#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!!!

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Once Upon A Grimm (2/?)

Summary: The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions. Creatures known as wesen. Supernatural, other-worldly beings who have always lived among humans and have always been hunted by those who had come to be known as Grimms. A struggle of secrecy, balance, and power among these species has existed since the beginning of time. This is a story of a man with his own struggle. The internal struggle of being a human, a wesen, and a Grimm, and the external forces that seek to eradicate one or all of his natures, especially those he tries to keep hidden. Fortunately, Killian Jones is not alone in his struggles nor his secrets. His personal savior, Emma Swan, has secrets and struggles of her own.

A/N: This fic is inspired by and will borrow from the NBC show Grimm. I confess I did not watch Grimm when it first aired, but absolutely fell in love with the show during a binge fest years later. If you have not seen the show, no worries! My beta - who has not seen the show either - assures me that it is not necessary. If you have seen the show, then I hope you’ll forgive the huge creative license I am taking with the material. This is not a strict Grimm retelling with Once characters. This is my own spin on the lore and cannon of both shows.

Sorry I am so late with this update. I underestimated how demanding real life was gonna be now that we are back in full swing with school. I'll do my best to stay on track going forward!

I cannot express how much I have enjoyed being a part of the @cssns all these years. Thank you to the mods who have kept it going year after year. We've had a terrific run! Huge shout out to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader and for her exceptional beta skills. A HUGE thank you and many fangirl squeals to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the amazing job she did on the cover art that accompanies this fic. Please go show her some love!

FYI: Because the show took cues from the Grimm brothers’ works, much of the vocabulary associated with the supernatural creatures was based on German or German coded language. For words like wesen and woge (which will be explained in the text) the w is pronounced with a v sound on the show. I’ll be using terminology from the show and more common creature names interchangeably within the fic.

Rated E (eventually) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  / Prologue

Chapter One

Two and Half Years Later…

“What have we got?”

Killian approached the scene with his partner, Robin. Their mate and uniformed officer, Will, brought them up to speed, keeping his voice low as the men conversed on the walkway that led to the grand house towering before them.

“Grace Hatter. Eight years old. Never made it to school this morning,” Will informed them, reading over his notes. “Father says she left the house at a quarter to eight like usual. An hour later he got the call from the school telling him she was absent.”

“Do we know if he’s clean?” Killian asked, assessing the distraught man who was being questioned by other officers.

“No,” Will replied. “Dad’s name is Jefferson Hatter. We're looking into him.”

“Mom?”

“Deceased.”

“Okay. Thanks, mate. We’ll go have a talk with him.”

Killian and Robin continued up the walkway. When the father caught sight of them, he rushed down the front steps to meet them halfway.

“Are you the detectives?”

“Yes, sir,” Robin responded. “Detectives Locksley and Jones. Can you tell us more about your daughter? When you last her? What she was wearing?”

“Yeah, um…” The man took a moment to try and compose himself. His hand shook as he brought it up to run down his face. A shuddering breath filled his lungs and a sob caught in the back of his throat. “She uh, she left here about 7:45. She’s wearing purple leggings and an oversized, purple top that has a white rabbit on the front of it. She also had on a red hoodie and her backpack is pink and purple with her name on it.”

“Does she often walk by herself to school?”

The man, Jefferson, nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Ever since the beginning of the school year. She wanted… She wanted to be a big girl this year.” He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the freshly fallen tears drops from his face. “I was reluctant, but the school isn’t far and normally she walks with another little girl and her brother down the block.”

“But not today?” Killian inquired.

“No,” Jefferson answered. “Ava and her brother are both out sick this week. Grace walked alone yesterday, so I didn’t see an issue with her walking alone again today.” His face reddened, the tears now cascading down his cheeks as he pleaded, “Please. You have to find my little girl, please!”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Robin promised him, digging a card from his pocket. “An officer is going to stay with you as we canvas the neighborhood, but if you think of anything else, give us a call.”

“Th-Thank you, detectives,” Jefferson said, taking the card then following one of the officers back to the house.

“So, what do you think?” Robin said under his breath as they turned back towards the street and surveyed their surroundings.

“If he’s involved then he’s an excellent actor,” Killian replied. “I think it more likely she was grabbed on her way to school. The question is… where?”

The street was lined with houses on one side, facing a wooded park area. The little girl would have made her way to the end of the block then turned to go around the woods. The school was located on the other side, about seven blocks away.

“We’ve spoken with all the neighbors who are home along the route she would have taken,” Will said, joining the detectives. “No one saw anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t take the usual route,” Killian said, jutting his chin towards the woods. “Maybe she took a shortcut.”

“Dad was very specific about the route,” Will told him. “He said Grace wasn’t allowed to cut through the woods.”

“Yeah, and we all know you did everything you were told when you were a kid,” Robin quipped, slapping Will on the back before heading towards the woods.

The three of them followed the worn path, carved out of the foliage by those who had used the woods as a shortcut over the years. Although focused on the task before him, Killian could not help but acknowledge how fortunate he was to do this job with his two best mates at his side.

It had been a series of unfortunate events that had led them here. Two and half years ago, he and Robin had been uniformed officers at different precincts and Will, after washing out of the academy years before, owned a local bar. After being attacked and having his life, once again, turned upside down, Killian had spiraled a bit. Neglectful of his duty and spending too much time at Will’s bar had made him a less than stellar candidate for detective, despite his high scores on the exam. However, everything changed once more the night Will’s bar went up in flames.

Though it had been deemed arson, they still weren’t sure how it had happened. The explosion and fire claimed the lives of more than a dozen officers and detectives from both Storybrooke and Glowerhaven. In the aftermath, personnel had been reshuffled, reassigned, and reevaluated, giving Killian a second chance at a detective slot and transferring Robin to the Storybrooke precinct. Will, determined to bring the perpetrator to justice, had reapplied to the academy and finished top of his class before being assigned to the Storybrooke PD.

Although the arson case had gone cold, Killian and Robin, with an assist from their favorite uniformed patrolman, had managed to garner the highest number of closed cases of any rookie or veteran detectives within the city or its outlying suburbs. Robin often joked that the reason the three of them were so good at this job was because in another life they would have been criminals themselves - and therefore knew how their perps thought - dubbing themselves the pirate, the bandit, and the thief.

Of course, he had no idea that Killian possessed abilities beyond those of a normal human detective which gave him an advantage. Abilities he was currently applying in the hopes of bringing this little girl home safely.

When the trail forked, the trio branched off in separate directions. Once out of sight from his mates, Killian crouched down and closed his eyes, homing in on the sounds around him as he inhaled deeply. Over the years he’d made peace with his wolf side. It wasn’t always easy to keep the wesen reined in, or explain away how he’d been able to accomplish some of the things his supernatural abilities allowed him to do, but as time went on he found ways to balance his human and wesen side.

Not able to pick up anything out of the ordinary, Killian resumed his search further up the path. A moment later, Robin’s voice called out.

“I’ve got something!”

Killian rushed towards Robin’s voice, arriving alongside an out of breath Will. Both men were too focused on the pink and purple backpack laying among the ferns to notice Killian’s lack of exertion.

“Grace Hatter.” Will read the name where it had been monogrammed in bright pink, confirming it belonged to their missing girl. “She must have been grabbed somewhere in this area.”

“Careful where you step,” Killian reminded them. “Will, call it in and inform the others that we have a crime scene in Wonderland Woods Park across from the victim’s house.”

Will stepped away to radio it in, leaving the detectives to peruse the area.

“Killian, we got boot prints here. They look fresh.”

Killian noted the direction of the prints and commented, “He took her this way.” Setting off down the path, he shouted over his shoulder, “Stay with Will until CSU arrives. I’ll see where the prints lead.”

Once out of sight, Killian crouched down again and took in a deep breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a primal growl rumbled in the center of his chest. He could tell the scent was wesen, although he wasn’t sure what species. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Never before, since his transition, had he ever wished for the moon to be in its full cycle. If it were, then his sense of smell would be stronger. He’d be able to discern the little girl’s scent better, as well as her abductor’s, and he’d be able to tell which direction the two had gone once they’d reached the road on the other side of the woods.

Cursing under his breath, Killian made his way back to Robin and Will. The Crime Scene Unit had already arrived and the area was being cordoned off so they could work making casts of the boot prints. Killian eyed Grace’s backpack as it was being bagged and tagged so it could be processed for fingerprints. He wished he’d gotten a chance to scent it, but the K-9 unit was already seeing to the task.

“There isn’t much more we can do here,” Robin told him. “Will and the other officers will follow up on the neighbors they didn’t get a chance to speak with earlier. Maybe one of their security cameras will have caught them coming out of the park.”

“Aye,” Killian said with a resigned sigh.

Clapping Killian on the back, Robin suggested, “Let’s go get some lunch. By the time we’re done, more evidence will have been collected and processed, then we can focus on whatever they found.”

“I suppose I could eat,” Killian relented. Robin was right. There was nothing more they could do that the other officers didn’t already have handled. They’d need their strength and their wits about them for the long afternoon and evening ahead. “Where did you have in mind?”

“How about Aesop’s?”

Killian cocked a brow his partner’s way. “Aesop’s? A bit swanky for lunch isn’t it?”

Robin shrugged. “I hear they have a great burger menu.”

“Mhmm,” Killian hummed. Something in Robin’s demeanor had him dubious as to whether that was the real reason. “I suppose we could check it out,” he replied with a shrug of his own, followed by a wolfish grin. “So long as you’re buying.”

~/~

“So that’s the real reason you wanted to come here,” Killian ribbed in a sing-song tone. “The lovely and elusive Miss Mills.”

Robin’s cheeks flamed pink behind the bun of his burger as he took as long as he possibly could to bite off then chew a mouthful.

“You know this constitutes stalking, right? Why not just ask her out?”

Robin swallowed and chased the bite with a sip of water, once again taking his time running his napkin over his mouth before placing it back in his lap.

“You’re hopeless,” Killian exasperated, getting up from his seat. He shot a wink over his shoulder to his mortified partner as he approached the nearby table, teeming with lawyers in their power suits. “Miss Mills?” he said in a feigned tone of surprise.

“Detective Jones,” she said in a friendly yet reserved greeting. “Funny running into you here?”

“Aye,” he said. “The lunch burger menu was recommended to Robin and me, so we thought we’d give it a go.” He gestured back towards the table Robin was metaphorically trying to hide beneath. Miss Mills - Regina - gave him a wave which he awkwardly reciprocated. “I won’t keep you,” Killian continued. “I was on my way to the facilities when I spotted you and just wanted to say hello. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, detective. A pleasure seeing you,” she replied, though her attention was not set on him but rather still subtly fixated on his partner.

When Killian exited the lavatory hall on his way back to the table, he slowed his steps and his lips twitched up in a smile. Robin and Regina were standing at the table conversing as the prosecutor’s colleagues were filing past, on their way out the door. Regina slipped Robin her card, her painted lip caught between her teeth, and he accepted it with a full, bright smile. Killian chuckled to himself, eager to take the mickey out of his friend, when something in Regina’s countenance shifted.

She’d turned towards the door, prepared to follow her colleagues, when her entire body went rigid. Something rippled through her expression and Killian was taken aback by what he saw.

She woged.

Regina Mills was… a hexenbeist?

No. He had to be seeing things. She couldn’t have woged. If she had, the entire restaurant would be in an uproar, especially Robin. There’s no way anyone would have missed the gruesome sight of a hexenbeist revealing her true form. Unless…

No. That wasn’t a possibility either. The full moon wasn’t in cycle yet, so there was no way he could have witnessed a demi-woge. Could he?

Regina’s features returned to normal, but her posture was still stiff and on guard. He followed her eyes to try and determine what had prompted such a response and was stunned to see another woged hexenbeist casually standing by the hostess stand. She had flaming red hair and was dressed in a tight, green dress. When her human face presented itself once more, she wore a smug, slightly challenging smirk.

Finally collecting herself, Regina marched past the woman without a word or backward glance, but the red-haired witch watched her all the way out the door and down the block.

“Did you see that?”

Robin’s question shook Killian from his shock, but a fresh, confused panic spiked within him. “See what?”

“The text,” Robin said, lifting his phone for Killian to see. “We’ve got a body.”

“A body?” Killian parroted, attempting to get his racing heart under control while processing what his partner said.

He didn’t see it, then. Didn’t see them change. Then why did I?

“Not Grace Hatter?” Killian’s heart dropped a little as his mind finally caught up.

“No,” Robin assured him. “Not the missing girl, but the captain wants us to take point on this one, too.” He beckoned Killian to follow him through the tables towards the exit. “I’ve already settled the bill. Will’s waiting for us at the scene.”

Before heading out the door, Killian scanned the restaurant for the red-headed hexenbeist, but saw no sign of her. He tried to shake off the unnerving feeling her and Regina’s woge had elicited in him. The mystery of why he had been able to see it at all would have to wait. He had more pressing issues to concern himself with.

~/~

“Are you sure this is even a homicide?” Killian heard Will ask under his breath. “Looks more like an animal attack?”

For the second time that day, Killian’s hackles rose. The scene before him was familiar. Too familiar. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, making the same inquiry to the detectives working a similar scene. A scene that had led to Killian being attacked and transformed. A scene that had been declared an animal attack after the DNA had come back as inconclusive. A scene where no other evidence had been left behind except…

“We got a boot print!”

Killian’s entire body reacted in a ripple of goose bumps and a sharp inhale confirmed the truth as a familiar scent penetrated his sinuses.

It’s him! He’s back. The blutbad who attacked me. The blutbad who made me. He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s killed again and… HE’S TAKEN GRACE HATTER!

“Oi! Kill, er… detective. You alright?”

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Killian’s Apple apple bobbed painfully. “We need to go see the Captain. Now.”

It was a quick ride back to the precinct, though Killian’s silent stewing had probably made it feel longer to his partner. Robin knew him well enough to not pepper him with questions when he was like this, allowing him space to get his thoughts together. It didn’t mean his mate didn’t side-eye him with furtive glances the entire way back to the station, though.

“Captain Gold, do you have a minute?” Killian asked at the open doorway of their captain’s office.

“For my two best detectives? Of course,” Captain Gold said, gesturing them forward. “How’s the investigation going into the missing girl? Or is this about the body we found? A jogger who was a student at the local university?”

“Actually,” Killian hedged, still unsure how he was going to convince his captain and his partner of what he knew to be fact. “It may be about both.”

“Go on.”

Killian and Robin took a seat in front of the captain’s desk. Leaning forward, Killian began to fill them in on what he’d pieced together.

“A little over two years ago, there was a hiker who was attacked in a similar fashion to how we found the jogger today.”

“I remember,” Gold said, nodding his head. “That was ruled an animal attack, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian said. “The DNA was inconclusive, but that wasn’t the only evidence left at the scene.” Flicking his eyes towards Robin, he said, “There was a boot print. Just like the one at the scene today. And that’s not all…” Sitting back, Killian wiped his hand down his face and let go a heavy breath. “The same day the hiker was attacked and killed, a little girl went missing in Glowerhaven.” Robin’s eyes widened and Killian knew he didn’t need reminding, but the Captain still needed to know. “I know because Robin helped work that case and we were mates back then.” Setting his attention back on his captain, Killian continued. “Look. I’m not saying all these cases are connected, but we did find boot prints where we suspect Grace Hatter was abducted, and it all feels a little suspect to just be coincidence.”

Captain Gold tented his fingers in front of him, and his eyes narrowed at Killian. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said, after a few agonizing seconds. “It’s all too coincidental to not look into.” His eyes shifted to Robin. “Locksley, reach out to Glowerhaven and see if you can get a copy of the missing girls file from two years ago. Check it for any similarities to the Grace Hatter case. Jones,” he continued, focusing his attention back on Killian. “Follow-up on the boot print. See if the one from the hiker’s scene matches the jogger’s, then compare it to the ones we found at the abduction site.” With a dismissing nod, he added, “Keep me informed.”

“Yes, Captain,” the two detectives replied on their way out of Gold’s office.

“How did you put all of that together?” Robin asked. “Remembering that girl from more than two years ago who went missing the same day a hiker was mauled? I don’t think I would have put that together.”

“I don’t know,” Killian deflected. “Something about that night just… stuck with me, I guess.”

“Well, good pick up,” Robin said, clapping him on the back. “I’m gonna call GPD, then head over to collect those files. Check in later?”

“Aye,” Killian told him. “Later.”

It took Killian less time to confirm the boot prints were a match at all three scenes than it did for Robin to make it back with the files. Although it proved the crimes may be connected, the boots that matched the prints were a very common brand. It would be nearly impossible to find their suspect that way. Frustrated, Killian shot off a text to Robin and Will, letting them know he was gonna go out for some air.

There had to be a way of finding this monster.

Not that he hadn’t already tried. He’d gone back to the scene of the hiker’s mauling time and time again in search of any clues, hoping to discover the identity of the killer and the wesen who had turned him. Once the case had been cleared from homicide, investigators believing a wolf or mountain lion had caused the grizzly death, there had been little Killian could do inside the law. He’d been too preoccupied with the changes he was facing as a newly made wesen to pursue the blutbad on his own, and too worried about what his brother’s reaction might have been if he’d turned the case over to a Grimm. A Grimm who might have been able to detect such changes in his little brother.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel as though the jogger’s death and the missing girl were his fault. He should have told Liam about the rogue blutbad or gone after it himself.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.

Digging his phone from his pocket, Killian dialed his brother’s number and held his breath as the call rang.

This is Liam Jones. I’m not available to take your call. Leave me a message.

“Liam. It’s Killian. Call me back. I’ve got a situation here that might require your expertise.”

Typical.

Killian’s phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Liam returning the call. Instead, the caller ID displayed Will’s name. Killian knew he’d been pouring over videos collected from neighborhood cameras, and he was eager to hear if he’d found anything that might help them locate the missing girl.

“Will? What you got?”

“Not much,” Will confessed over the phone. “I’ve checked all the cameras we collected from Tweedle Drive, the street the perp would have exited the woods from, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing?” Killian asked, defeated. “From the whole street?”

“Well, there’s a bit we don’t have footage of, but none of the videos show any car, truck, or van he may have used to move the girl. The only vehicle on the street at that time was the mail truck.”

“The mail truck?” Killian repeated, an idea coming to him. “Do me a favor. Find out who was working that route today and whether the postal service issues a certain type of boot for their employees' uniforms.”

“You think it was the postman?”

“It’s the only lead we’ve got,” he told Will. “If nothing else, the postal worker may have seen something. We should track them down as a potential witness.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Text me the name when you’ve got it.”

“Will do.”

A renewed rush of hope filled Killian as he made his way back to the precinct, but it was hindered by a fresh realization.

If the postal worker did turn out to be their suspect, then he wouldn’t be going up against their usual perp. He’d be going up against a wesen. A blutbad. And not just any blutbad… his sire. The one who had turned him. Would he know? Even without the full moon bringing out his wesen characteristics, would his sire be able to tell what he was?

Killian stopped short of the station door and did an about face. He needed to better prepare himself for this confrontation, and there was only one person who would be able to help him do so.

Searching his contacts as he made his way to his vehicle, he prayed this call would not go to voicemail.

His prayer was answered.

“Hello?”

“Swan. It’s me. I need your help.”

~/~

The fingers of her left hand drummed against the counter as the nails on her right were being assaulted by her teeth. Normally, Emma Swan would not allow a situation to unnerve her this way. Of course, it wasn’t the situation, not really, it was the man involved in the situation. The man who only came in once a month to pick up his wolfsbane tonic and share polite pleasantries with her or her brother, who assisted her at the shop. The man who had agreed to keep things between them strictly professional after the one time thing incident that had occurred early on in their association. The man who had kept to that promise… until now.

He wasn’t coming here for his tonic - the full moon was still over a week away. He wasn’t coming here for tea, or spices, or herbal remedies, or anything within the purview of her business. No. He was coming here because he needed help on a case. He was coming here because he had nowhere else to turn. He was coming here because he needed… her.

Although they had managed to keep one another at arm’s length these past two years, it hadn’t been that way at first. The month following his attack and introduction into the wesen world, they had texted and chatted numerous times, having built a rapport by the time of the next full moon.

A rapport that simmered with attraction and temptation.

Fortunately, they had both understood the seriousness underlying his stay with her during that first full moon. Setting aside the obvious chemistry between them, they focused instead on the alchemy of finding the right balance of wolfsbane. Everything had gone as expected… until it hadn’t.

“Emma, sweetie,” Granny said in her admonishing tone. “Are you trying to drive us both mad with your fidgeting?”

“Sorry, Granny,” Emma mumbled, removing her nail from her teeth and flattening both hands on the counter.

The elderly woman’s soft, weathered hand covered hers and she gave it a light, comforting squeeze. “What’s got you all riled up? You said he was a regular customer.” Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side. “Is it because he’s a lycanthrope?” Patting Emma’s hand she assured, “I may not look it, but I can still hold my own. If he gets unruly, then--”

“No, it’s not like that,” Emma said, cutting the woman off in a rush, not wishing her to get the wrong impression. “Detective Jones is much more disciplined than lycanthropes are believed to be. He’s… he’s a good man.”

“Then why on earth are you worked up in such a state?” Granny inquired. “I can practically smell the anxiety and tension wafting off of you.”

Emma chewed her bottom lip, then silently cursed herself. Get a grip, Emma. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she straightened her posture and schooled her features. “It’s nothing.”

Granny let out a dubious hum. “Try again,” she said. “If you want me to help a lycanthrope - and a detective to boot - that has you all tied up in knots then you’re gonna have to give me a reason.”

Emma released a heavy sigh. She knew Granny was right. The woman was going out on a limb for her, the least she could do was give her the truth.

Given that she expected the detective to arrive at any moment, Emma quickly told Granny about her and Killian’s first meeting, and the subsequent month that had followed.

“Sounds like the two of you became fast friends,” Granny remarked, though Emma thought she could detect something slightly off in the woman’s tone. “What happened?”

Glancing at the door, Emma wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved that he hadn’t arrived yet. She’d never told anyone what had happened.

“He came to stay with me for the full moon, as planned,” she began.

“Here?” Granny asked, knowing the proprietor lived above her shop.

“Yes,” Emma confirmed. “In my spare room. I wanted us to be close to the workshop so I could make adjustments on the fly.”

“What do you mean?”

Swallowing, Emma told Granny about the experiments they did, testing the effectiveness of the wolfsbane. “Things like, provoking his temper and trying to elicit responses that were more primal,” she hedged, with half a shrug of her shoulder, “to see how well he could keep control under such stimuli.”

“And?” Granny prompted. “How did he do?”

“He did great,” Emma said, then winced slightly as she added, “Until August showed up.”

A knowing huff left Granny. “Yeah. I’d imagine the presence of another male might have set him off a bit. Did your brother come away unscathed?”

“Barely,” Emma replied. “Killian didn’t know who August was and when he saw him hugging me he… woged.”

“As in… fully?”

“Yeah.”

“That must have been intense for all of you.”

“It was,” Emma sighed. “I had to use magic to diffuse the situation, but once cooler heads prevailed and I was able to introduce the two of them, I thought things were resolved.”

“Until?”

Emma’s mind flashed back to the morning after he’d woged and tried to attack August. The morning after the final full moon.

“So… you made it through your first full moon.”

“Aye. Thanks to you, love.”

“No need to thank me,” she told him. “I should be thanking you.”

“For?”

“For not ripping out my idiot brother’s throat,” she said in a tone mixed with amusement and annoyance. “I told him not to come here this weekend, but does he listen?”

Killian hummed, a sultry, toe-curling sound, and sauntered forward. “Perhaps gratitude is in order then?” he murmured, tapping his lips suggestively with a raised brow and challenging smirk.

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

Another sinful sound echoed past his lips as he pressed further into her personal space. “Is that all your brother’s life is worth to you?”

“Please,” she scoffed with an eye roll, trying, and failing, to get her heart rate under control, knowing full well he could probably hear its erratic beat. “You couldn’t handle it.”

The corner of his lips lifted in a feral and taunting manner. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

The crack of the t against his tongue reverberated through her, and without thought she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, fusing her mouth to his. It took him the briefest of seconds to respond, inhaling deeply before thoroughly devouring her.

It was hot. It was primal. It was all-consuming.

“That was…”

It was a big fucking mistake.

“A one time thing,” she murmured, pulling back from his chasing lips. “We… we can’t do this. I… I can’t do this.”

Releasing him, she took several steps back, unable to meet his eye or look upon his confused expression.

“Swan,” he panted, both of them still working to catch their breath. “Have I… Have I done something? I know attacking your brother was bad form. Please don’t think I’m unaware of the seriousness of that--”

“No, it’s… it’s not that,” she said. “I know you didn’t really have control over--”

“Then what?” he asked. “What’s changed?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma rocked back on her heels and said, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to… I mean… this is all new to you and the last thing we both need is to complicate an already complex situation. I think it would be best if we… kept things professional between us.”

She braced herself for his response, expecting him to be angry. Expecting him to accuse her of leading him on, or taking advantage of him while he was vulnerable. She hadn’t expected him to run a hand through his hair while letting go a heavy sigh before agreeing with her.

“Aye,” he said, softly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps now is not the best time to…” Flicking his too blue gaze up to hers, he gave her an earnest smile. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Swan. I think I’ll be able to manage on my own now, thanks to you.”

“You’ll still need the tonic each month,” she reminded him with a slight edge of panic in her voice. She didn’t mean for their association to end altogether. “And you can still call or text me if you have questions about--”

“Thank you,” he interjected, cutting her off before she could continue with her offer. “I’ll swing in for the tonic in a month’s time. I’ll be sure to let you know if there are any issues regarding the treatment.” Reaching up, he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear. “I, uh… I should go. I have a shift in an hour.”

“Right,” she said, letting him pass so he could collect his things from where he’d set them by the door. “See you next month?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the shop. “See you then.”

“Only… I didn’t see him then,” she told Granny. “I chickened out and left the order with August.”

“Are you telling me,” Granny chastised, “that you haven’t seen that young man since--”

“No!” Emma replied, indignantly. “Of course I’ve seen him. We just… it’s been…” Another heavy sigh expelled out of her lungs. “After our… shared moment, I did avoid him for a bit and I know he struggled to cope with his transition, which made me feel worse about how we left things, but then there was this fire at his friend’s bar, and he made detective, and I don’t know… something about him changed. Things were less weird when he came in and we managed to carve out this nice, albeit superficial, relationship and yet--”

“The feelings are still there?”

Emma laughed a rather hysterical sounding laugh. “Uh, no. No feelings. I mean, obviously I care about him, as a person, but my current demeanor has nothing to do with feelings.”

“Oh? What does it have to do with, then?”

Emma didn’t get a chance to answer the woman’s smug question. The bell over the door chimed and the two women's heads snapped in its direction. In walked Killian Jones, as handsome and alluring as ever.

“Swan,” he greeted with a reverential nod. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” she managed to choke out, her mouth having gone dry. Clearing her throat, she gestured towards Granny and introduced, “This is, uh, Granny Lucas. She runs the new B&B and diner up the street. I thought she might be able to help. Granny, this is Detective Jones.”

“Please,” he said, taking Granny’s hand and offering it a polite shake. “Killian will do.”

“A pleasure to meet you, detective,” Granny said, obviously sizing him up. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Meaning?”

Her gaze still assessing him, Granny quipped, “Most lycanthropes have me wanting to rip out their throats within seconds of meeting them, but you… you’re different.”

Killian’s brows shot up and his eyes flicked to Emma even as he continued to address Granny. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage,” he said a little too calmly. “You know about me, yet I have no idea why Swan brought you in on--”

���Granny’s a blutbad,” Emma blurted out, causing his brows to raise even higher as his head snapped back to the elderly woman. “I thought, seeing as you said your case had something to do with a blutbad, and that you needed more information about them, that you’d like to have your questions answered by someone who--”

“Not just any blutbad,” he said, cutting her off in a tone laced with menace and anger. “The blutbad.”

Emma gasped. “The one who turned you?”

“Aye.” His gaze turned dark and his features hardened. “He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s even taken a little girl captive.”

“That’s terrible,” Emma said, keeping herself from reaching out to offer him a hand of comfort. “When did you--”

“Today,” he told her, catching both women up on the case of the little girl and the jogger and how he’d connected them to the cases from over two years ago.

“We found matching boot prints at the crime scenes, but I also detected his scent at each location. I knew there was something familiar about it, but didn’t put it together until I smelled it mixed with the jogger’s blood. It brought back the olfactory memory of that night,” he said, momentarily getting lost in thought until he shook his head and added, “Of course… I can’t enter that into evidence. Fortunately, we have a lead, but I am wary of confronting him without knowing more.”

“More?” Granny said, her countenance a bit stand-offish and very imposing. “Like what?”

“Like,” Killian hedged, wetting his lips and taking a moment to assess Granny as she had him. “Whether I’ll be able to know him by scent even if he isn’t woged. Typically, I can’t detect wesen by scent whilst they’re in their human form or see them demi-woge unless it's the full moon, so I can only assume he was in full woge when he abducted the girl and attacked the jogger.”

Granny remained stoic and stone-faced, still unsure whether she should trust the gemacht wesen in front of her.

“Look,” Killian said with a tone of authority Emma imagined he employed often in his line of work. “I know there’s a code among wesen. This desire to look after one's own kind. But this guy is a killer. He’s killed two people that we know of and may, even now, be holding a little girl captive, so please. Help me find him. Help me find her.”

The reminder of the little girl softened Granny’s features. “If he’s done what you say he has, then he’s putting us all at risk.” Quickly, she flicked her gaze to Emma then back to him, conceding, “You’re right. There is a code among wesen, but it only extends so far. It sounds to me like this blutbad has gone feral, and his behavior is only going to escalate the longer he’s allowed to run wild.”

“Then… you’ll help me?”

Her posture relaxed further and she stepped up to the counter, bringing her closer to both Killian and Emma. Nodding, she said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”

A relieved breath fell from Emma’s lips and she took Granny’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Granny.”

Granny patted her hand then straightened her shoulders, getting down to business. “Now, I’m no expert on lycanthropes, but unless he fully woges, I don’t think you’ll be able to tell whether your suspect is the blutbad you’re looking for. If he is feral, then it wouldn’t take too much to provoke a response, but you’d have to be ready. Once he woges… he’ll be out for blood.”

Emma saw a shudder pass over the detective and she wondered if he was remembering his own experience with an uncontrolled woge.

“What about the girl?” Killian asked. “What motive would he have for taking her?”

Granny pursed her lips together then hesitantly replied. “If he’s feral, and attacked someone before, then he’s likely gotten a taste for human blood.” Killian and Emma both grimaced, sickened by the notion. “I’d wager he attacked and fed on that jogger first. Probably lost control. He knows he’ll be good for another week until the urge takes hold again, but by then it’ll be the full moon and it’ll be risky for him to be out and about. He probably took the girl in preparation of making a meal of her later. Taking her now gives him time to fatten her up.”

Emma thought she might be sick, and while she could see the shared disgust in Killian’s face, she also saw rage.

Granny caught his eye and imparted, “Having her will make him even more territorial and dangerous. So you’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Will he, uh…” Killian began, haltingly. “Will he be able to discern who I am? What I am?”

“No,” Granny said, shaking her head. “I only made that quip about lycanthropes because Emma had already told me what you are… and I wanted to see how you’d react. You ought to know by now that wesen can only sense you during the full moon.”

“Aye, but he isn’t just any wesen,” Killian countered. “He’s my maker. Are you sure that won’t have an effect?”

“I don’t see why it would.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, a reluctant question seemed to pause at the tip of his tongue.

“So there won’t be any… connection between us, then? No weird side effort of my turning that would make me sympathetic towards him or beholden in some way?”

Granny scoffed and cocked an amused brow at him. “Such sire bonds only exist in fiction.”

Killian’s head fell in relief and Emma could now detect how much tension he must have been carrying over that worry.

“Gemacht sometimes latch on to those who aid and guide them through their transition, and many times that is the wesen who turned them, so if you were to have bonded onto someone it would have been the person who was there for you at the beginning of and during your first change.”

Killian’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Emma’s. Her heart stuttered, then began pounding in her chest while her breath remained trapped in her lungs.

Granny’s gaze volleyed between the two of them, her heading tilting to one side as she quipped, “I suppose that explains the pent up tension I’ve been sensing between you two.” A warm smile lifted the corners of her mouth in response to their awkward reaction to the call out, and she assured them, “Don’t worry. The bond was temporary. I dare say enough time has passed that it would be gone altogether.” Her no nonsense demeanor returned as she focused her attention solely back on Killian and asked, “Anything else?”

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Killian cleared his throat and said, “Just one last thing… Do you know who this blutbad might be?”

“Afraid not,” Granny told him with obvious regret in not being able to provide him a name. “I only relocated to Storybrooke a few months ago, and I find it best to avoid my kind as much as possible.” Her eyes fell down to the counter and on a bit of a grumble she added, “Bad things happen when we get into a pack. Especially when we see red.”

Killian’s eyes went wide.

“What?” Emma asked. “What is it?”

Killian locked eyes with her once more. “The little girl. Grace. She was last seen wearing a red hoodie. And the jogger and hiker both had on red jackets when their remains were found.”

“So, red provokes him?” Emma said, shaking her head in confusion. “But you weren’t wearing red when he attacked you. You were in uniform.”

“Which,” Granny interjected, “along with your natural demeanor of dominance and authority, he would have seen as a threat.”

“Which means he’ll likely view me as a threat when I confront him.”

“Most likely,” Granny warned. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and Emma knew she needed to get going so she could get back to the diner before the evening rush. “My advice,” she said, rounding the counter on her way out. “When you do confront him, do it alone. You don’t want him to feel trapped or backed into a corner, and if things go badly…”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Extending her hand, Granny offered him a sincere expression as he accepted the gesture. “Take care of yourself, Detective. I hope you can bring him to justice, but if not… bring him down any way you can.”

With that, she said a quick goodbye to Emma then exited the shop.

“Tough old bird,” Killian said in her wake, causing Emma to huff out an amused breath.

“Yeah. Granny is… something else.”

“Terrifying, I believe is the word you’re looking for,” he quipped with a light chuckle.

The two shared a laugh then stood awkwardly regarding one another for a long moment before Killian cleared his throat and said, “Um… thank you, Swan. I truly appreciate your help. I didn’t know who else to--”

“It was nothing,” Emma blurted out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I was happy you called and that I could…”

Her words fell away and a wash of something akin to embarrassment or bashfulness swept over her. Her face was hot and her palms were starting to get slick.

You're being ridiculous, Emma. You’re not a silly school girl unsure of what to say to her crush. In fact… you don’t have a crush. This isn’t a crush. This is--

Killian’s phone chimed with a notification. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the text and his grip tightened to the point that Emma feared he’d crack the screen.

“Killian? What is it?”

Slowly, Killian’s eyes lifted and met hers. The look that swirled in those blue depths made her breath hitch.

“We found him, Swan.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand in a way that caused her to shiver.

“Who is he?” she asked in a whisper, only vaguely aware that she was rounding the counter to move towards him.

His eyes never left hers and once she was standing before him, they flickered between her own as he answered. “His name is Quinn Adair. His address puts him outside of the city. Out in the woods.”

Emma swallowed hard as an eruption of worry filled her chest. “Are you… You’re not going to go after him now are you?”

“I have to, Swan,” he insisted. “He has Grace, remember? I have to get to her before he…”

Emma nodded, knowing that time was of the essence for that poor girl who was probably terrified out of her mind.

“Just… be careful?” she said, wetting her lips, which caused his gaze to drop down briefly. “And, um… Call me later so I know how it… so I know the girl is okay… and you.”

“Aye,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I will. I promise.”

She expected him to rush out after that, but he continued to stand there. Conflicted.

“Swan, I know this isn’t the time, but… what Granny said earlier. About us. About the bond that might have been created between us. Was that… Was that the reason you pulled away? Did you suspect?”

“Killian, I…” Emma didn’t know what to say. It would certainly be a plausible reason to give him. One that was safer than the truth.

It would be a lie, though.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving off the question and sparing her from having to answer. “As Granny said, whatever was going on between us at the time, it’s likely run its course, so…”

“So?”

Stepping forward, Killian grabbed her hand and lightly held it in his. A rush of goosebumps swept up her arm when his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“So… Maybe when this case is solved and things go back to relative normalcy, we could… try again?”

“Try again?” Emma parroted. A contradictory cocktail of hope, elation, dread, and panic collided within her as her good sense warred with her wants and desires.

“As friends, I mean,” he clarified, and in tamping down her own disappointment she missed the tone of it in his voice. “We had the start of something I was beginning to cherish and I miss…”

“Me, too,” she told him, turning her hand in his so she could give it a squeeze. Maybe it was reckless. She’d avoided close relationships all her life for a reason, and yet… “I’d love to start again. As friends.”

His smile took her breath away, but it was quickly schooled so he could focus on the dangerous task that lay before him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, filled with concern about him facing his maker alone. “I know Granny said not to make him feel trapped or backed into a corner, but I doubt he’d see me as a threat. And I doubt he’d be expecting a witch.”

His lip curled up on one side. “As much as I would love to see him go up against your magic, I won’t put you in harm's way like that.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he quickly added, “Besides. I need to try and do this by the book. I’m a cop before anything else.”

“I get that,” Emma relented, begrudgingly. “But I’m going to keep my phone close by in case you get in over your head and change your mind.”

“In over my head?” he said in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know, love,” he murmured in a low timber, edging a bit closer to her. “If there is one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.”

“Mhmm,” Emma hummed, meeting his taunting expression of challenge with one of her own. “Well, I’m going to insist that you stop by afterward in order to prove that to me.”

He smiled down at her, another message alerting from his phone, indicating it was past time for him to go.

“As you wish.”

Chapter Two - Coming Soon!

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[cssns]

It’s TIME!!!!

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[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~

[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!!

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Once Upon A Grimm (1/?)

Summary: The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions. Creatures known as wesen. Supernatural, other-worldly beings who have always lived among humans and have always been hunted by those who had come to be known as Grimms. A struggle of secrecy, balance, and power among these species has existed since the beginning of time. This is a story of a man with his own struggle. The internal struggle of being a human, a wesen, and a Grimm, and the external forces that seek to eradicate one or all of his natures, especially those he tries to keep hidden. Fortunately, Killian Jones is not alone in his struggles nor his secrets. His personal savior, Emma Swan, has secrets and struggles of her own.

A/N: This fic is inspired by and will borrow from the NBC show Grimm. I confess I did not watch Grimm when it first aired, but absolutely fell in love with the show during a binge fest years later. If you have not seen the show, no worries! My beta - who has not seen the show either - assures me that it is not necessary. If you have seen the show, then I hope you’ll forgive the huge creative license I am taking with the material. This is not a strict Grimm retelling with Once characters. This is my own spin on the lore and cannon of both shows.

I had hoped to be further along in writing this before my posting date, but alas… ‘tis not the case. This is turning out to be a much bigger beast than I intended and will likely be one of the longer fics I have written to date. That said, I do want to attempt to keep to some sort of schedule, so for now, I will be posting every two weeks in the hopes that I can bank more chapters and eventually update more frequently.

I cannot express how much I have enjoyed being a part of the @cssns all these years. Thank you to the mods who have kept it going year after year. We've had a terrific run! Huge shout out to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader and for her exceptional beta skills. A HUGE thank you and many fangirl squeals to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the amazing job she did on the cover art that accompanies this fic. Please go show her some love!

FYI: Because the show took cues from the Grimm brothers’ works, much of the vocabulary associated with the supernatural creatures was based on German or German coded language. For words like wesen and woge (which will be explained in the text) the w is pronounced with a v sound on the show. I’ll be using terminology from the show and more common creature names interchangeably within the fic.

Rated E (eventually) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Prologue:

The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. The Grimm brothers had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions.

Wesen. That’s what one of the Grimm brothers had called them in their other writings; in the journals and manuscripts they’d kept, cataloging these beings who walked among humans, yet were anything but.

Though Jacob Grimm had not been the first of his kind - those who were capable of seeing these creatures, these wesen, for what they truly were - for whatever reason, the men and women who possessed this same ability, this same birthright, would primarily become known as Grimms throughout the wesen world.

Perhaps it was because of how meticulously the elder Grimm brother had kept records, or how he had been the first to re-establish connections and relationships with others of his kind for the first time in many centuries, allowing the exchange of knowledge and organizing a more methodical way of dealing with the creatures their forefathers believed must be eradicated.

Though no one knew how or why, at some point, long before the brothers penned their first novel - no doubt inspired by the eldest brother’s encounters and retold as folklore by the younger - those who now called themselves Grimms had taken up the responsibility to protect humans from wesen, slaughtering entire bloodlines of these creatures without hesitation or remorse.

Never considering that they themselves weren’t exactly human either.

For just as wesen were born unto wesen, Grimms were born into Grimm families. The ability to see the truth, literally, passed through the family bloodlines, but there was only ever one Grimm in a family at a time. Possessing special abilities, Grimms had superior strength and stamina, as well as an ability to heal faster from injury. They were quick studies in the use of weaponry and had a natural talent for art and story-telling, which was a necessary trait given that they were compelled to chronicle all of their wesen encounters.

However, the most important gift was their ability to see a wesen woge when others could not.

A woge was when a creature would change from their human to wesen form, revealing their true, animalistic or nightmarish self. Although humans were capable of seeing a creature for what they truly were should it woge fully, most woges were a half measure, a demi-woge as some called it, only perceptible to other wesen - because they possessed wesen sight - and Grimms who could use this trait to identify their next target. However, it was also during a wesen’s woge, demi or full, that they could, in turn, identify a Grimm as well.

While Grimms only existed through birthright - a new one obtaining his or her powers when the previous Grimm in their family line died - not all creatures were born wesen. Some were made. Which, in the Grimms’ eyes, was one of the reasons they were so dangerous. Although gemacht - created - wesen were typically outcasts, and not favorably looked upon within wesen culture, the fact that some creatures had the ability to curse humans with a bastardization of their form, giving them the worst of their traits, was more than enough reason to eradicate their kind.

Some Grimms wondered whether wesen created these halflings as a way to throw suspicion off themselves, leaving Grimms to deal with these feral, newly turned and disoriented wesen while the pure-blooded wesen made their escape. Perhaps they were created for these types of distraction or even as a way for wesens to draw the attention of Grimms towards rival groups, using the hunters to dispatch their enemies for them. Whatever the reason, gemacht wesen were typically hunted by Grimms and wesen alike, considered by both sides to be an abomination, therefore, little was known about them, but there were some records within the logs kept in Grimm families, if one cared to look.

Killian Jones, however, had no interest in looking, or knowing, or learning, or indeed, having anything to do with his family’s Grimm legacy.

He and his brother, Liam, had been raised with the knowledge of their mother’s family’s ancestry. She had been the Grimm for her family line, until her death when Liam was sixteen and Killian twelve. A car accident that had claimed both of their parents' lives, and had altered Liam’s. Violently.

Upon Alice’s death, Liam had acquired the powers and abilities of the Grimm, but not the discipline or the skills to hone them. Fate, being the fickle, wretched bitch that she was, had placed the Jones brothers into a foster family of klaustreich, an alley-cat type creature that was prone to aggression and cruelty, as well as jealousy and a sense of possessiveness towards anything or anyone they felt a proprietary pull towards. Not typically known for their altruism, they likely only fostered children for the paycheck and as the Jones boys could attest, often mistreated and abused their charges.

The boys might well have been able to endure if the klaustreich son had not, in an attempt to intimidate and scare Killian into submission, woged with Liam in the room. Once the family had identified Liam as a Grimm, all hell had broken loose.

Fortunately, as most Grimms did, Alice Jones had made preparations in the event of her and her husband’s death, leaving the care of her sons and the knowledge of her bloodline in the hands of a fellow Grimm, Nemo. A longtime friend of the family, Nemo had, unfortunately, been overseas when he’d heard the news of Alice and Brennan’s demise. Having just arrived in town with the intention of taking custody of the boys, he showed up to the house with the authorities on the very same day the cat had been let out of the bag, so to speak.

Battered and bruised, but none too worse for wear, the Jones boys - who had fought off the feral, feline family and barricaded themselves in one of the rooms - were removed from the home, and into Nemo’s care. The clowder of klaustreichs was arrested by the police, who thought they had stumbled upon yet another sad, but all too common case of child abuse and neglect within the foster system.

That tussle with Liam was not the last time the klaustreichs met a Grimm in battle. However, the next one did not end as favorably for them. Nemo made certain of that.

Shouldering the responsibility left to him, Nemo moved the boys to Maine for a fresh start. By all outward appearances they lived a normal life, but nothing could have been further from the truth, although Killian certainly was allowed more normalcy than his brother.

After school, the boys had to endure hours of instruction, learning the various types of wesen and the most effective ways of killing each of them. Decapitation seemed to be the most popular choice among their Grimm ancestors, earning them the secondary moniker of dēcapitāre, as noted in the journals they kept in the basement of their Nantucket style house. That was until a break in had made Nemo overly cautious, causing him to acquire a second property - an old, abandoned, paint factory warehouse - where he’d fashioned an off the grid, bunker-style safe house on the harbour. He moved all of the Grimm artifacts, manuscripts, weapons, and supplies there, while keeping he, Liam, and Killian in the family home for appearances.

As the years passed and the boys grew older, Nemo and Liam spent less and less time at home. Often they crashed at the safehouse after a late night of sparing or studying, or they would be gone for days at a time… hunting. Though he missed his brother, Killian had reconciled the fact that he’d effectively lost him the day of their parent’s accident. Nothing had been the same between them since Liam had become a Grimm, but that did not mean they did not still care for and love one another. They just weren’t as close as they had once been, and they likely never would be.

After Killian had graduated high school and went off to college, the three men had effectively gone their separate ways. Nemo had fulfilled his promise and duty to Alice, and Liam had his own path as a Grimm to forge. During undergrad, Killian got a chance to embrace a true sense of normalcy for the first time in his life. Campus life, girls, classes, girls, parties, girls; he relished it all and even found his calling during one of the university's many job fairs and recruitment events. With his degree in criminology completed, he enlisted in the police academy and quickly worked his way through the ranks of the Storybrooke Police Department, located in the very town Nemo had moved them to all those years ago.

Though the Nantucket style house had long been sold, Nemo had transferred the deed of the safehouse to Liam and Killian, using false names and a dummy corporation in order to hide the identity of its true owners. While Killian wanted nothing to do with his family’s legacy, and had gone to great pains to try and forget the horrors he had learned about as an adolescent, he had relented when Liam begged him to take up residence at the safehouse for his own protection.

“Please, little brother,” Liam pleaded over the phone, the sketchy connection muffling Killian’s petulant response of ‘younger’ before he continued, “I know you want to distance yourself from me and our heritage, but if the wrong sort of wesen found out you were related to a Grimm, then--”

“Aye, I know,” Killian said with an exasperated sigh. “Having a Grimm brother puts a target on my back. I’m not a fool, Liam.”

“Then you’ll live at the safehouse?” Liam pressed. “And you won’t ever tell anyone or bring anyone there? You swear?”

“I swear.”

He’d been good to his word. Though he rented a modest studio apartment in the city so that he might have a physical address to keep on file with his work and avoid questions, his real residence for the past several years had been the loft in the safehouse, one level up from the bunker that still held remnants and reminders of who his family truly was, books and artifacts Liam had left behind when he’d filled a trailer and left Storybrooke for bloodier horizons. Books and artifacts Killian was determined to ignore, even if part of the agreement in him staying there was that he’d watch over things and keep them protected.

Perhaps, if he’d ever taken the time to look through those manuscripts when he’d dusted and oiled their bindings and covers, he would have realized the danger he’d fall victim to before it was too late.

~/~

“Are you sure this is even a homicide?” Killian asked the detectives who were about to leave the gruesome scene. He was still just a uniformed officer, but his application to take the detectives exam had been accepted and he was eager to work crime scenes through a detective's eye. “Looks more like an animal attack.”

“DNA will tell us for sure,” one of them said while scribbling down something in his notebook. “Make sure the scene stays secure while CSU finishes their work.” Shooting him an apologetic look, he added, “I’m afraid it’s gonna be a long night.”

“Will do, detective,” Killian replied, lifting the crime tape for them, so they could pass under it and make their way back to their vehicle. Their heated vehicle with comfortable seats and snacks likely stashed away in the glove compartment.

Killian sighed and turned his attention back to the grisly site where a hiker had been found mauled and torn to pieces, with no clue as to what could have done such a thing except, strangely enough, a lone, fresh, boot print that had not belonged to the victim. He had asked whether this was truly a case of homicide because that was the question other officers and even some of the techs had been asking, but in reality Killian had his own suspicions. Suspicions that might have him calling his brother later should the case be deemed an animal attack, knowing full well it had not been an animal who had caused such carnage. He may not remember much from the lessons Nemo had tried to teach him alongside Liam, but he knew enough to suspect that this attack had been committed by a wesen. And a brutal one at that.

Killian’s pocket buzzed and he reached in to retrieve his cell phone, groaning silently at who was on the other end of the line.

“What is it, Will?” he answered. “I don’t have time for whatever it is you’re calling about. I’m trying to secure a crime scene.”

“Aw, come on, Jones. Not you, too. It’s Friday night, the moon is full, you ought to be out on the town and livin’ it up!”

Killian tried to stifle a half smile, then asked, “What do you mean, not you, too?”

“Rob’s gotten roped into extra duty tonight as well,” his mate informed him. “Something about a missing girl over in Glowerhaven.”

Glowerhaven, like Storybrooke, was a suburb of the larger city Killian’s precinct had partial jurisdiction in. Robin, Will, and Killian had all met at the police academy and despite Will washing out several months in and Rob being assigned to a different precinct, they’d all remained close over the years. Will now ran a bar at the epicenter of the intersecting lines of the city, Glowerhaven, and Storybrooke, and often tried to make it a hub for his mates and their uniformed colleagues.

Unfortunately, it sounded as though the SPD and the GPD would be too busy with their respective cases to live it up anywhere, much less at Will’s bar.

“Sorry, mate,” Killian commiserated. “Afraid I’ve got a long night ahead of me as well. Rain check?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will replied in a feigned disgruntled tone. “I’ve heard that before. I’ll add it to your growing tab of IOUs.”

“I promise I’m good for it.”

“Yeah, sure.” A more serious sigh crackled over the line before Will added, “Take care and watch your back out there, mate. The world is full of crazies.”

“Will do,” Killian promised, ending the call then muttering to himself, “Don’t I know it.”

For the next several hours Killian vigilantly patrolled the perimeter of the crime scene while the techs gathered evidence. It was just after midnight when the CSU officer in charge told him they were finished.

“Do you need me to have one of my guys stay to help you finish clearing the scene?”

“No,” Killian replied, waving them off. “You lot still have hours of work ahead of you.” With his thumb in his belt and his hip cocked to one side, Killian jutted his chin towards the scene and said, “It’s only a bit of tape and one final patrol. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” the tech said, already motioning for their people to pack up their things and head out.

Killian watched the vans depart and began tearing down the police tape they’d used to cordon off the area. The techs had left behind one of their flood lights for him to use while finishing his own tasks, but after he stowed it away in his cruiser he realized how unnecessary that had been. The moon was bright enough for him to do a final patrol with the assistance of his flashlight to illuminate the hidden areas within the trees’ shadows.

He’d just finished a sweep of the perimeter when the skin at the back of his neck prickled and his hair began to stand on end. The area, which moments ago had been softly soundtracked by an ambiance of crickets and distant hoots of owls, had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

Reaching down to his holster, he flicked loose the restraining strap with his thumb before palming his side arm. “Who’s there?” Killian called out as more prickles of unease crept over his skin and up his spine. “Storybrooke PD! Identify yourself!”

Movement flickered in his periphery and the quick succession of snapping twigs alerted him to someone fleeing the scene.

“Halt!” he yelled out while in hot pursuit with his gun drawn. “Storybrooke PD, I demand you stop and identify yourself!”

Barely able to keep pace, Killian chased after the suspect. His attempt to call in the incident over the radio on his shoulder had been met with static as he was clearly too far out of range. Not wishing to lose the perp, he did not want to risk digging his phone from his pocket, lest it slow him down. The pursuit lasted for an agonizing length of time, drawing Killian deeper and deeper into the woods, his legs burning and his lungs screaming from the extreme exertion.

He finally stopped after bursting into a clearing, biting back curses under his heaving breaths for having lost sight of the suspect. Holstering his weapon, he doubled over with his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. A painful stitch began to form at his side and sweat from his forehead threatened to blur his vision.

The snap of a branch was the only warning he had before something solid collided with him, knocking him to the ground. Inhuman snarls and the gnashing of teeth curdled Killian’s blood even before he caught sight of the monstrous wesen he was currently trying to fight off with all his might.

Blutbad. The Big, Bad Wolf. In full woge and ready to tear Killian’s throat out.

With his left forearm braced against the beast’s neck in an attempt to keep its canines from getting any closer, Killian reached down to try and retrieve his gun. Searing pain ripped through his arm. The blutbad had chosen to sink its teeth into the nearest bit of flesh he could get to, and Killian screamed as the bite turned to tearing. A shot went off, startling the creature and forcing him to release his prey, and it took Killian a moment to realize he had fired the weapon while in the throes of agony. Nearly blinded by the pain, Killian sat up and took aim at the fleeing blutbad, but could not manage to get another shot off before it disappeared into the trees. Shakily, he got to his feet, a howl in the distance making his blood run cold and causing his entire body to shake.

He had to get out of the woods. He had to call for back-up. He had to…

Stumbling, he headed back towards his cruiser. At least… he thought he was heading that direction. Brambles and branches scraped against his face and caught on his uniform while everything around him turned hazy. Off to his left he could see the flicker of a campfire. No. That wasn’t right. There were no campsites in this part of the forest, only hiking trails with strict policies regarding nighttime use. He headed towards the flames anyway and had to shield his eyes when he got closer, the light practically blinding him.

“Is anyone… is anyone there?” he called out, weakly, even as his other senses were being assaulted. He could smell a pungent mix of ingredients but had not the knowledge to identify them. There had been a grating sound of stone scrapping stone that had stopped when he’d entered the site, and it had been followed by a gasp that he was certain had meant to be soft and nearly silent, yet it had rang clearly in his ears.

Unable to hold himself up, Killian collapsed to the ground, his entire body shaking violently and causing his teeth to chatter together. Footfalls pounded against the ground like a drumline and he managed to pry his eyes open in time to see a woman rushing to his side.

“H-Help,” he pleaded. His arm was still on fire from the pain while his body was wracked by chills. When the women bent over him, he was certain he was starting to become delirious as well. What other explanation could there be for an angel to appear to him?

“What happened?” she asked, looking him over. “Were you--”

“Attacked,” he choked out, lifting his arm so she could see his wound.

Peeling back the torn remains of his uniform, she examined the bite mark and her face grew pale and pensive.

“Oh, no,” she murmured.

Quickly, she stood and rushed back to where she’d come from. Killian tilted his head backward to try and keep his eyes on her, not wanting to let her out of his sight for several reasons. The scraping sound returned as she began to grind something with her mortar and pestle and though he could not decipher the words, he could hear them slip from her lips in a chant. Blackness began to creep from the corners of his vision, but not before he saw an unnatural shimmer erupt from beneath her skin. The last coherent thought he had before slipping into oblivion was that she must be an angel, because witches did not possess such beauty when they woged.

Quite the opposite really.

~/~

His body was stiff, his clothes soaked through from sweat, causing him to shiver. Attempting to pry his eyes open he coughed past the cottony feel lining his mouth and throat, then groaned when he began to shift positions.

“Don’t sit up too fast,” a soft, feminine voice warned him.

A hand pressed against his chest and the padding of whatever he was laying on dipped. Blinking, he tried to focus his vision, but had to clamp his eyes shut again when the soft lighting of the room blinded him.

“Bloody hell, that’s bright!”

“Oh, right!” the woman said. He could feel the bedding move as she did, and the room dimmed behind his eyelids. “There,” she said a bit further away now. “That should be better.”

Forcing his eyes open, he winced in anticipation. Fortunately, the lighting was easier on his vision now, so he took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. Bottles and canisters filled wooden shelves of deeply stained and aged cases that lined the long walls of the room. There was a massive workbench in the center of the space with a door at the far end. Behind him was a large, curtained window that overlooked the street. He could hear the occasional car and sounds of the city beyond. Beside him was a cased opening that led out to another space. Some sort of shop, by the looks of it. Spices and aromatics danced on his tongue and made his sinuses flare and itch.

Achoo!

“Bless you,” the voice said from the shadows next to the opening, and the blond angel from the forest emerged with a wary, yet concerned expression.

“You,” Killian said in a scratchy and unfamiliar voice. He tried to clear his throat, but it was too dry. Undeterred, he said, “You’re the woman from the woods. The hex, uh… hexen…” He cursed himself for not being able to remember the wesen term for witch.

“A hexenbeist?” she supplied with a tone of surprise.

“Aye!” Killian replied a little too enthusiastically, erupting into a fit of coughs.

Her expression and posture still guarded, she took a few steps towards him, assessing him with her brilliant green eyes. “You know about… us?” she said. “Wesen?”

“Aye,” he replied in a tone of gravel.

“How?”

Again, Killian tried to clear his throat, but he seemed incapable of producing any saliva.

“Could I trouble you for some water?”

The request snapped her out of her wary, slightly accusatory stance, and she quickly made her way to a small fridge at the back of the room. Killian considered his answer carefully as she grabbed a water bottle and brought it back to him, giving himself a few extra seconds to craft his response as he slowly sipped the water and coaxed moisture back into his throat, knowing she’d likely ask him again…

“So, how do you know about wesen?”

“I, uh…” he began, working through a few more coughs and deciding that something close to the truth would be best. “I had the misfortune of being fostered by a family of klaustreichs after my parents died. The son took great pleasure in tormenting me with his woged state.” His brows knit together and he cocked his head to the side as he glanced up at her. “How did you know I wasn’t just wesen myself?”

The pinched look of concern returned to her features and her gaze slipped from his down to his bandaged arm. “Because of that,” she told him. “If you were wesen then it wouldn’t have…”

She turned and grabbed one of the chairs resting against the wall. Bringing it over, she set it next to the bed then lowered herself onto the seat with a resolved and resigned sigh.

“You knowing about wesen is going to make this a little easier to explain, but it by no means is going to make it easier to accept.”

“Make what easier to accept?” Killian asked with a sense of dread.

“Do you know what attacked you tonight?” she asked.

“Aye.” Killian nodded. “A blutbad. In full woge.”

She shifted uncomfortably, causing the chair to creak annoyingly in his ears. “And do you know the significance of him being in full woge during the full moon?”

“I, uh…” Frantically, Killian searched his memory for any knowledge regarding blutbaden and the full moon. He couldn’t seem to concentrate over the pounding of his heart and ripples of anxiety coursing through him, though.

Perhaps sensing his distress, or simply wishing to deliver the blow with a measure of comfort, the woman took Killian’s hand and asked, “What do you know about lycanthropes? Werewolves?”

Killian shot off the bed with an unnatural speed and agility, forcing the woman from her chair and causing her to skitter back several steps. Her hands, raised protectively in front of her, were illuminated with a soft glow that seemed to originate from her palms. Killian lifted his own in supplication, an apology slipping from his lips.

“Sorry, love. I just…”

I can’t be, he thought with chaos and hysteria threatening to overtake him. I can’t be a lycanthrope. Liam kills lycanthropes.

Shaking the thought from his head, Killian swallowed hard and fixed his attention back onto the wary woman.

“Apologies,” he began again. “I don’t know how I… I’m not sure what--”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, lowering her hands as she took measured steps towards the workbench. “I can only imagine how much of a shock this is.” She braced her hands against the top of the table, an old, worn book laying open between them. “According to this, you're going to feel the effects of the change immediately. So, it’s only natural that you--”

“The change?” Killian croaked out. “You mean… becoming a werewolf? I’m a… Are you saying, that thing has turned me into a…”

“Yes.”

Something about her direct yet compassionate tone eased the hysteria threatening to overtake him. Releasing a heavy breath, he ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands at the back, before dropping his hand to his chest where he pressed against the thundering in his ribcage.

The sound of the book sliding across the table pulled his attention back to the woman. Her expression beckoned him forward as she propped herself onto one of the stools that had been tucked under the work surface. Slowly, he shuffled forward until he stood hovering over the open pages of the book. He was struck by the similarities it held to the journals and manuscripts he’d been forced to study in his youth, with hand sketched illustrations and captions that had been translated into a myriad of languages.

“Not all blutbaden can create a lycanthrope,” she told him. Reaching over, she gestured to a section of text. He read without comprehending, his mind still racing. Fortunately, she paraphrased it for him.

“Lycanthropes, or more commonly known as werewolves, are created by blutbaden with a specific genetic mutation. The blutbad essentially goes off the rails during the full moon, and if they bite a human, and the human lives, they transfer some of their wesen characteristics to them.”

“Which characteristics?” Killian asked, even though he already had a pretty good idea.

“Your senses will be heightened. Sight, sound, smell. You’ll notice an increase in them in your day to day life, but they’ll be on overdrive, like they are now, during the full moon.”

“Will I…” he paused, swallowing back the bile working its way up his throat. “Will I… transform? Woge?”

“According to this, you’ll only be capable of woging during the full moon. I don’t think you’ll see other wesen woge outside of that time frame either.” Bringing the book back towards her, she turned the page and added, “Basically, everything is intensified during the full moon. Your senses, your mood and emotions, your abilities. You’ll be stronger, faster, have greater endurance and stamina, but will also be prone to volatile reactions. Your temper will be shorter. You’ll likely be more aggressive.”

“Violent, you mean.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Aggression doesn’t have to turn into violence. You’ll just be more…”

“Like a powder keg.”

Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his, causing his eyes to flick up to hers.

“I can help with that.”

Relief and hope filled him and he gripped her hand in his. “You can… you can reverse this? You can cure me?”

She squeezed his hand and her expression effectively burst the elated bubble that had formed in his chest. “There’s nothing I can do to make you human again,” she said, remorsefully. “But there is something I can do to help mitigate the symptoms and keep you from falling prey to the worst of the condition.”

His shoulders slumped and he took a moment to come to terms with his new reality. He was no longer human. From this point forward his life would never be the same. It was like losing his parents all over again. Like losing Liam to the calling and duty of being a Grimm. He already hid so much of himself from those closest to him. From Will. From Robin. Now he would have to hide away these parts of himself from Liam. From Nemo. No one could ever know the fullness of who he was. The true him.

He wasn’t even sure if he knew who he was.

Bringing himself back to the here and now, Killian pulled his hand from the woman’s grip and asked, “What do you mean? How can you help me with… all of this?”

Again, she turned their focus back to the book. “Wolfsbane is a plant known for its uses against blutbad,” she told him. “It can hide one’s scent from them. It can also subdue them if they ingest it in great quantities.” Her eyes fell to where his arm was bandaged. “I made a paste of it and other herbs to apply to the bite so your transition would be less… intense, and it appears there is a tonic you can take at the outset of each full moon that can help minimize the effects of the cycle.”

Turning the pages again, she gestured towards a list of ingredients as well as a recipe for the tonic.

“There isn’t much here about the tonic’s effectiveness or what side effects it might have, so it would probably be best if we plan for you to just stay with me during the next full moon so I can keep tabs on you. See how it makes you react.”

Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, Killian moved into the woman’s personal space and wound a section of her hair through his fingers, his eyes hooded in a smolder and sultry tone dancing on his tongue as he cheeked, “If you wish to spend time cooped up together, love, just say so. No need to stand on ceremony.”

The widening of her eyes and sharp gasp falling from her lips made him balk and stumble back.

“I’m sorry, lass. I…” Forcibly shaking himself he took a tentative step back and declared, “I have no idea where that came from. Please forgive my…”

“It’s okay,” she said in an amused tone, waving off his apology.

“It is?” he replied, incredulously.

“I mean,” she continued, “I understand where it came from.”

“You do?”

She hummed, affirmatively, and explained, “It’s a blutbad trait. Using flirtation, charm, and guile to disarm their prey or throw off their rivals.” Turning the page again, his eyes fell to an excerpt he vaguely recognized from the Red Riding Hood tale. “How do you think the big, bad wolf charmed his way into the grandmother’s house after ingratiating himself with Little Red?”

“I don’t see you as prey,” he said in the hopes of assuring her, even as something within him wanted to counter the statement.

“Of course you do,” she said with a shrug. “I’m an attractive woman all alone with you.” Wetting her lips (which absolutely did not have his pulse rate ticking up and his uniform trousers tightening), she swallowed and cleared her throat before adding, “Some part of you is provoked by that and your new wesen side, being severely heightened, became overly stimulated by it. Hence the inappropriate proposition.”

“I swear you have nothing to fear from me, lass,” Killian vowed. “You’ve done me a great service and the last thing I would ever wish to do is--”

“I know,” she assured him. “I told you. It’s okay.”

Killian exhaled a shaky breath and a thought occurred to him. “Why are you so keen to help me? Not that I’m not grateful. It’s just… you don’t even know me.”

“I know you didn’t ask for this,” she said. “I know, being a cop, that you're a man who likely just wants to help people and that you were just out there trying to do your job.” Her demeanor, which up to this point had been a mixture of confidence, toughness, and candor with an undercurrent of compassion, shifted to one of vulnerability. “Also,” she began in a quiet voice. “The truth is… I’m not a natural wesen either. I’m a gemacht, a made wesen. I’m not… I’m not entirely accepted by others of my kind. By the covens. So I guess…”

“You have an understanding of what I’m going through and what I’ll face.”

Straightening her shoulders, her resilient bearing returned. “No one should have to go through this alone,” she told him while opening a drawer and taking out a small card and pen. “So, take this,” she said, handing him the card after she’d jotted something down. “It’s my business card for the shop, with my personal number on the back. Feel free to call or come by any time.”

Killian took the card from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers which sent a ripple up both their arms. He ignored the physical proof of their mutual attraction, just as he had been ignoring the growing chemistry during their entire encounter, and focused his attention on the card.

Swan Spice and Tea

Emma Swan, proprietor

“Thank you, Swan,” he said, tucking the card into his pocket. “I’ll be in touch about that tonic and we can make a plan for the next full moon.”

“That sounds good, Officer Jones.”

Killian cocked his head quizzically to one side, prompting her to nod towards his uniform.

“It’s on your name badge,” she reminded him. “K. Jones?”

“Right,” he said, reaching up and sheepishly pawing at a patch of skin behind his ear before extending his hand towards her. “Killian Jones. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Swan.”

“Likewise,” she said, placing her hand in his and offering him a soft smile.

They stood there for the span of a few erratic beats of his heart, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to not pull her into his arms. She was stunning, with her creamy skin and golden tresses. Even in the low light he could make out the splashes of freckles across her nose and shimmer of gold flecks in her captivating green eyes. Although smaller in stature, there was nothing weak or feeble about her form, even in the softest places. A form he found rather alluring, from the shape of her curves to the swell of her breasts. The way her hair flowed over her shoulders. The way her breath hitched when he skimmed his thumb over the pulse point on her wrist. The way she wet her plump, pink lips with a soft swipe of her tongue.

The way her skin glowed with an ethereal light that suddenly turned blinding.

“Bloody hell!” Killian cursed, wrenching his hand from hers so he could cover his eyes.

“Sorry,” she said with a note of contrition. “But you were… doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he huffed against the irritation spiking through him. Blinking hard, it took a few seconds for his vision to focus. When his sight finally adjusted, he found her several steps away with an amused smirk playing at her lips.

“Eyeing me as though you’d like to make a meal out of me,” she said matter-of-factly, yet without any hint of admonishment or fear.

Killian cursed under his breath. He’d developed something of a reputation in college: lady’s man, player, rake, charming bastard, scoundrel. In the years that followed, he’d done his best to put his womanizing ways behind him, choosing instead to use his looks and natural charm to his advantage as a cop when it came to comforting victims or disarming perps. So, while his current behavior was something out of character to who he had fought to become, he was certainly no stranger to this emerging personality the newly bred wesen side of him was cultivating.

“It’ll get easier to control,” she assured him. “Remember, these traits will be strongest during the full moon, and just as the paste is helping to lessen them now, the tonic should help you keep a rein on things going forward.” Closing the book, she skimmed her fingers over the cover and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before glancing over at him once more and suggesting, “Although, it might be a good idea, as much as you are capable, to limit your contact with people during that time. I don’t know how feasible it would be for you to take those days off from work, but avoiding high stress, high confrontational situations would probably be a good idea until you’re better equipped to--”

“Aye,” he said in agreement, running his hand through his hair again. “A wise suggestion.”

He shuddered at the thought of losing control of himself at work, surrounded by his fellow officers. His fellow armed officers.

The desire to make detective was now about so much more than his own personal pride and sense of accomplishment. As a detective, he’d have greater say over his schedule. Until then, he may have to slack off on his paperwork and use the days of the full moon to isolate himself in one of the private offices in order to “catch up” on his reports.

“I’m sure I can work something out,” he told her.

“Fortunately,” she said, jutting her chin towards the window and the soft, pre-dawn glow that was beginning to creep through the gap in the curtains. “This was the last night of this full moon cycle, so you should be okay once the sun is up.”

Killian’s heart thudded hard in his rib cage and panic swept through his bloodstream. “Bloody hell! What time is it?” he frantically patted his pockets in search of his phone. How long had he been gone? Who knew he was missing? He had to get back to the woods. His cruiser was still there. At the crime scene.

The crime scene.

The body of the hiker.

The blutbad who’d attacked him was a killer.

He needed to find him and--

“Whoa! Slow down,” Swan urged, grabbing onto his forearms and giving him a slight shake. “Your phone is on the table next to the cot. I don’t think anyone is aware of anything being wrong. You have no missed calls or texts.”

Killian balked. Had he said all of that out loud?

Releasing him, she grabbed his phone from where it had been laying and along with it, his keys. “Your cruiser is in the alley out back,” she told him, gesturing towards the backdoor at the far end of the room.

“You… You drove it here?”

A sheepish expression scrunched through her features as she confessed, “Actually. My brother did. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed to go get it after I got you back here.”

“Your brother? You’ve a… is he… is he wesen also?”

“He is,” she confided. “He’s a leschen.”

Killian’s ignorance must have been apparent in the pull of his brows and tilt of his head.

“They’re sort of… tree-like, wooden wesen.”

“And he took some convincing because…?”

“Because you’re a cop,” she confessed. “He’s been on the wrong side of the law a few times. Nothing violent,” she added quickly. “Just… maybe do me a favor and don’t have your car fingerprinted?”

“I suppose,” he conceded, “Given the circumstances. I can overlook your brother’s involvement in this evening's events.”

“I appreciate that,” she said on a relieved breath and with a soft, weary smile.

The side of him he was beginning to identify as the wolf caused him to feel torn about leaving. The longing he felt to stay, the primal, proprietary drive that kept creeping up within him as he remained in her presence was one he could now discern, and though not quite as overwhelming as it had been before, was still very much present.

“I should go,” he choked out with conviction, subduing the beast. “It’s late. Or rather… early?”

“Right,” Swan replied, wetting her lips and guiding him towards the back door. “We’ve both had a long night and could definitely use some rest.”

For the first time since he awoke in her spice shop, Killian was struck with curiosity as to what she had been doing in the woods when he’d stumbled upon her. It was clear from the way she swung open the door, revealing his cruiser parked in the alleyway, and issuing her farewells with a stifled yawn that it would be a question he’d have to leave for another time.

“Remember,” she called out before he could slip behind the wheel. “I’m here if you need anything.”

“Aye, Swan. Thanks. Thank you for everything,” he replied with a deep, rich sincerity in his tone. “I’ll be in touch.”

“See you at the next full moon?”

“Aye,” he promised. “See you at the next full moon.”

Chapter One

[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!!!

[exhaustedpirate]

haunted by the ghost of you

my last entry to CSSNS is about vampires (or at least a species of it) and it will be divided into two or three chapters because I can't help myself! I had the help of my lovely beta @wordsbymeganmichael who also made the great art in this! tw: suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts

Chapter 1 - Take me back to the night we met

rated T | 10260 words

also on AO3

summary: Killian is cursed - cursed to lose Emma over and over again. He is doomed to live, to lose his love forever until he can break it.

Emma Swan is dying. Again.

Killian can hear her heartbeat slowing down. Can feel her breaths become shallower. Can see the way her eyes glazed over. Can feel her dying. Again.

He is tired. Tired of seeing her die. Tired of the pain. Tired of the loss. Tired of losing her.

It was simpler in the beginning. They were happy. They fell in love. 

How he wishes he could go back to the night they met.

---

It was late. Later than he thought when he left the tavern, his crew persuading him to stay for one more drink. But one drink turned into another. And another. Until the walk by the sea was more than just required to clear his mind. He needed to get rid of the haze of the alcohol.

Killian heard shouts, fast steps from behind him. He turned to see a blonde woman stop in front of him, dark bag in one hand, her chest heaving from exertion and panicked eyes. She was breathtaking. 

The steps grew louder behind her and she assessed him. He wondered what she saw. 

Distantly, he heard voices ask him to grab her, telling her to stop. But the alcohol made him slow, and, before he could think of what to do, she rushed towards him. Killian felt a pull on his waist before the sharp sting on his neck, his own knife at his neck, immobilizing him. 

“Don’t take one more step or I’ll slice him up,” Her voice was strong, tired, enchanting. “I’ll do it.” 

She pressed the knife more firmly against his neck and he winced.

The guards stopped in front of them, taking heed of her threat and recognizing his uniform. He raises his hands defenseless but, strangely, unafraid.

“We’re going to walk away,” The woman started, pulling him back with her, her eyes not leaving the guards’ still forms. “If you think of following me, I’ll gut him.”

The men looked conflicted at Killian, likely thinking that she was capable of such a crime. How could they not see? Killian nodded reassuringly at the men and watched as they dropped their weapons. He heard a scoff from behind him.

“Let’s go for a stroll then,” Killian agreed, doing his best to keep pace with her.

They walked slowly, through the alleyways. They stayed silent. She was trying to confirm they weren’t being followed. It took forever and no time at all before she stopped them. Killian tried not to feel the loss of her body against his, as unconventional as their situation was.

She stood in front of him once more, the knife still in her hand pointed at him at the end of her outstretched arm. He thought of how easy it would be to disarm her, to get the upper hand. 

But he was curious.

She was as enchanting as her voice, her long blonde hair a stark contrast to the dark curls he had fallen in love with over a year ago. And yet they shared a strength, a need to be more than the roles imposed on them. And he found that his heart was still able to beat, and not just because of the weapon she still held to him, but for her, for the possibility of more.

She was silent, keeping her eyes on him even as she looked around for the quickest escape. He wasn’t sure where they had ended up, having been too focused on keeping her steps and on her presence at his back. But she knew, she had total control.

Still with his hands up, he smiled his best smile. “Can I at least know the name of my captor before you dispose of me?”

“I’m not going to kill you.” She evaded in an annoyed tone, as if the idea of her killing him was ludicrous. 

It was. 

“Can I have your name all the same?” 

She watched him warily, her eyes fixed on his. “So you can report me to the guards? I don’t think so.”

Killian took a step forward, the tip of his knife a breath away from his neck. “Try something new, love. Trust.”

He saw the surprise in her eyes and the kindred spirit he knew she was. But then he saw something shuttering behind her eyes and her face scrunched in determination. She took a step forward, his knife back against his neck pressing firmly. 

“Don’t even think about following me.” She snarled in his face and he thinks that is the moment she wormed her way into his mind. She quickly backed away in a haste to leave, to run away.

“As you wish.”

---

Killian kept his promise - he didn’t follow her, he didn’t look for her. But he thinks about her. Thinks about her strength, her determination. Thinks about her eyes and the way they let him see into her. He’d seen the look in them before, seen that pain in his reflection. The pain of being left behind.

And he thought about the way her hair reflected the moonlight, the way her body was warm against his, the way her eyes shone. He had never seen more beautiful eyes. If he couldn’t see her again, he wished he could hear her voice one more time. Hear her enchanting lilt, feel the way her breath hit his ear everytime she spoke.

And then he heard it.

“What are you boys playing?” 

Killian turned to the voice and watched as his former captor leaned suggestively on a nearby table. Her eyes were focused on the rowdy group of men playing cards as they drank the tavern dry. Her lips curved up in a beguiling smile. Her corset wasn’t tied all the way and her bosom threatened to fall out of its restraints. He held back a curse for the wandering eyes of her targets as they took stock of her teasing posture.

Killian was glad for the darker corner they had settled at, nursing the ale his crew had bought him. He watched as she sat between two handsy sailors, keeping his ire tamed by a strong grip on his tankard. He heard her laugh uproariously at one joke or another and he wondered if the men could distinguish real merriment from fake.

He watched as tankard after tankard got brought to their table and how she didn’t partake. He soon realized why. He followed her arm as she surreptitiously pocketed some gold from the drunken sailors. What a clever lass.

He watched her wrench away from the sailors’ wandering hands with promises of returning. She spoke in low tones close to the men’s faces and Killian shuffled on his feet as he watched them try to close the space between them. But she’d done this before. She evaded their efforts and swayed her hips as she weaved through the crowd.

With barely a word to his crew, Killian followed her, keeping a safe distance between them. He exited from the back door after her. As silent as possible, he stuck his head out to watch her leave, a dark hood over her head almost making her disappear in the dark night.

She moved fast, clearly aware of her surroundings and he did his best to keep his footsteps soft, not wanting to make her aware of his presence. He followed her as she turned into the ruins of the old church, a building many say is haunted. For a fanciful moment, he wondered if maybe she was a ghost, an apparition.

Killian went around the building, finding a fallen wall on the side of it. Taking care of the fallen stones, he found an old door, with many of its holes patched except for one big enough for him to look through. He held back a gasp, not wanting to give away his presence.

Inside, the room was full of children. Around 10 of them, no older than 13 and no younger than 5. He watched as they huddled under a threadbare blanket, the harsh winter winds seeping through the gaps in the foundation. Heard the way their teeth clatter as they shiver. 

“We should have enough for food and maybe some warm clothes,” he heard her announce close to his hideout.

“How long will that last us?” another woman answered with the same hushed tone.

“A couple of days, at least,” she answered, her weary sigh breaking his heart. 

“It’s cold.” One of the children complained, echoed by some of the others.

“I know,” she sighed and he watched as she untied her cloak, draping it over the shivering children. “It will get better, have hope.” As beautiful as the words were, he could tell she didn’t believe them.

He watched her repress her shiver as she gazed at the children, her eyes so full of affection and care that he thinks she has never looked more enchanting. He wanted to help, wanted to give the clothes off his back if it meant they’d be protected.

He must move too quickly, a stone the size of his hand banged against the door. Suddenly an arrow gets embedded in the door, inches from his face. He stepped back from the door as he heard the women’s footsteps approach his hideout.

“Go, I’ll cover you.” He heard the other woman advise and he rushed to leave the ruins, hiding behind a rock to see the blonde open the door, knife in hand and ready to attack.

She looked around and for a moment, and he thought of making his presence known, but he realized the reason behind their impulsive attack. It’s the same reason she didn’t give him her name. The same reason she left. They didn’t trust him, didn’t trust anyone. They looked out for themselves. He’d have to help some other way.

---

Killian returned to the ruins as much as he could. Never with empty hands. He filled sacks with whatever he could gather — clothes, blankets, bread, cheese, anything to make their lives easier.

Sometimes he’d peek inside to check on them, others he’d simply leave. Many times, he had to run away before the two women found him. Once or twice, he’d hid and watched as the blonde woman found the sack at the door, a soft smile gracing her features. He wished to kiss that beautiful smile, make it appear on her face everyday for the end of times.

He knew what it was like to not have a roof over his head, had faced the freezing cold of winter and the blistering heat of summer many times in a forgotten street. Killian wondered how different his life would be if he had had a blonde angel to give him shelter, as she was doing for these children. 

He is late today, the novice crew taking far longer than he wished to dock the ship. Despite the late hour, he wants to take his latest haul to the church ruins. A trip to a wintery realm gave him the chance to gather more than enough warm blankets and clothes — he hoped it would make up for the lack of food in the sack.

Killian feels the sweat run down his back at the weight, the burning heat of the fabric and the steep incline he had just climbed. As soon as he puts down the sack in its usual place, he stretches his back and wipes the sweat off his brow. His deep satisfied exhale is halted at the feel of something sharp on his back.

“Turn around.”

It is her. He’d recognise that voice anywhere, heard it enough in his dreams. He resumes his breath, steeling himself for her anger. But when he does, she isn’t angry. Instead, she has a curious smile on her face that morphs into parted lips as she takes in his face.

“It’s you…”

All he can think to do is to smile half-heartedly and shrug. “Did you miss me?”

He watches as several emotions run through her face, surprise trumping them all as well as wariness. She glances between him and the bag before she lowers the knife, his knife, the softness of her expression contrasting her put-upon sigh.

“That looks like a very heavy bag.” She nods towards it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure, like the gentleman you are, you wouldn’t mind carrying it inside.”

“Of course,” Killian is quick to haul the bag over his shoulder once more, not caring about how heavy it is anymore, an easy grin on his face, relieved to be allowed inside, to be in her presence. “Lead the way.”

He watches her approach him, to walk ahead of him before she stops in front of him — so close he can see the freckles on her nose, so close he can feel the spell of her eyes working. His wandering thoughts get interrupted by a familiar sharp sting to his side.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

He knew she was strong, fierce, but the fire in her eyes, the love she has for her wards, is mesmerizing. He is sure his face reflects his stupefaction, his wonder. “I would despair if you did.”

It comes out more sincere than flirtatious and her eyes widen a fraction as she looks for something in his eyes. She takes a quick step back to open the large crumbling wooden door for him. Killian tries to get a grip on his overwhelming emotions for this relative stranger as he hauls the bag inside. 

He stops with one foot inside the church’s hall to look at her. “Have I earned your favor enough to know your name?”

She raises her eyebrow at him, her unimpressed look losing its strength with the uptick of her lips. But she doesn’t answer and he continues his way inside, waiting for her to close the door so he can follow her.

Her voice is almost lost in the echo of the door’s latches slotting into place. “Emma.”

“Emma.”

It sounds like a song. It feels like a missing piece fitting in place. 

Emma approaches him with anxiety in her eyes, worry, fear.

“Killian.” He gives his back, willingly, desperately.

“Killian.”

It sounds like a symphony. It feels like his whole life had been missing her voice.

He wonders what she sees in his face as she nods towards a nearby door, her smile hidden in the faint light of the room. “Let’s go, they’ll want to meet you.”

How could he not follow her?

Killian had watched the children some times before. But to see them in front of them, their faces fuller, their cheeks rosier, is a balm to his aching heart. Gone is the huddled pile of children in the corner. Now, each had their blanket, their bed. He sees some of his books on top of crates, broken furniture, bedsheets.

For all his work for his kingdom, nothing makes him feel more worthy than seeing the happiness in these children’s faces, seeing the outcome of his efforts. Seeing his pride reflected on Emma’s face.

“Everyone, this is Killian,” Emma announces to the others, gesturing with her hand towards him. “He’s the one who brought us the blankets and the food and the books,” There is an excited murmur around the echoing room and Killian feels his cheeks redden. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Killian!” 

He is overwhelmed by the gratitude in their voices. Killian bends in a small but grateful bow. When he straightens, Emma’s smile stops him, stops his breathing, his heart, he is sure to have died in the face of such beauty. 

The clearing of a throat startles him from his thoughts and he thinks he sees a blush in Emma’s cheeks. There is a long haired dark haired woman standing in front of them, an amused grin on her face and a curious raised eyebrow. 

“Right,” Emma clears her throat and Killian takes the brunette’s extended hand. “This is Snow.” “Ah, yes,” Killian grins. “I have been acquainted with your archery prowess.”

Their vanishing confusion and sudden realization is interrupted by a hand tugging on his uniform jacket. Killian looks down to find a small boy, holding a large book — a book he recognises as a compilation of fables from all over the realm. One of his.

“Can you read to us?”

Before he answers, he glances at the two women, their startled expressions turning soft at the child’s request and while Snow keeps her fondness on the boy, Emma looks at him as if the question is a test that he must pass. 

“I’d love to, lad,” Killian answers with a kind smile.

There is an excited cacophony of movement as they all find a place to settle to listen to the stories and, soon enough, he finds himself amongst an army of children, reading tales of hope, magic and happy endings. There are small hands helping him turn the pages and heads on his shoulders and legs. There’s a few heads softly snoring away before he reaches the middle of the book. And there are whispers of children reading over him, either because they know the story by heart or because they are learning. 

Every now and again, he’ll find Emma’s eyes and he’ll see hope, hidden behind cautiousness, fear. But in those small gazes he finds that they shine with trust, that his actions have won her over enough to be allowed to stay in her presence, in the presence of her charges. His heart fills with pride, like his whole life was made to be by her side, to make her smile, to make her proud. 

A pull on his sleeve reminds him that he hasn’t finished and Killian looks back to the book to continue, but not before seeing her amused chuckle and her blushing cheeks. By the end of the book, he is ready to hand over his heart to her, a feeling he never thought he would have again.

Killian is rescued from the pile of snoring children by the joint efforts of Snow, Emma and himself. Once he stands on two feet, he looks at the children as Emma drapes warm blankets over them. 

“You’ve done a wonderful job here,” he praises in a quiet voice. 

“Someone has to do it,” Snow shrugs at him from where she stands with her hands on her hips. “It’s not like the royal family is interested in taking care of the orphans in their kingdom.”

Killian presses his lips together at the accusation in her tone and in her gaze as she looks at his uniform. He feels Emma’s eyes on his side, clearly sizing him up like her friend is doing. “Aye,” he nods, echoes of “you’re a good sailor for an orphan” bumping in his brain. “They are willing to put aside your shortcomings only if you’re useful to them, but the moment you make a mistake you become useless.” He shrugs.

Snow tilts her head as she looks at him curiously. “So why are you part of it?”

“My brother,” Killian answers with a heavy sigh. “We were abandoned by our father after our mother passed.” He doesn’t look at either woman, crossing his arms to hold himself together. “Liam was the one to make sure we survived, he joined the navy and I know it was difficult for him but he did his best. When I became old enough, I followed his footsteps. I wanted to make him proud.”

“Where is he now?”

“Snow!” Emma hisses and he wonders if she can tell the unhappy ending from his voice.

“He’s dead,” He answers and lets himself gaze into the wide eyes of both women, Snow looking chastised. “They went out on a mission for the King and he didn’t return, his sailors told me that he fought valiantly before he died.”

“I’m sorry that you lost him.” Emma whispers and he looks into her eyes for a few seconds, not finding pity but compassion. He nods gratefully.

“I’m-”

Killian interrupts Snow’s apology with a raised hand. “Do not apologize, please, I understand your suspicion and your concern,” His gaze turns to the sleeping children, peaceful expressions on their faces. “You’re doing important work and I hope I can keep helping you in any way possible.”

Emma smiles at him, a soft smile that makes his blood warm and his heart beat faster. “It’s getting late,” She breathes out, sending a look towards Snow that makes her smile exasperated. “I’ll accompany you out.” He is confused, the sight of her smile battling against her quick dismissal, but nods nonetheless.

Killian bows to the dark haired woman receiving a mocking bow in return and he can’t help the grin at the woman’s fire. He is glad to be on her good graces and not on the pointy end of her arrows… anymore.

Emma guides him outside, the full moon illuminating her golden hair and he wants to touch it, run his fingers through the silky strands. He clasps his hands behind his back to stop himself. “I meant it, Emma, I want to keep helping you, if you’ll allow me.”

She turns to him with a curious smile, her eyes looking into his soul. “I held you at knife point.”

He lets out a startled laugh. “Aye, you did,” He nods and scratches the back of his neck, knowing he needs to confess. “I, uh, followed you,” He continued hastily at her wide eyes. “I was in the tavern when you were there, I saw you steal from the other sailors and I followed you.”

“You didn’t call the guards.”

“I followed you here and saw the children and I didn’t want to destroy this safe haven.”

“Because you’re an orphan too.”

He smiles at her confident guess. “Aye,” He nods. “I wanted to help but I doubt you would have believed me then, hence…” He gestures towards the church as a way to encompass his actions.

“Is that the only reason you did all this?” She asks and she takes a step towards him, her green eyes reflecting the stars above. He tightens his grip on his hands behind his back. “And I should tell you, I am very good at telling when someone is lying to me.”

“Hmm, yes,” His tone sounds uncertain even to himself and she raises her eyebrow in challenge. “Well,” He clears his throat and looks away for a second, thanking the dim light for concealing his blushing cheeks. “I was also very fascinated with you.”

His confession is received by a reflecting set of blushing cheeks and a shy smile. Interesting. She looks away for a second before meeting his gaze and he feels as if his lungs have stopped working. “I believe you.” She takes a step back but her eyes are still on him.

“Can I return tomorrow?”

Her smile widens a fraction. “Goodnight, Killian.” It’s a dismissal and yet his chest fills with hope. 

“Goodnight, Emma.” 

Killian watches as she takes a deep breath and he prepares himself. She leans forward and her lips meet his cheek and his heart stops for a second. He flutters his eyes shut at the feeling and when he opens them, Emma has the door open. He waves absentmindedly, his brain still reeling from the kiss. She waves back with another small smile before retreating inside.

The walk back to his ship goes by in the blink of an eye — his thoughts on her smile, the shape of her eyes, the feel of her lips. Killian didn’t believe in love at first sight but he knew his heart didn’t belong to him alone. It belonged to her.

---

Killian returns the next day and the day after that and the day after that. For as long as his ship is docked at the port, he finds himself hiking up to the abandoned church under the setting sun and being greeted by her bright smile and the warmth of the children.

He brings with him whatever he can gather, as he has before. And the children start to expect him and Emma welcomes him with a smile and it’s starting to feel like home. The small house he got for himself in town is starting to feel empty and lonely when compared to tales read by firelight or young voices battling for who can tell their stories loudest or Emma’s laughter.

That’s his favorite sound of all. The way she becomes calmer in the children’s presence. Her easy smiles and the way they don’t dim in his presence. It’s how he integrates seamlessly in their space, despite Snow and Emma’s mistrust for the navy.

Killian lives in a bubble of the children’s affection, Snow’s friendship and Emma’s slowly gained trust. So much so that when he’s reminded of an upcoming mission, he feels as if the bubble burst under his feet. To be a month away from her smiles, from her touch, from her mere presence, it’s what he expects torture to be like.

The hike takes longer, his feet feel heavier and he can hear his brother admonishing him in his head for skulking around and wasting the time he could spend with Emma and the children. 

Besides, he has news that he hopes they’ll appreciate.

“Killian! Killian!” One of the young boys runs up to him after he gingerly walks through the wooden doors breaking the quiet setting. His smile is immediate. “We have new toys!”

Killian catches Emma’s eyes and her smile is so bright that he stumbles on his own feet when the boy pulls on his sleeve. She hides her laughter and he feels his blush going all the way up to his cheeks. He waves at her and she waves back, a softness in her eyes that he can’t help reciprocate. There’s a small chest by the beds that he knows Snow built with a kind carpenter in town after helping on his workshop for a few weeks. First, it was to keep their blankets and pieces of clothing but now he finds they have stuffed some wooden toys in it too.

“Where did you get these?” 

“Emma and Snow got it for us,” a young girl answers, her eyes shining with joy. “Do you want to play with us?”

“I would love to,” he grins and leans to talk low towards the children, not low enough for Emma not to hear. “Maybe Emma would like to join us.”

The girl’s grin is wide as she rushes towards where Emma stands and pulls her by the hand, excitedly telling her all the ideas they have for what to play. They sit on the floor, their legs crossed, knees knocking into one another while they move around dolls and carts and animals in a strange depiction of life that is entirely too entertaining for everyone involved.

He finds himself watching her. Watching the way she smiles just that little bit brighter at a particular loud laugh from one of the children or the way her face contorts into fun expressions making the story even more compelling. The children’s attention is quickly turned to something else, a book, a hairstyle one of the boys learned to do, as children do. 

Killian turns to Emma to watch her already looking at him and he feels his cheeks heat up. She smiles and his heart feels like it’s going to explode. He needs to say something.

“I have good news.” His voice sounds strained even to his ears and he clears his throat.

“I like the sound of that.” Emma turns to him and he swallows at the sight of her bright green eyes. 

“As you know,” he clears his throat again, clearing the mess of words in his brain caused by his distracting thoughts. “I have a rather large crew on my ships and I know them quite well, there are good people under my care, and—”

Her hand on his stops him, her amused eyes and smile halting the words in his throat. “You’re babbling, Captain Jones.”

“Right.” He huffs out a laugh and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll cut to the chase, my first mate wants a child.”

Her eyebrow furrows in confusion as she opens and closes her mouth a few times before tilting her head. “That is not what I thought you would say.” She licks her lips and clears her throat. “Your first mate wants a child?”

“Aye, his wife and he have been trying for years but they haven’t been successful and I thought I could help.” Gods, he feels his heart on his throat and his brain feels like it’s underwater. 

Her eyes widen and she backs away for a moment. “You want to help them?”

“Of course,” He sounds more determined now, the idea of not helping someone in need is inconceivable. “Why shouldn’t I?”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes scanning his, annoyance glinting in the middle of the green. “Killian,” her hands cup his cheeks and his lips part. “I need you to start at the beginning and I need you to be clear about what you’re trying to tell me.”

His brain surfaces and it feels clearer the more he looks into her eyes, his breathing steadies and his heart calms and by the gods, is she the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes on. “I was hoping to house one of the children with my first mate and his wife.” The words are clear, confident, but there’s still a twinge of anxiety when she backs away, the warmth of her hands gone and leaving only cold.

“One of my children?” Her arms cross at her chest and there’s a scared frown on her face, a need to protect. He knew it would be hard but he didn’t mean to muck it all up so fast.

“They are good people with so much love to give and I know they would be wonderful parents.” He lays his hand on her knee and is ecstatic when she doesn’t pull away. “I wanted to talk to you first, so you can meet them and they can meet the children. Nothing will be done without your permission.” He catches her eyes, putting all his devotion and trust into his gaze. “Yours and Snow’s.”

Her eyes burn into his, but he lets it burn, would burn for her a million times over. She takes a deep breath. “I need to think about it, Killian,” Emma pulls away then to stand up and he stops himself from going after her, standing up himself. “I need to talk to Snow.”

“Of course.” He nods understandingly. “I’ll come back tomorrow?” He doesn’t want to hear her say no, doesn’t want to miss out on seeing her when he’ll be gone for a month soon, but he’ll respect her wishes.

Emma looks at him for a long moment and his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. She leans forward and he holds his breath. Her lips touch his cheek and like a repeat from their first (proper) meeting, his eyes flutter shut, willing his body to memorize everything about her kiss. 

“Goodnight, Killian,” she whispers, a small smile at the corner of her lips, and he feels hope like a warm blanket over his chest.

“Goodnight, Emma.”

---

Snow is waiting for him outside the large wooden doors, arms crossed over her chest and a deep frown on her face. He feels like he is about to be scolded. 

“Hello, milady.” He bows out of practice but also to give himself a short reprieve from her look. “It’s too cold to be standing outside.” She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and he feels 10 inches tall. He sighs defeated. “Let’s have it then.”

“Did you tell everyone about our little operation then? Should we expect the royal guard to tear this place down and ruin all our work?”

His eyes widen and he now recognises the betrayal in her eyes, the fear and anger deep enough to cut. “No!” He is quick to deny. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Emma said your first mate wants to adopt one of the children,” she accuses.

He sighs, annoyed at himself. “He doesn’t know,” he explains. “I have known him for years, he served under my brother before me, and I have known his wife just as long. I know they have been hoping to start a family for more than a decade but they have been unable to. I thought about telling them, to give them some hope, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

Her shoulders relax and his along with her. “I see,” Snow says, her eyes looking at him with a new light. With something that looks a lot like pride. “Emma has been going crazy over this.”

Killian groans. “I’m a bloody idiot.” He looks up to the sky for strength and looks down to find Snow looking at him with amusement. “I was trying to explain all of this to Emma but it didn’t come out right, I find myself unable to speak around her.”

“I have noticed,” Snow says with a small smirk on her lips. 

“I mean,” Killian stutters. “It’s not like— I— She just—”

“You have feelings for her,” Snow interrupts and all he can do is open and close his mouth, looking like a fish out of water. “Please, don’t try to deny it.” She raises her hand and her eyebrow. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Killian feels his cheeks turn red and looks down even as he smiles. “I could never, milady.”

“And I’m assuming she doesn’t know and you’re too scared to tell her?”

He sighs. “It’s not as if I can be sure she feels the same or that it won’t ruin everything if she doesn’t.”

“And so you are choosing to say nothing?”

Maybe he can practice saying it to her first. “I—I’m going away for a month.”

Snow’s eyes widen a fraction. “Away?”

“Aye,” He nods. “One of our other Captains has recently had a baby and he wants to stay home with his wife and child. Our superior officer doesn’t think it a worthy reason to skirt from his duties so I offered to take his place instead. He’ll stay here and train the cadets in my place.”

“That’s very noble of y—”

Killian shakes his head immediately. “It really isn’t. I have no family, no one needing me here, it was the right thing to do.”

Snow grabs onto his forearm. “It doesn’t make it any less noble.” She gestures with her head towards the door and he follows her inside. “Although it is somewhat of a lie, don’t you think?” He raises his eyebrow in surprise and confusion. “Well, you have us now.”

His chest feels both light and full as he looks at her smile, the accepting and affectionate smile of family. At the way the children welcome him into their home. At the way Emma smiles at him involuntarily before she remembers their conversation and it dies down. 

She looks at Snow and he watches her nod, too focused on watching Emma’s face fill with relief as her anxieties were assuaged. His heart thumps at the happy smile she sends him.

“Why don’t you bring your first mate over tomorrow?” Snow asks and he has to forcefully pull his attention away from the blonde who blushes as she gives her attention to one of the boys. “If you trust him, so do we, but we’d like to meet him.”

Killian nods, focusing on the dark haired woman instead. “Of course.”

“You might also want to tell her how you feel.” He scratches the back of his neck at her advice, the fear of rejection too great. “Or at least tell her that you’re leaving for a month.”

He sighs resignedly. “Aye, I will.”

---

Killian doesn’t tell her that night. The children were particularly enthusiastic at their presence and the aftermath of the misunderstanding was still too raw. He is a coward, that’s it. He wouldn’t be able to handle her rejection, it would have broken his heart into pieces.

Besides, they had other important things to discuss.

It felt strange to climb the hill with company this time. He could feel the nervous energy in his first mate and his wife, the hope and desperation of what was waiting for them at the top. They stop at the top, the large wooden doors a foot away.

“Are you ready?”

Killian watches as they take deep breaths, their eyes on each other and he pushes down his jealousy, his need for something like they share — love, family, devotion. 

William, his first mate, waits until his wife nods before he does, too, and Killian forces himself to push down all these ugly emotions. When he opens the door, the silence inside the church is unusual, nothing like he’s used to. They walk into the room to find the children in a line, their best clothes on and combed hair. He can see some of them trying to find comfort in the strange clothing and his lips tick up in a smile. Emma looks at him and he sees the anxiety and fear in her eyes. He wants to hug her, hold her and make it better.

Snow takes the lead, introducing William and Ellie to the children. Emma’s shoulders relax as the couple talks and shows their interest. He stands next to her when the rest all gather around the toys and books the children own.

“This is a good thing, right?” Her voice is small, worried, anxious. “They’ll be a family, won’t they?”

Her hand takes hold of his forearm and his heart stops for a moment before he slides his arm away so he can interlock their fingers instead. “They are good people.” He feels her hand grip his tighter, wanting some of his confidence. “I promise you.”

She nods and he feels her relax next to him. His thumb rubs slowly against her knuckles and she looks up at him. He takes in the brightness of her eyes, this sea of emotion that he can’t fully sink into and he finds himself with the familiar urge to kiss her. 

A loud laughter breaks their moment as they look back at the children and he proceeds to ignore Snow’s knowing gaze. There isn’t time for confessions of love or upcoming voyages.

---

And there isn’t time in the following week either. 

Not when they had to make the transition of the twins into their new home. Not when Emma and Snow have to focus on the others and make the change easier. Not when they plan to find homes for all the other children.

Not when cowardice speaks louder.

Killian’s running out of time.

“William said that Gretel slept through the night, that’s a great sign.” Emma’s smile is bright as they sit outside, the children sleeping inside after a long day.

“Aye, that’s great.” He hates how fake his voice sounds because it is good news but his thoughts are scattered. 

“He also said that Hansel loved going aboard the ship the other day.”

He hums in agreement, his eyes on his hands. 

How is he going to tell her?  

“I also found out that there’s a pack of ravenous wolves in the chapel.”

What if she hates him?

“Interesting.”

Or worse, what if she doesn’t care?

“Killian!”

He’s startled out of his thoughts and he whips his head towards Emma who’s looking at him with a curious smile. “I’m sorry, love, I—I was lost in thought.”

“I can see that.” Emma watches him for a moment, her smile softening and her body turning towards him. Her hand holds his loosely and that manages to both unsettle his heart and settle his thoughts. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while but I’ve been afraid.” He scratches at the back of his ear, and misses the hopeful glint in her eyes.

“You can tell me anything.”

“Right,” He nods and takes a deep breath, feeling as she prepares herself next to him. It’s now or never. “I am going away for a month.” 

Killian turns to watch her reaction, seeing as a million emotions flit through her mind — most surprising of all, disappointment — before her eyes widen and she leans away from him. 

“Oh,” Emma looks down, her brow furrowing before she looks up, her face an unreadable mask. “When are you leaving?”

Fuck. “First light.” He presses his lips together after his answer and watches as she looks away from him, her frown deepening.

“Right.”

“But I’ll be back in a month’s time,” he barrels on. “And I’m sure there’ll be something exotic I can bring for you all.”

“Th—that’s great.” Emma’s smile is brittle and he hates himself for putting it there. “I should go back inside, in case they need me,” she adds, standing up and he’s quick to follow her.

“Emma—”

“It’s fine, you have to do your duty.” She crosses her arms over her chest and her gaze escapes his. 

There’s a desperation in his chest and he lets it take over. He lays his hands on her biceps, a comforting gesture that has her eyes widen as she looks up at him. He falls into the spell of her eyes and his mouth moves before his good sense can stop him.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.” 

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but it’s loud enough in the quiet night and it’s enough for him to hear her breath hitch. Her eyes flick between his, reading him, searching. There’s hope in those green depths and a warmth to her that he’ll miss. He can’t help but watch her, recording every detail into his brain. 

Her chest rises and falls in a deep breath. Her arms loosen and while one hand takes his in her grip, the other cups his cheek. His eyes flutter closed as he feels the warmth of her palm on his skin. He feels her lips on his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth. Her scent is intoxicating and his hand clenches on hers. 

“Good.”

Her hand leaves his cheek and he opens his eyes. Killian watches her soft smile and the new light in her eyes. It’ll be okay. They let go of each other’s hands, and he feels a little colder. He hates the thought of leaving, of being apart from her. But he will carry her in his mind and that will have to be enough.

“A month.”

He nods. “A month.”

---

It’s two months before their small village’s outline appears in the distance. Strong storms and conflicts delayed his journey, his desperation not enough to control the winds or the fickle ways of people. 

Her hair is not the right shade of golden in his mind, her eyes more grass green than sea green, her skin not as soft. Charcoal doesn’t hold a candle to her beauty. He’s sketched her likeness anywhere he could find. A sketch of her eyes found its way on the margins of a map and he didn’t hear the end of it for a whole month. 

“You must be itching to see your lady again, Captain.” William claps him on the shoulder, an amused but kind smile on his face.

He sighs, not eager for a repeat of the hazing. “You know very well she isn’t my lady, Will.”

“That isn’t a ‘no’, sir.” 

“Get back to work!” He shoves him with an exasperated smile, receiving a teasing one back.

They go through the motions of docking the ship with practiced ease, the crew eager to reunite with their families. He takes a deep breath when the ship stops, eager himself to climb up the hill to see the people he considers his family.

“Looks like someone was itching to see you,” William nudges him and gestures with his head towards someone at the docks. 

His eyes follow his movement and his breath itches when he sees her blonde hair blown by the wind, her hands fisting her skirts and an eager look in her face. Killian waves at her in a daze, watching as her eyes widen when she finally locates him. 

“I assume you know what to do in my absence, Will?”

“Looking to scratch that itch then?”

Killian points a finger at him, still not taking his eyes from Emma. “Thin ice, Will.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

He makes his way down the gangplank in a daze, watching as she runs towards him. He had imagined their reunion a million times during his journey but feeling her body against his as she throws herself into his arms, puts all his fantasies to shame. He ignores the whistles and commentary from his crew, silently sending a thanks to Will when he cuts it short and orders them back to work.

He buries his face on her neck, breathes in her scent, feels her body against his, and feels her do the same. She pulls away after a moment and he helps her set her feet on the ground. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears when they lock on his and he knows he could never replicate their shade. 

“You said you’d be gone for a month.” Her tone is accusing but quiet, hurt tainting her voice.

“I’m so sorry, love,” He pleads, his mouth pulling into a frown. “I—”

Her lips on his effectively shut up any explanation he could give. Nothing else matters aside from the taste of her mouth, from the soft moans that rumble in her chest that he can’t help but reciprocate. Everything else fades away — the louder calls from the ship, the whispers at their public display of affection, everything. Nothing else matters.

They pull away to breathe, her forehead pressed against his. His arms are wrapped tight around her waist and he keeps his eyes closed at the feel of her fingers on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re back,” she whispers. “That’s all I care about.”

“You kissed me.” He states the obvious, his thundering heart as his only excuse.

“I did,” she chuckles nervously and he opens his eyes to see her amused smile contrast with her anxious eyes. “Snow advised me to be honest about my feelings but I’m very bad with words.” He pulls back to look at her, watches as the light in her eyes gains a new meaning. 

He is an idiot.

“I love you.” The words come out easy now and his heart threatens to explode when a bright smile stretches across her face.

“You, on the other hand, are very good with yours.” She grins and presses their lips together in a discoordinated kiss with their smiles so wide on their lips. “I love you too.”

He wraps his arms around her waist one more time and spins her around. He vows to remember the sound of her laughter for the end of time. 

He also vows to give her the ring he bought during his voyage.

---

Killian returns to the church to find only a couple of children left. His wide eyes find Emma’s amused ones as she explains that William’s wife had helped them house the rest of the children with the other families in town. They’ve been adapting well.

Her hand finds his when he shoots worried eyes at the last remaining children. “We have been waiting for your ship to get back,” she continues at his confused look. “They were waiting for their husbands to get back so they could decide together.”

“Where’s Snow?”

“Probably seeing her blacksmith,” Emma chuckles. “They have been courting for about a month after his brother and his wife decided to adopt Grace. She punched him in the face and they’ve been in love ever since.”

She lets out the most beautiful laugh at the way his eyes widened in surprise. “It seems a lot has happened in my absence.”

“And now a lot more can happen in your presence.” Emma reassures him with a peck to his lips.

---

And she’s right.

A lot happens in his presence over the course of the next month. All the children that used to roam around the deserted church now have forever homes of their own. Snow and her new husband now have a home above the blacksmith shop. Emma finds a job by the docks and is now living with him.

And Killian yearns to see the ring he picked out on her finger.

They have dinner at William’s often. He decides to take her the long way around tonight on their way back home. Just so they can stop by the docks, the exact spot where she kissed him.

He considers it the ideal place. 

“I do love to see the moon reflecting on the water,” Emma sighs, her head leaning on his shoulder as they amble down the wooden planks before stopping. 

“That is why I brought us here,” he cheeks, chuckling at the way she nudges him. “That and for another important reason.” He clears his throat, his nerves making a most unwelcome appearance.

She lifts her head to look up at him, curious. “Oh?”

Killian pulls away from her, taking her hands in both of his. “Do you remember what happened in this very spot a month ago?”

Her forehead wrinkles in thought before she widens her eyes when she catches wind of what he’s planning. He swallows against the lump in his throat, looking at her hands.

“In this very spot you changed my life, you kissed me and pulled a confession from me that I never expected to hear you reciprocate.” He releases one of her hands to find the ring in his pocket and hears her stifle a gasp. “And it’s in this very spot that I want to change our life. I want to go down on one knee—” And he does. “And I want to give my heart and myself to you and ask you to give yourself to me in return. I want you to be my wife and I want to be your husband for as long as I live.” He takes a deep breath and finally looks up into her eyes to find them shining with tears and her lips wearing the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. He clears his throat against the lump of emotion. “Emma, will you marry me?”

She’s nodding before he’s finished his question, her hands all but forcing him to his feet. Her lips on his are desperate, loving, and he can taste her tears. His heart feels complete as she grabs him, pulls him to her, keeps him in her hold, pours her love into her kiss. He gives it back tenfold and he knows that she holds his entire being in her hands, in her mouth, in her heart.

The ring manages to find its way onto her finger and she moves her hand to see the green stone reflecting the moonlight. Her hand takes his and he smiles widely at the feel of the jewelry against his skin and all that it represents. 

“I did tell you I would bring you something from my travels.” He answers her unasked question, his finger tapping the stone.

Her mouth gapes open, her eyes looking into his searching for the falsehood but finding nothing. “But I— We—” She stutters.

“I’ve been known to dabble in hopeful thoughts every now and then.” He shrugs, his smile widening at the roll of her eyes.

“You’ve simply spent too much time around Snow.” They are laughing when they kiss again.

---

The night is cold as they return home but they are too happy to focus on anything but each other. They don’t notice the cold wind blowing from the sea or the amused looks of their neighbors. They don’t notice that someone has been following them since they left the docks.

“I have been looking for you, Captain Jones.”

The unfamiliar high-pitched voice drifts down the alley, its singsong tune floating down the space between two long-empty shops. Killian pulls Emma behind him, as they both stop, and strains his eyes to locate the stranger. 

“Who’s there?”

A long haired silhouette slithers from the darkness into the moonlight. He looks dirty and rough, his feet dragging along the cobblestones. 

“Someone whose life you’ve ruined.”

Killian frowns, focusing on the man in front of him. 

“Who is it, Killian?” Emma’s voice is quiet, the question directed at him but her eyes on the figure, her defenses on high alert.

The man looks up and Killian’s spine straightens in response, recognising a face from his past. Memories of dark hair tangled in his hands, of a fierce smile and adventurous eyes assaulting him at once. He can still remember her grateful smile and how sweet it tasted when he had helped her aboard a ship, her young boy already eager to explore the “big boat”. 

He had thought himself in love, had mourned the loss. But nothing compared to his feelings towards Emma. That was clearer now that his past was catching up to his present.

“Rumplestilskin,” He said, an unsatisfactory answer for Emma but good enough for the demon.

“I’m glad to see you remember,” the man hisses out with an ugly grin on his face. “It’ll make my revenge sweeter.” He brings his arm to his side and a long oddly-shaped knife glints in the light.

Emma gasps behind him as they both lay eyes on the weapon, her grip tightening on his arm. He wants to get her out of here, wants to keep her safe, wants to protect the happy future he envisioned, the one that started with the ring on her finger.

Killian takes a deep breath. “Have your revenge then.” He ignores the pull on his arm, Emma fighting against his words. “But you must let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Killian—”

“On the contrary, Captain Jones,” his gleeful voice interrupts her. The meaning hidden behind those words causes panic to settle in his veins. “She is how I’m getting my revenge.”

Rumplestilskin moves faster than either of them, their movements hindered by their desire to protect one another. While Killian tries to pull Emma away, she puts herself in front of him. In a blur of movement, Emma lets out a shocked gasp and Rumplestilskin grins behind her.

Nothing else matters aside from the blood rapidly covering her clothed chest from the exit wound. Her panicked hands grasping for his. There’s an awful noise as the knife is pulled from her back and she stumbles towards him. Nothing else matters aside from the fact that the love of his life is dying in his arms. Nothing else matters.

“No!” 

His hand finds her wound, pressing down even though he knows it's no use, he does it all the same. He whispers his denials, his eyes roaming over her face, her wide eyes and her trembling lips, begging for it all to return to how it was — to her wide happy smile and her eyes so full of love and her laugh echoing in the night.

“Killian, ple—”

“Don’t speak,” he begs, lowering her onto the ground on his knees. “I’m going to fix this.” He presses harder on the stab wound, her blood gushing from it.

Her breathing becomes shallow, her eyes focused on his, begging. “Killian…”

“Emma, please.”

“No amount of begging will help her, I’m afraid,” Rumplestilskin sounds smug and all Killian wants to do is strike until he speaks no more, but that desire isn’t greater than his need to be by Emma’s side. Nothing will ever be. There’s a hiss from the man and a metal sound. “This is where you will find out what it is to lose.”

“Killian,” she whispers, her hand shaking as it finds his cheek. He sees love reflected in her eyes overwhelming her fear, braver than he could ever hope to be. “Don’t even think about following me.” 

He’s shaking his head before she even finishes, his eyes blurring with tears, memories pulling at his heart, shredding it with cruel claws. “I can’t live without you.” he argues, his voice quiet.

“Try,” her voice is strong, her eyes determined and he clutches at her chest, feeling her heart beat faster under his palm. “For me. Don’t let him win.”

“Too late for that.” Rumplestilskin’s singsong voice grates in his ears and he looks up at the sound of his approaching footsteps, Emma’s hand falling to his forearm.

“What are you waiting for then?” Killian taunts, a surge of faked bravery tinging his tone. “Kill me.” Her hand grips weakly against his arm and he pulls her closer — if he is to die, he’ll die with her. He holds out his left hand towards him in a taunting move. “Or are you too much of a coward?” 

The demon’s giggle is shrill and he swears there are shadows clinging to his form. “I’m not going to kill you, dearie.” His eyes shine unnaturaly and his lips stretch in a predatory grin. “I’m going to curse you.” With a quick swipe, the thrice-bloodied knife slashes against his hand. He pulls it to him, noting the long swipe from the heel to the tip of his ring finger. He looks up in surprise to find Rumplestilskin holding the knife up to the large shadowy shape in the darkness. “I want him to suffer for a millenia. I want him to live in pain just as I have, to hide in the shadows. I want to see him lose his reason to live, his heart.” 

Killian tires of hearing the man’s maniacal voice. Nothing else matters aside from Emma’s fluttering eyes. Her slowing heartbeat. Her shallow breaths. The only thing that matters is her.

“I want to destroy him one last time,” Rumplestilskin continues, the shadows taking over the alley. “This dagger binds us and so shall my curse.” The moon is eclipsed by a dark shadow, swallowing the demon and his shrill laughs.

Killian should be scared, should be preparing for a fight as everything else turns dark. He feels a buzz in his limbs, cold in his veins, a tether around his heart. It urges him to move, to act, to run. But as Emma’s eyes lose their shine, he finds himself incapable of doing anything but look at her. A vigil to her death. 

“I love you, Emma,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her forehead, his eyes closed.

There’s silence as he feels her heart stop, as she takes her last breath, her last words lost in the salty air. He opens his eyes to watch her lifeless body illuminated by the full moon, her skin growing colder, her eyes unseeing. With shaking hands, he closes them, dooming himself to forget the exact shade of green once more. 

Emma’s dead.

A sob wracks through his throat at the complete realization. She is dead and he has nothing else to live for. She was the only thing that mattered. The only one. And now she’s gone. He looks up at the moon, begging for a solution, anything but finds only silence. 

The bloodied dagger glints in the moonlight, abandoned after Rumplestilskin disappeared. A solution. He takes it by the hilt. A plan crafting in his mind. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” He whispers, running a finger down her cold cheek. “I’ve always followed my heart and you’ve taken it with you,” Killian lets out a mirthless laugh, feeling the weight of the knife. “I must get it back.”

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the scent of copper in the air, inhaling courage. Killian looks at her face one last time, vowing to find her on the other side. The tip of the dagger digs through his shirt as he inhales sharply. He forces the dagger through his flesh in a sudden move that makes him gasp. 

But it doesn’t come. There is no pain, no breath-stealing pain, no spiral towards death. No rest, no peace. There is the discomfort of the knife sunk into his chest, his heart quiet around it.

Killian lets out a bellow of anguish, of anger, of grief, of hopelessness. He can’t even follow her if he wanted to, he can’t die, he can only live in a world without her. He sits on the cobblestone, holding Emma’s body to his, tears sliding down his cheeks. He sits and waits. Waits for a sign, for divine intervention, for anything. He waits until the sun begins to rise. He waits until the tingling in his fingers becomes more uncomfortable, until it becomes painful. Until he finds himself slithering into the shadows, watching as Emma is discovered by the merchants, their bellows for help filling the quiet morning.

He hides in the shadows, his veins buzzing with hunger. He stuffs the pilfered ring in his pocket, close to his quiet heart. His skin crawls as they move her, lacking the gentleness or care that he used with her and he wants to stop them, to push them away. He can’t and he is left to crumble in the shadows, his suffering only just beginning.

[spartanguard]

sons of love and death, 13/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon] A/N: Here we are at the end of my @cssns story for 2023!! Hope you like how I've wrapped it up! Thank you all for following along this adventure! (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl !) rated M | 1.3k words | AO3 |  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Several weeks later

Storybrooke’s harbor was just a few bobbing lights on the horizon, almost disappearing into the glare from the setting sun behind it. It was a clear, cool evening—perfect for a sail. 

Killian had navigated them to a spot just far enough away for privacy, but close enough to get back to town quickly if needed—not that they were concerned with anything happening, but mostly out of habit. That, and he didn’t want to get too far into open water until he was more comfortable with his new prosthesis.

It had taken him a week or so to recover from what happened with Dorian—more mentally than physically, though the stab wound had left a scar over his heart—but once he got through the thick of it and started getting back into a normal routine, he realized he needed something better than the old wooden hand. Surely in a realm with the technological advancements of this one, there had to be better options?

There were—probably too many, if he was being honest. They’d had to go outside of Storybrooke to meet with a specialist (as well as come up with a cover story for his original loss of limb and the subsequent primitive surgery on his wrist), but he was quickly on his way to having a more modern prosthesis.

(A more expensive one, as well; Emma’s eyes had gone wide when she heard the estimated cost, but Gold had been surprisingly generous and offered to pay for it. Killian had first assumed it was Belle’s prompting, but was shocked to find she had done no such thing. It wasn’t quite turning over a leaf, but perhaps it was the final nail in the coffin of their rivalry.)

The following weeks of physical therapy were rough. When learning his magic, he’d compared it to flexing a muscle in a new way; this was similar, but far more literal—and rather more painful, as those in his left forearm had seen little action in the last centuries. Now, though, he was finally getting used to using them, as well as his new hook. 

He had debated getting something a bit more hand-like, but after two hundred years, a hook was what he was used to. This one was far less intimidating, though, and far more dexterous; it actually opened and closed! He was still perfecting his modified grip, but the fact that he had one was thrilling.

(And he particularly liked practicing by using it to remove Emma’s bra straps. He was still working on unclasping, though.)

It was smaller than his old one, but still fit against the spokes of the Jolly Roger’s wheel perfectly. Weighing anchor was still a minor challenge, though, so he had Emma help him with that, and then waited for her at the railing. 

“You’re sure about this?” she asked for the umpteenth time as she joined him.

“Aye; it’s time.”

From the deep pockets of her winter coat, she produced the dagger. It was still as sharp and wicked-looking as it had been all those weeks ago, and knowing their blood sat in the enameled design was off-putting—even worse that it was forged from the steel that had so long been his companion. So it was high time to say goodbye to it, and all it represented.

The portrait had already been taken care of—buried in a small plot in the cemetery, with an unassuming stone bearing Dorian’s name. (Belle had protested simply entombing such an iconic artifact from literature, but no one felt right about trying to display it anywhere, especially with it being both damaged and cursed.) 

He actually had come to terms with the loss of his brother more quickly than he anticipated. Despite all the drama, they had still come from the same womb, but he realized—after some more late nights fueled by slightly more beer than necessary on the back porch with David—it was more the what-ifs he was lamenting. Again, no one understood that better than his father-in-law. (And, in the process, he realized perhaps what he’d thought he was missing was already right there: regardless of what their relationship might be on paper, David had long since filled the brotherly role Liam left empty, and he admitted that Killian held a similar position in his own life. They could only partly blame the subsequent tears on the booze.) 

And now they would put to rest the last bit of Dorian, and part of Killian’s past.

Emma handed the dagger over to him, and he took it gingerly. Despite the emotional weight it carried, it just felt like any old dagger—no hum of magic, no din of dark whispers. 

He glanced down at the railing, where the burn mark from Dorian’s cigarette was still a blight on the wood. It was a scar it would always carry, just like the one on his chest from the blade’s edge, and so many others from his past. 

But it was just a mark—a memory, one from which he had learned and was moving on. 

A line from Dorian’s namesake novel stood out to him: “What fire does not destroy, it hardens.” In a way, it applied to both of them. Dorian had spent so many years burning in the embers of his own ego, entitlement, and anger that it had hardened his heart even against what love it had let in. Killian, though—he’d walked a similar path, but the fires of the Underworld had only hardened his resolve to fight for the things he loved, no matter what.

He didn’t need a piece of metal to remind him of that; the woman at his side was more than enough.

“Fare thee well,” he said, and without further hesitation, dropped the dagger into the ocean.

As long as they could, they watched it fall through the water, the setting sun glinting off its edges, until it slipped into the depths and out of sight. And with it, a weight that Killian hadn’t realized he’d been carrying also fell away.

He took in a long breath of the sharp sea breeze and slowly let it out, then pulled Emma close to his side. “How do you feel?” she asked.

For a moment, he mused on it; how did he feel? It was a complicated set of emotions to sort through, and he’d probably spend some extra time discussing it in his biweekly session with Archie, but one thought swam to the forefront: “Free.”

His dark history would always be there, but he was no longer going to let it hold him back. It took him coming face-to-face with an even darker turn his life could have taken to realize that it was, but now—he was ready to face the future unburdened, and eager for it to start.

“Good,” Emma said, smiling as she rested her head on his shoulder. “So what do you want to do now?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, then took her hand in his and led her away from the rail. “There was one thing I wanted to do with my magic, but never got a chance to.”

“Which was?”

“Remember that delicious red dress you wore to your father’s engagement ball?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Mm-hmm.” 

“Think you could conjure that up?”

She smirked. “I’ll do you one better.”

The soft, warm breeze of her magic surrounded them, leaving them both dressed as they were that night, the hem of his long tan jacket swishing against her voluminous scarlet skirts. “Perfect,” he murmured, and pulled her close.

And as the sun finally set, revealing a sky full of stars overhead, they danced under the lights—and into whatever lay ahead.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz​ @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

[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.”

*********

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