, but this is something different. It’s marvelous in its own way, a way that isn’t even in comparison but just… is. 

“Is it one of yours?” Henry asks, trying to be polite even with his heart lodged in his throat. He’s entering into this willingly - wants it with every fiber of his being, wants it because it feels right in a way he can’t understand, let alone explain - but that doesn’t do anything to make him less nervous. 

Killian smiles absentmindedly, most of his attention still devoted to his strange symbols. “Emma’s, actually,” he comments. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It always feels like an old magic to me. Something more than either of the two of us.”

“Did you ever make a wish?”

Whatever emotion dances across Killian’s face is… complicated. Something wistful and joyful and sad and yearning, all at once. “I did.” His hands finally still in the air. The little loop of metal ceases its glow, the light fading away, but there’s still a sense of something surrounding it - an aura, perhaps, or pure, radiating power, something reminiscent of what he’d felt when he’d pressed his blood to the page. One tiny object with the power to change countless lives. Henry’s eyes can’t look away from the ring, even as Killian continues talking. “Do you know what I wished for?”

Henry shakes his head. Killian’s hand is not-quite-there as it lifts his own, ready to perform the binding. This time, the smile on his face is unmistakable as he leans to speak quietly into Henry’s ear. “I wished for her.”

And then it burns, the ring shrinking to fit Henry’s finger as it sears into his skin. There’s a part of Henry that wants to pull the damned thing off, but he knows this is necessary, knows it wouldn’t work anyways. Emma’s still smiling through her exhaustion like she’s proud of him, and Killian watches him, sure and steady, and Mulan is lighting the candle still in Henry’s hand - 

It is terrifying, and painful, but Henry realizes with an abrupt burst of clarity that maybe the best things are. 

The candle flickers in his hand, its flame growing stronger even as the burning pain on his finger starts to recede. Maybe he’s ready, or maybe he’s not, but the moment is here and what other choice do they have and unfurling his grasp is suddenly the most momentous thing he’ll ever do and - 

———

- and Emma’s heart feels lodged in her throat as she watches Killian and Henry, even as it takes all her concentration just to hold her being together in the visible plane. Henry’s so grown now, and so brave; he’s in obvious pain as the bond sets in, a hurt Emma knows all too well, but he grits his teeth and bears it. And then Mulan’s pressing the lit candle into his hand, and it’s all come to a head so fast, and he’s dropping the candle into the cauldron, and - 

———

- and the entire world is fire. The bonfire blazes higher than it ever has as the new bonds catch and hold, and something shifts within Killian, some pressure he’d never even noticed finally easing. The flames spiral upwards and outwards in countless shades of red and orange and yellow and blue and silver, twirling across the black and white grounds of the Circus. It’s reminiscent of opening night, in that way - but this time, there’s no one around to see it. 

That’s fitting, Killian decides. Just right for the new beginning that will be ushered in tonight. A new wish, and a new flame, for all of the things still to come. 

In a golden blaze, Killian lets himself be swept away. 

———

(She’d never been certain it would work, really. She’d hoped, of course; done everything she could to make it happen. But there’s a vast difference between hoping and certitude, and Emma had been nowhere near the latter. Everything that’s happened here tonight has been out of desperation more than anything, her last throwaway attempt to maybe leave something more than rubble behind for all the people who’ve come to call the Circus home. 

She certainly didn’t expect Killian, or Henry. She didn’t expect that maybe, just possibly, there was an imperfect solution that still feels like her own little bit of fate. 

When the bright burst of light put off by the campfire as the new bond takes effect settles, the rest of the world seems to only exist in fuzzy edges - less crisp and clean, like she’s no longer quite part of it all anymore. The entire soft world is the Circus, now, all black and white with just the flames within their iron cauldron for color - except - 

There, standing on the other side of the flames, is Killian. 

Nothing feels quite real as they drift together, circling the metal edge. Killian’s hand is soft when it falls against her cheek, cupping gently. Only yesterday, this was unthinkable - the thing she’d have to give up for anything to possibly turn out the way it should.

“We did it, love,” he murmurs. His smile is one Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen - something sad and joyful all at once. Peaceful, in a way they’ve never been allowed to be. 

“What happens now?” Emma asks, stepping closer into his embrace. 

“That’s the best thing of all.” His other hand slides up to cup her face with the first. “Anything we want.”

It isn’t - Emma knows it isn’t - but in this moment, standing amongst the dying sparks, his lips almost feel like a first kiss.

A new beginning. Who knew such a thing could still happen for them?)

———

An ocean away, a man older than names themselves sits up straighter in his plush armchair. Not many things disturb him in his discreet townhouse in a quiet corner of London, and that’s the way he likes it. He’s been satisfied, after all these years, to fade out of human notice, even as he still endures. Leave the hassles and worries of everyday life to those younger than him, who have seen far less. After so long, there is not much that can surprise the man known to some as Mr. Gold.

Now, though - there is something in the atmosphere. Some indefinable shift - like the world had briefly held its breath before once again exhaling. A shift in the magic that he’s played a distant hand in for some three decades. 

It is not the feeling of the competition having been won - he’s well acquainted with that particular shift in the universe, thank you - but it’s… something. Something unprecedented and new. Something that seems to have broken the very construct of this little game. A standstill, or a limbo, or a detente. 

The man smiles. Oh, Regina is going to be so very put out about this whole thing. 

A glass of brandy sits on the side table where it hadn’t been just moments before, just waiting for the man to raise it in toast. “Well done, Mr. Jones,” he murmurs, the smile still playing about his mouth. “Well done, indeed.”

A teacher should always hope for their students to break new ground, after all - and it seems that Killian Jones has done just that. 

———

A man comes to the circus, searching for something like so many before him.

(The difference is that this man knows that he’s searching, and exactly what he’s searching for.)

Liam Jones has grown used to the unusual demands of his brother’s particular commitment - the odd hours, the days or even weeks without contact, the unusual, last minute travel. But it’s been six weeks without so much as a letter or telegram, and Liam is worried. For everything else demanding Killian’s attention, he’s always been careful to stay in touch with his brother. 

Mr. Booth offers no insight, nor does Killian’s friend Belle - now a respectable married lady instead of the occultist and fortune teller she had been. His little brother’s mysterious teacher is nowhere to be found, not that Liam expected any different. By a stroke of luck, the Circus is in town, and Liam resolves to visit himself as a last resort. 

He’s had the opportunity to visit the circus many times over the years as a guest of his brother, but the well-trod grounds suddenly feel… different. Liam has never possessed any semblance of the powers his brother boasted, but it doesn’t take a magical insight to feel a new energy in the air when it’s this strong. The circus has always felt otherworldly, nearly unknowable, but there’s a curious sense of the familiar that’s never been here before. 

“Excuse me,” comes a polite, young voice at his side. Turning quickly, Liam sees a young woman, dressed in the black and white garb all the circus members wear. “Are you Mr. Jones’ brother?”

“Yes!” Liam latches on to the inquiry like a lifeline, like his one chance to find his brother. “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s okay,” the girl promises. “He’s not here anymore. He’s in the circus now.”

And that doesn’t make sense, because they’re at the circus, but she says he’s not there - and what can in the circ

us mean, if he’s not here? Killian isn’t the type to run off and become an illusionist or an acrobat, for all of his powers. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

But the girl runs off, leaving Liam grasping at the night. 

“He’s here, but he’s not,” a different voice chimes in  - older, softer - causing Laim to whirl about again. A woman - petite, blonde, lovely, dressed all in blue - smiles gently at him. “Do you know about the competition your brother was involved in?”

“Who are you?” Liam demands instead of answering. It’s not courteous by any means, especially to a lady like herself, but he’s a little too desperate for the niceties.

“My name is Elsa Frost,” she introduces herself with a nod. “I’m one of the people who helped design this venue.”

“So you know my brother then? Where is he?”

“Ava wasn’t lying,” Miss Frost explains, patient in a way that doesn’t feel patronizing. “He’s a part of the circus. Your brother… I don’t know how much you know, but he was a player in someone else’s competition.”

“Yes, his teacher’s. Killian never knew the specifics, just that it would play out here, and one day, there’d be a winner.” Abruptly, Liam’s blood freezes in his veins. “Don’t tell me he’s…”

Miss Frost continues without answering, as if she didn’t even hear him. “There’s only one way for these competitions to end, at least the way I understand it. But that was never enough of an answer for your brother - especially after he met Emma. He fell in love, did you know that?”

Liam shakes his head in the negative. Truthfully, the more Miss Frost talks, the more he sees how much Killian kept hidden from him - likely to protect Liam in the same way Liam had protected him as a child.

“It’s true. I think it was the best and worst thing that ever happened to him. Emma is - was the illusionist, here at the circus,” Miss Frost confides. “She was also his competitor. And it was suddenly unthinkable that he would lose - but even more unthinkable that he would win.”

None of this assuages the sinking, horrible feeling in Liam’s stomach. “He didn’t —”

“He’s not dead,” she assures him, lifting that boulder off his chest. “But he’s not quite alive either. He and Emma… they were the very heart of this place. It all rested on their shoulders - all those lives, as well as their own. They were what kept it going. And they found a loophole.”

Comprehension dawns slowly. “He’s in the circus. You mean he’s - they’re —” Liam waves his hands about, as if to illustrate. Everywhere. Nowhere. The heartbeat that keeps it all moving. The reason all this ever existed and still exists now.

“He’s in the circus. They both are,” Miss Frost confirms.

“And you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know an awful lot about all this,” Liam points out. “How is that?”

“I’ve always seen a bit more than people realize,” she explains. “It’s how I became involved in designing the circus in the first place. It’s a blessing and a curse, being privy to the secret that magic exists. It was never within my power to interfere —” she almost sounds apologetic saying it, as if it was on her shoulders to stop what happened here — “but that doesn’t mean I didn’t see.”

Gazing around him, Liam can’t help but see all the lives tied so closely to the circus - dozens, scores, maybe a hundred. They’ve made lives here, in the past twelve years - and thanks to Killian, those lives can continue. 

“We were all just collateral damage,” he murmurs.

“Perhaps,” Miss Frost agrees. “But even knowing I was just a pawn in someone else’s game… I can’t bring myself to regret it, or trade one moment for the beauty that came out of it. And I think your brother would have felt the same. This entire circus is his love letter to his competition,” she waves, “and I can’t imagine he’d trade one piece if it meant he never met her.”

Around Liam, the circus sparkles with vibrant life as if to illustrate. Or maybe to agree; if Killian and the circus are one, now, that doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets,” Liam murmurs. And he knows - his little brother certainly did fight. 

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Liam replies, smiling down at his companion. “Just something I used to tell my brother.” He can feel his brother all around him, that energy he couldn’t name at first, and allows it to make him a little bold himself. “Would you like to show me the circus, Miss Frost, at least as you know it?”

A serene smile stretches across her features like a gift just for him. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Jones.”

(Somewhere on the wind, just at the edges of his hearing, a voice tickles Liam’s ear as they begin to walk.

Farewell, Brother.)

———

It’s been five years since Belle last saw Killian Jones, and she hasn’t been back to the Circus since. 

She makes her excuses, of course - the timing was never quite right when the Circus came to town, and she’s got a young son, and it’s good to have this distance, isn’t it? Healthy, to fully separate herself from the life she used to lead as she builds herself a new one. 

(They’re just excuses, though, she knows. The truth of the matter is that it’s hard to imagine the Circus without her friend, even if she has long accepted what has happened.)

It takes five years, but this time, when the Circus sets up its tents at the outskirts of London, Belle bundles up her toddler and coaxes her husband out the door and sets out to face her past. On her way out the door, she slips her old tarot deck, now incomplete, into a pocket. Perhaps it’s silly, but it feels right to bring them back to the place where this all started. 

In so many ways, the Circus is still the same. That peculiar atmosphere of magic and sheer possibility still persists, and the tents are much as she remembers them. It is easier than she thought it would be, to retread these paths; the memory of the man who made this place so much of what it is still lingers, but in a way that helps her remember, rather than in a way that causes her pain. Life goes on, even in the face of loss, even in a place like this. 

As Will steps away to procure popcorn and cider for them all, Belle catches a glimpse of a face she half-remembers - that of a young man with a mop of dark hair, dressed in a neat black suit with a silvery waistcoat. When the memory drifts to the front of her mind, it makes Belle smile. She’d always wondered what sort of journey that boy had ahead of him. 

“Henry, was it?” she asks, approaching him with her son at her skirts. “I don’t know if you remember me, but - ”

“The fortune teller, right?” Henry interrupts, delight dancing in his eyes. “Yes, of course I remember. Belle.”

“The only one to ever ask my name - well, at least until my husband,” she teases. “You are well, then? And… involved with the Circus, perhaps?” She still hasn’t forgotten that mysterious reading from some ten years before; something about young Henry had always stuck in her mind, even in the midst of hundreds and thousands of others seeking clarity.

“You could say that,” he laughs. Patting at his pockets for a moment, he pulls out a sleek business card and hands it to Belle. “I’m acting as the manager now.”

It suits him, Belle realizes; there’s a peace about this young man, now, that she hadn’t seen back when he was a boy. Henry knows his place in the world, and knows he’s right where he needs to be. She smiles warmly at him. “I’m sure you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Henry looks down bashfully, shrugging in casual acceptance. “Thank you. I’m doing my best. After Miss Swan and Mr. Jones… left…” There’s a whole world of things he’s not saying with that word, things Belle only knows because of Mulan and because she played her own role.  “Someone needed to take responsibility for the Circus. Mulan has been a big help. Ava and Nick, too. This place - it’s just too remarkable to let die.”

“It sounds like you still love the Circus more than anything.”

Henry’s eyes practically glow when he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And with a sudden bolt of clarity, Belle knows why she’d tucked her old cards into her pocket on her way to the Circus.

“I’ve got something for you,” she tells him, hurriedly retrieving the deck. Belle draws a card at random, but smiles when she catches a glimpse of which she’d selected. It’s terribly fitting, though Henry may not realize it at first. “Here. For you,” she says, handing Henry the Ace of Wands. 

Henry turns the card carefully in his fingers. “After receiving the Fool last time, I can’t truly tell whether this is an improvement or a downgrade for me.”

“Neither. Tarot isn’t like that,” she explains. “Back then - what, a decade ago? - you were just a young man, beginning your journey, still with so much to learn. The Fool was fitting for that. Many who don’t understand the tarot place undue importance on the major arcana - on the ‘face cards,’ but each card in a deck means something. Each and every one. The Ace of Wands is the spark that makes things possible, the match that sets knowledge and understanding alight. Just because it isn’t flashy doesn’t mean it isn’t important. It’s a card that makes things happen, regardless of whether that is where your eye is drawn. It is revitalization and birthing light from the dark.” She pauses. “Do you understand?”

Henry nods, tucking the card carefully into his breast pocket. “A fitting card for a new beginning.”

“Precisely.” On impulse, Belle stretches a hand to lightly pat Henry’s cheek. He’s grown so tall since she last saw him, no longer that gangly boy. “Take care of yourself, Henry, and take care of the Circus. I can’t wait to see what you both become.”

It feels like closure of a kind she didn’t know she needed as Belle sets back off down the path with her son, weaving through the crowd to reunite with Will. 

“Mama, can we go ride the carousel?” her son asks at her side, hand still so small within her own grasp.

Belle smiles. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Killian.”

(Legacy, she’s realized, comes in many forms. Memory can be a living thing, if only you wish it to be.)

———

The Circus has changed over the years: new tents appear, old faces fade away, the grounds expand and spiral into new patterns. It never feels different, exactly, no matter how much may change. The Circus is like its own living organism; its layout may grow, and its features may change, but its soul remains the same. 

You remember the first time you’d seen the Wishing Tree. It’d been beautiful then, too - that special kind of otherworldly that only exists at the Circus. In the time since then, this tent has grown outwards to accommodate the living tree, but its branches still swoop low to envelop the space like a hug as you walk in. The branches are clustered with dozens and hundreds of candles, now. The whole thing casts a warm glow in the space that’s never quite still, yet another living, breathing thing. 

(There’s a hole at the top of the tent now, too - something new that wasn’t there before. It isn’t particularly big, but it’s enough to see the star-speckled sky beyond. Enough, too, to allow wishes to take flight, off into the wondrous unknown universe.)

It’s awe-inducing, witnessing all the candles left alight, each one representing the dearest wish of the individual who left it. It’s a beautiful reminder of all the things you can’t know about others: all those innermost hopes and dreams that may never be spoken, but exist all the same. You notice, suddenly, that there’s one candle at the center of the tree where the core branches stretch out that’s unlit. If you squint, you can just see that it’s been extinguished, somehow - the one column of wax on the tree without a flame to match. It is curious; dozens and hundreds of candles, placed on every surface, and only one has been put out. 

Maybe it’s an accident; maybe it’s a draft. Or maybe, just possibly, it’s a wish that’s been granted, left here for all to see that hope. 

You leave again after placing your own candle, heart lighter for it, as your own wish drifts into the night. 

———

Regina doesn’t quite win this particular contest, but she doesn’t particularly lose it either. The uncertainty of the matter follows her like an especially annoying gnat - something she wants nothing to do with, but is attached to her regardless. She doesn’t have much use for her 35% stake, though doubtless others would feel differently. Economics is another little pest in a life such as hers.

If anything, she supposes that Emma has won, and Gold’s wretched boy, and maybe even the Circus itself. It was only supposed to be the venue, and should have collapsed once the competition was over. But Emma, that stupid girl, did something the night she wove herself and that boy into the circus, something that has kept it puttering along for ten years, just the way it always has.

(She may have trapped herself in limbo when she made that sacrifice, but her little loophole managed to trap Regina and Gold as well. With their competition not technically completed, there’s an uncertainty about whether they’re able to start another - or whether they even want to. No matter the boredom, Regina could use a break from this mentorship nonsense. Maybe in another century she’ll be bored enough to agree to that.)

This particular afternoon, like so many, Regina takes her tea in the tea room of an expensive London hotel. She has another show tonight, another chance to take the money of so many unbelieving fools, but afternoons are hers, to watch and be watched. There’s a certain fascination to observing the blind crowds, eternally unaware of an entire world of magic existing right under their noses. They know something draws their eyes to the center single table where Regina takes her tea and scones - their subconscious pulling their attention where their conscious mind won’t take the leap - but they’ll never know why. Most assume it’s her striking looks, or impeccable and sumptuous clothing, but they’ll never guess it’s the echo of magic, of power calling to the minds and imaginations. It’s like a secret she holds over the entire world, and Regina has always reveled in that.

Today, however, is different. Today, a young man and woman approach her table arm in arm with a boldness most are too afraid to attempt. They make a picturesque couple, if an odd one; the man, tall and lanky with dark hair, could easily blend into a crowd with his generic suit and amiable smile, but his companion certainly could not say the same, perhaps best described as eccentric. Her dress and hat are close enough to the current fashion, but all in a riot of colors and patterns that blend more than truly match. She looks a bit familiar; belatedly, Regina realizes that she’s the girl-child from the circus. Anna or Ada or… something. It never much mattered; the twins were a particular pet project of Emma’s, though Regina had many times told her to focus her attention instead on the competition at hand. Not that it had done any good - on any level. 

“Madam Circe?” the girl - woman, now - asks politely. “You may not remember me, but my name is Ava Zimmer. This is Henry Mills. We’re here about the circus.”

“No relation, I’m sure,” Regina drawls, nodding in acquiescence towards a pair of chairs that may or may not have sat at the table before that very moment. No one will remember it, anyways.

“You would know better than I,” young Mills smiles. With a sweep of Ava’s hand at his side, Regina’s teacup replicates itself into three, enough porcelain for everyone to enjoy the brew Regina herself has kept refilled and at perfect temperature. 

(It suddenly makes a bit more sense why Emma had taken such an interest in the girl and her brother. If nothing else, Regina had taught her protegee to recognize power and potential.)

“Well. Aren’t you full of surprises,” is all she says as the duo seats themselves. “You’re here about the Circus, you said? I’m not sure I have any real right to speak on such a thing.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Mr. Mills responds. “Perhaps more than you think.”

“I take it you are aware of the circumstances of Emma Swan’s and Killian Jones’… disappearance?” Miss Zimmer asks. As if that’s the polite way to phrase such a thing. 

“As my acolyte - yes, I am. I should certainly hope so.”

“Then you are aware that Emma - when she left, she left her portion of the Circus to the Circus. It’s self-supporting, these days, instead of tied to any single person. Well, mostly.”

“I advise you get to the point, Miss Zimmer. I was not led to believe this was a social call.”

“You have a claim on the Circus,” Mr. Mills interjects. “Did you know that?”

“I wouldn’t use those terms, but I suppose I was instrumental in its creation. If such a thing constitutes a claim.”

“Per the magic that fuels it - it does,” Miss Zimmer tells her. She pulls out a heavy tome; it makes a weighty sound as it lands on the surface of the delicate table, but no one else notices. If she attunes her senses, Regina can sense something like a shield around their table that deflects attention. 

Ava Zimmer must be very talented, indeed. 

“Mr. Jones created this when the Circus was formed,” she explains, tabbing through the pages. “Each and every person is bound to this book. It seems to be part of what has stopped us from aging. This is the lifeblood of the Circus,” she proclaims solemnly, her hand splayed across the pages. 

“It’s a clever bit of spellwork, yes,” Regina agrees. “I, however, have my own methods.”

Mr. Mills bows his head briefly in her direction; Regina can’t tell whether the gesture is meant in genuine deference or something more sarcastic. “We wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise. That does not change the fact, however, that your signature is still included on these pages.”

“And you would like to change that.”

“If you don’t mind.” Miss Zimmer slides a delicate blade across the table in Regina’s direction. “Your interest in our endeavor, I think, is over. We’d just like to make that official.” 

Regina carefully picks up the knife. It’s a beautiful instrument, the strains of gold and silver perfectly conducive to magic, though currently dormant. It would be so easy to channel her own powers, slice the delicate threads of enchantment that binds her signature to the book and herself to the endeavor, but - 

“Suppose I do you this favor. What do I get in return?”

Mills furrows his brow. “Is your release from the Circus not enough?”

“Release from something that hasn’t been a burden? I wouldn’t call that much of a return.”

“What do you want, then?”

There’s so many things she could say, and so few these children could provide. They are so young, and have seen so little, still so idealistically convinced of the goodness of the endeavor.

Still. There is one thing. 

“You were there that night, yes? When my acolyte… did this foolish thing?”

Mills nods, solemnly. 

“Then I want you to tell me.”

“That’s all?” Miss Zimmer is clearly incredulous of the proposal; good. That’ll serve her well, in the long run. 

“That’s all. Tell me the story, and I’ll gladly remove myself from your little fairground for good.”

The young man smiles, leaning back in his chair. “Alright,” he tells her. “But let me start from the beginning.

“Once, in an orphanage outside of Boston, a young boy fell in love with a magical circus…”

———

The circus is a marvel.

It’s been in operation for years, now - nearly three decades, if memory and the kindly concessions vendor are to be believed - but the aura of wonder, of magic remains. The circus is another world all its own, separated from the rest of the planet even as it exists in the center of it.

There are changes, of course; it’s impossible to expect that everything and everyone would stay static all this time. That would take a true feat of magic. Older visitors in particular remember when there was a tent with a magician, a beautiful young woman capable of the most extraordinary things. There’s a statue, now, outside where the tent used to be, of two lovers embracing, hands stroking faces in a display that almost feels too intimate to be captured in marble for everyone to see.

There’s a legend now, too, a rumor of a story to match that statue - of two lovers, pitted against one another in life, whose souls are now free to roam the circus grounds together. There’s whispers, too, that that’s what happened to the missing magician - that the statue is for her memory, and that of her young man. In a way, it would be fitting for her to live on as part of the circus itself. They say that the lovers’ reflections can sometimes be seen in the hall of mirrors, or the brush of a long skirt felt on the carousel, or a warm and masculine voice heard in the ice garden…

It’s hard to imagine anything so tragic happening at the circus; then again, it’s the one place on earth you can imagine something quite so magical and romantic occurring. At the end of the night, there’s no real answer. You’re not certain you need one.

(As you wind your way back towards the gates as the sun starts to rise, you don’t notice two pairs of not-quite eyes watching you, don’t see non-corporeal lips press a kiss to the back of a similarly ghostly hand. Perhaps that’s for the best; some moments aren’t intended for other living eyes.)

(The Circus will continue to live, with two magicians as its heartbeat.)