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hillerskas · 5 years ago

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No Longing for the Moonlight (2.6k)

Their fingers overlap as they both grip the edge of the bucket and maybe Eliott squeezes a bit harder than necessary. Maybe Lucas squeezes back, too.

(ao3)

It starts with a round of shots that taste like nail polish remover.

‘How do you even know what that tastes like?’ Idriss coughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The toilet paper wrapped around it wilts and he curses to himself.

Eliott shrugs and downs his second vodka, wincing as the alcohol stings his chapped lips. A dribble escapes down his chin, taking a strip of makeup with it. ‘Educated guess.’

Idriss closes his eyes briefly, gearing up for the third attack. Another round of clinking shot glasses and burning throats.

‘You guys are idiots,’ Sofiane murmurs, scrolling through his specially curated Halloween playlist.

‘You say that now, but I know for a fact all of the strong stuff’s gonna be gone by the time we get there.’ He sends a pointed glare over to Eliott. ‘Maybe we wouldn’t have to drink like we’re first years if someone had got ready in time.’

Eliott- a little wobbly on his feet now- raises his hands in innocence, ‘Hey… worth it.’

‘He’s right; he does look dead,’ Sofiane comments with a grin as Monster Mash begins to blare tinnily from his phone speaker.

‘DJ, I have a request,’ Idriss says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the phone.

‘Nope,’ Sofiane dismisses, stumbling towards Idriss with a pretty accurate zombie impression. The costume doesn’t hurt either. Eliott chuckles at Idriss’ comically unsettled expression and then decides to pour out more shots.

‘Eliott, please don’t be too wasted for your first kiss with Lucas,’ Sofiane warns, giving up on his pursuit of Idriss.

‘Sofiane, please don’t be so obsessed with mothering me that you miss your first kiss with Imane,’ he bats back. It has the desired effect; a bright blush and a loud, familiar laugh.

‘Seriously, though, man… the tension,’ Idriss leans over the kitchen island to poke at Eliott’s ribs. ‘I can feel it in your bones, he’s gonna kiss you tonight.’

‘What do you- oh,’ Eliott cuts himself off. He snickers and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘How many skeleton jokes have you been saving up?’

‘You didn’t give me much time to prepare, but I’d say about thirty six.’

‘That’s weirdly specific, should I keep a tally to make sure?’ says Sofiane.

Idriss places a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re gonna be the only one sober enough, so I vote yes.’

‘Speaking of sober.’ Eliott offers a final shot to the other boy who simply groans and grudgingly clinks his glass against Eliott’s before necking it.

***

The bitter autumn breeze turns out to be a lot more sobering than Eliott would have liked, but he’s still moderately tipsy by the time they reach Emma’s house.

Idriss- who’s already lost half of his costume to the wind and looks more ‘victim of an unfortunate bullying incident’ than ‘preserved Pharaoh’ at this point- taps the Enter at your own risk sign on the door in drunken amusement before twisting the handle and barreling inside.

Immediately, they’re consumed by the heat of the hallway and a too-loud Halloween mix, but it causes something like anticipation to sit in Eliott’s bones. He buzzes with it.

‘Boys, you’re just in time!’ Daphné calls, materialising in the living room doorway. They share a curious glance amongst themselves before making their way over to her.

‘In time for what?’

She grabs hold of Eliott’s wrist once he’s close enough and drags him over to a circle of familiar faces. The room’s a lot less crowded than he expected, but he can hear distant cheers from the other side of the house.

His friends immediately find their place next to Imane, Alexia and Arthur, leaving Eliott to bear the brunt of Daphné’s specific brand of excited energy.

‘We’re about to start an apple bobbing competition!’ she explains. And, yeah, now Eliott spots the makeshift cauldron in the middle of the room, filled with a mixture of apples toffee and otherwise.

And then there’s Lucas, slightly obscured and leaning against Yann on the outskirts of the circle. They find each other, though. They always find each other. Because they’ve been balancing on a possibility for a while now.

Eliott doesn’t miss the casual once-over Lucas gives to his costume and he repays the favour instantly.

He’s in all white, and it suits him, suits him so much Eliott aches to tell him. Even his hair’s dusted with glow-in-the-dark dye, blue eyes rimmed with smudged eyeliner, and they pop, beg Eliott to come over, to tap his fingertips gently across the stars on his cheeks.

Eliott swallows instead and accepts the beer Emma places in his hand.

Lucas pats Yann’s shoulder, tips his head and then properly joins the group. Half of his beer’s already gone.

‘Okay, so everyone just write down your names,’ Daphné says, beaming as she hands everyone in the circle a neon orange post-it note. Eliott eyes Sofiane and Idriss suspiciously as they whisper into a couple of the girls’ ears before focusing on writing his own name down, folding it up, and placing it in the plastic skull Daphné’s using as a bowl. She practically skips around the room collecting everyone else’s papers, narrowly avoiding getting trapped in conversation with an already drunk Basile. The other half of Eliott’s beer disappears around about the same time he gets lost in the glitter decorating Lucas’ hair.

‘Eliott and… Lucas!’

That snaps him out of it. ‘Huh?’

Daphné glances around the room awkwardly and then holds up the paper. His name sits boldly in the centre, looking strangely unfamiliar.

‘You’re up first.’

Lucas is already positioned opposite, slender fingers drumming against the side of the cauldron and lips pulled into a grin. Eliott gulps, darts his eyes over to a too content looking Idriss and Sofiane, places his empty bottle on the mantelpiece behind him, and inches forward.

‘First one to get an apple and drop it in here-’ she gestures to a pumpkin-shaped pot, ‘-wins! No hands, though.’

‘Sounds easy,’ Lucas says, staring right at Eliott.

‘It’s on, Lallemant,’ he manages to reply.

The water’s way too cold when they dip their faces in, and Eliott idly wonders if he went for the waterproof makeup in the end. He bets he didn’t.

Their fingers overlap as they both grip the edge of the bucket and maybe Eliott squeezes a bit harder than necessary. Maybe Lucas squeezes back, too.

Their gazes lock as their mouths search for purchase, apples and lips glistening, teeth grazing slick skin and watered down face paints. Eliott’s cheek skims against Lucas’ and it’s teasing, tender, then razor sharp as he sinks into an apple. He really wishes he could make this dance last longer but he’s gasping for breath.

Then again, he thinks maybe he really is drowning as Lucas brushes a kiss against his cheekbone just as he comes up for air.

Eliott’s on the verge of panting when he drops the apple in the pumpkin bowl, eyes feral as Lucas whips his hair back and smudges paint into his skin where he wipes at his mouth.

‘Ahh! You won!’ Daphné squeals, clapping her hands together before throwing a candy necklace over his head. Eliott shakes himself out of his Lucas-study, not failing to catch the smirk in the corner of the other boy’s mouth. He so knows what he’s doing.

‘Let’s see who’s next.’

It’s effortless when Lucas strolls over to him, stands beside him with a white hand hovering barely a millimeter away from his own. He feels like he’s burning at the mere suggestion of his touch.

‘Uh… Eliott... again… playing against- okay, Eliott, how many times did you put your name in the bowl?’

Eliott frowns and flicks his gaze instinctively towards Lucas. ‘Once, I swear.’

He’s biting his bottom lip to hold in a laugh. Eliott follows his eyeline and spots Idriss and Sofiane, arms slung over each others’ shoulders and grinning way too smugly.

Ah. There it is.

Daphné sighs and empties the contents of the skull directly onto the floor, a cascade of black and orange Eliott and Lucas scribbles. Eliott reaches into his back pocket for his tobacco and wiggles it in a silent question. Lucas squints at him for a moment before smiling softly and nodding. It’s somewhat of a tradition for them to sneak away at every party, but it never happens this early. Maybe he’s finally ready to stop toeing the line.

They weave their way through the house to the tune of Ghost Town and Daphné’s chagrined pleas for someone to just tell her where she put her damn post-it notes.

When they reach the kitchen, Eliott grabs them both another beer. They’re warm and dripping with long since melted ice, but Lucas accepts it like it’s the most romantic gift Eliott could have ever bestowed upon him.

The romance shatters as soon as Eliott opens the back door and practically jumps to another continent, the door having somehow gained the ability to speak in screams.

‘What the fuck?!’

Lucas barely keeps himself from falling to the ground howling as Eliott’s heart hammers in his chest.

‘Stop,’ Eliott groans, though his heart’s now switched from a reaction of terror to slightly love-struck levels of speeding.

When Lucas eventually recovers, he lifts a shoulder and then points at the motion sensor tucked neatly against the doorjamb. ‘Emma loves Halloween.’

‘Emma’s paying for my tombstone,’ he breathes.

Thankfully, they make it into the yard without further incident. It’s oddly calm considering the growing chaos inside, bathed in moonlight and orange from the bulbs spread among the trees.

Lucas’ fingertips flirt with the back of his hand as they walk through the rose bushes and weeds, finding a spot up against the garden wall. There it is again, the buzz under his skin just waiting to ripple outwards.

‘So…’ Lucas starts. Eliott smiles as he plants his beer bottle next to his feet and begins rolling a cigarette. ‘A mummy, a zombie, and a skeleton walk into a high school party…’

He’s not proud, but he lets out what could be considered a snort and half of the tobacco falls out of his paper to be lost in the grass.

‘What happens next?’

Lucas hums and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. ‘...It’s not funny.’

Eliott narrows his eyes and darts his tongue out to lick the paper, watching Lucas’ gaze drop to his mouth. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I didn’t think of a punchline.’

Eliott titters and lights his cigarette, drawing in smoke. ‘I’m disappointed, Lucas.’

‘Sorry. I can at least tell you what happens to the skeleton, though.’

‘Hm, what?’

‘He gets a boner.’

Suddenly, there’s no air in Eliott’s lungs until there’s too much and he’s hacking up half of his insides. Lucas, fucking Lucas, just casually leans back against the garden wall and observes Eliott’s slow and painful death with merely a quirk of an eyebrow and a satisfied smirk.

‘That was terrible,’ Eliott forces out once he’s recovered.

Lucas laughs and it’s beautiful. Eliott lets it settle in his ears and commits it to memory like every other one before it.

‘What are you dressed up as, anyway?’ Eliott asks as he fumbles to relight his cigarette. The white face paint could point to a ghost, but the scattering of stardust across his cheeks suggests otherwise.

Lucas rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and shrugs. ‘The moon.’

And Eliott thinks perfect, perfect, perfect, he’s perfect.

‘I once married the moon.’

‘What?’ Lucas asks through another laugh.

He beams and nods, sucking on his filter. ‘Why are you so shocked? Didn’t you ever have one of those fake weddings behind the bike shelters when you were little?’

Lucas’ brow wrinkles. ‘Well, yeah, but I…’

Eliott raises an eyebrow, waiting. He can feel the cheap face paint crack with the movement. Lucas shakes his head, blush peeking out from his own thin layer of paint.

‘Nope; I’d rather you stay looking like the weird kid, here. You married the fucking moon.’

Eliott almost chokes again on his cigarette smoke. ‘Yes, I married the fucking moon. C’mon, why were you weird?’

Lucas groans and covers his face with his hands. The visible patches of bare fingertips look red from the cold as he mumbles into them. Eliott grins and tips his head forward, squinting as if that would help his ears hear better.

‘Sorry, what was that?’

Lucas heaves a sigh and rests his head back against the wall. His eyes almost glow in the orange light from one of the pumpkin lanterns strung up in the trees above. It casts a beautiful hue across the white UV dye in his hair and Eliott’s mesmerised all over again.

‘I said I was the organ player.’

And Eliott fully chokes this time. ‘You were the what?’

Lucas chuckles and rolls his eyes before plucking the cigarette from Eliott’s fingers and placing it between his own lips. His voice comes out husky. ‘I didn’t want to marry any of the girls, so.’ He shrugs again with a huff of smoke. ‘I figured every wedding needed an organ player,’ he giggles, head tilted.

Eliott can’t quite believe he’s real. ‘Well, I would have loved for you to have played the air organ at my wedding.’

‘It could still happen,’ Lucas murmurs, irises glinting in the low-light. Eliott’s pretty sure he can physically feel his pupils dilate as Lucas lets the last of the vapor trail from his mouth. He barely has time to blink before Lucas is dropping the cigarette, pushing himself off the wall and crowding his space. A gentle tug at the candy chain around his neck and then Lucas is asking, ‘Can I have one?’

Eliott’s certain his soul leaves his body as Lucas places the necklace between his teeth and bites down. He flinches, eyes trained on Lucas’ lips, as the candy snaps and the string drops and thumps back against his chest. Inside the house, the song changes, a heavy bass fit to rattle the windowpanes but he’s barely aware of it. It’s only Lucas and the dim lights and the places where their costumes brush against each other.

‘Are you going to kiss me?’ Lucas throws into the air between them. Eliott lets it sit, watches tendrils of smoke and condensation and he leans forward. A caress of noses that creates a new crater on the surface of the moon and plasters over a skull fracture all at once.

Lucas threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of Eliott’s neck and pulls him ever closer until he can’t be sure whether their lips are touching or not. It’s the seek for warmth and an end to the teasing that finally does it, finally has Eliott closing the gap and cradling the stars stretching across Lucas’ skin in just the way he’s wanted to since he first saw them.

He tastes like the powdery sweets that still rest around his neck and a little noxious- a strange, heady mix that matches the lethal way they always look at each other, matches the way that the dried paint continues to crack as they move together.

Eliott wishes he could feel the softness of Lucas’ hair as he runs his hands through it, but it’s caked in paint too and they’re making a mess but it’s the most brilliant release after the weeks and weeks of waiting.

And, again, he thinks he’s perfect.

They fit so well together he already feels at home in the dip of Lucas’ upper lip, the gaps between his fingers and the trills of his muscles when he moves.

And even later, when they eventually break apart, all Eliott knows as he follows Lucas’ ridiculous luminous hair back into the party is that he’d marry the moon again in a heartbeat.

#elu #elu fic #lucas x eliott #skam france fic #skamfr fic #halloween fic #g o d this is probably terrible i haven't slept but.... halloween!!#i'm gonna go pass out now!!#my stuff

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swanslieutenant · 5 years ago

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the art of summoning, part 2

Notes: So.... several months later, here’s the second part of this fic. My life has been hectic since posting the last chapter of this one, but I’m happy to finally have this one up! This has ballooned (as per usual) into 3 parts, so the next one will be up when I can get it finished!

Summary: Emma has yet to master the art of summoning, but if it can help Killian rescue the fairies from the Sorcerer’s Hat, she’s going to try to her best. Though, as typical in Storybrooke, things never seem to go to plan, and a new curse sends her scrambling to find her way back to the people she loves.

Rating and Warnings: Teen.

catch up with part 1 on tumblr

Read this chapter on AO3

Alone in the brig, Emma only allows herself to wallow for a few minutes before rising to her feet, steeling herself. No matter that this is the Jolly Roger, she can’t very well stay here with a bunch of pirates who don’t know her and who she’s sure are absolutely terrified of her. Killian told her once that his crew were a superstitious lot; she has no doubt that appearing on a ship in the middle of the ocean has made many of them say a prayer to their gods for safety against whoever Emma is.

Emma grips the iron bars of the door to the cell, but they don’t budge even an inch when she rattles them. Frustrated, she attempts the poofing spell again, but when she closes her eyes, imagining herself back in the small room at Granny’s (as the only location she can really think of to go in this world), nothing happens. When she opens her eyes again, she’s still in the cell in the damp and cold depths of the ship.

She tries a couple more times, but to no avail. It appears that whatever amount of power it took to get her here in the first place is completely drained. She has no idea how far she travelled to get to this ship, but by the pure exhaustion beginning to hit her and making her feel nauseous and lightheaded, she guesses it was quite the distance. The adrenaline high she’s had since arriving back in the Enchanted Forest is starting to wear off too, leaving only that numbing exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.

Emma drops down to the floor, crossing her arms and hugging her legs close to her body. If only Killian remembered her. To see him and have her memories of their relationship, while he knows nothing about her … well, Emma wonders if this is how he felt when he showed up at her door in New York City. Hopeful, relieved, joyous – and then crushed with disappointment and heartbreak.

Perhaps she should’ve thought this whole thing a bit better. Maybe she should have sought out Regina’s help to break this curse instead of his. Not that Killian wouldn’t help her if he could, but this is Cora’s doing after all. From what Emma knows of Regina’s mother, she wanted nothing more than her daughter to be victorious, for Regina to be powerful and to rule over everyone who ‘wronged’ them. If Cora created this curse, then maybe there was some loophole that allowed Regina to retain her memories too, as Regina’s curse with Storybrooke had before.

Emma gasps suddenly and sits straight up, another jolt of adrenaline and fear rushing through her at the realization – Storybrooke, the last curse – Henry.

Oh, god, where is Henry in all this? Is he here somewhere in this cursed Enchanted Forest too? Or was he left behind in Storybrooke, alone and not knowing where his family is or what’s going on? If he’s here, where is he? Is he safe, is he out there somewhere on his own –

“Settling in?”

Emma jolts, and scrambles to her feet out of her vulnerable position on the floor, her embedded instincts of protecting herself re-appearing in an instant. She searches for the source of the voice, having recognized it already, and there, standing against the opposite wall and keeping a far distance from her, stands Hook. His face is shadowed in the darkness of the hold, his arms crossed.

“Uh, what?” Emma says blankly, not really having heard his question. Her mind is still caught up in thoughts of her son, in what has happened to him in the midst of this latest disaster.

Hook, oblivious to her thoughts, rolls his eyes, and Emma’s taken aback at the icy look he bestows upon her. She’s unused to seeing him look at her like that, not when only hours ago it was so, so different. His eyes are narrowed, his face is cold and distant, and there’s an entire lack of warmth to his stance. His usual, ever-present undercurrent of sardonic humour has evaporated in the face of the suspicious and unfriendly glare he gives her.

“I asked if you were settling in,” he repeats, voice calm and cool. “Though I should rather like to ask you what the hell you are doing here and who the hell you are.”

Emma ignores his cold tone, though it stings as if she’s been frostbitten. Instead, she grips the iron bars between them, staring at him intensely, trying to will him to remember her, to remember them.

“Emma. My name is Emma Swan.”

For a single heartbreaking moment, Emma swears she sees recognition flicker in his eyes. But as quickly as it came upon him, he’s scowling at her again, unimpressed and apprehensive.

��Swan,” he repeats, and though it’s the man she loves saying her name, as he has a thousand times, this time there’s a curled mockery to his voice that she makes her stomach turn. He surveys her up and down with cool, appraising eyes. “Unusual name for a witch.”

Emma frowns, taken aback. “I’m not a witch.”

He tilts his head at her, an eyebrow raised in question. “No? Appearing out of thin air on the deck of my ship is not the act of a witch?”

His voice is more jovial now, almost teasing, but Emma tenses. He’s doing the same thing he did above deck, a lighter tone to put her off guard. He’s obviously suspicious of her, and she can’t really blame him. As a general statement, Emma knows Killian distrusts magic. He has dark and tumultuous history with Rumplestiltskin, Regina, Cora and … well, Emma’s just never counted herself among that group.

Though her heart sinks in disappointment, Emma steels herself once again. Just because he doesn’t remember her, doesn’t mean he still can’t help her figure out how to break this curse. Killian Jones in any realm is useful, and Emma’s starting to get an idea of how he can do help her with the curse and make sure Henry is okay.

She has no idea where her son is, but since this is Cora’s curse, Emma’s wondering if maybe her son is with Regina. After all, in Cora’s eyes, Regina’s victory wouldn’t be complete without Henry by her side, right? So if he’s with her, and if Emma can get there, she can make sure he is safe and find a way for them all to make it back to Storybrooke, with Regina’s help.

It’s a gamble, but what choice does Emma have?

“I’m not going to harm you or your crew,” she says, as calmly as she can muster. “But I need your help.”

He snorts. “As you’ve said, many times. What help does a witch require of a pirate?”

She ignores the use of the word ‘witch’ and continues, “My son is missing. He’s been taken by the Evil Queen and I need help getting him back. I can’t get to her palace by myself.”

That last part is true at least; Emma doesn’t think she can manage another burst of transportation magic at this point, and while she feels slightly guilty for lying to Hook, she knows that if he could remember her, he would be more than willing to help her find Henry. And indeed, at the mention of her son, his features soften, a glimmer of the Killian she recognizes shining through.

“Ah. That is – I am sorry to hear of your boy, but I cannot help you.”

“What?” Her heart sinks. “Why not?”

He regards her silently, eyes narrowing as he scans her from head to toe. “I take it you are familiar with the Evil Queen?” he asks slowly, and Emma nods. “Then you well know that entering her territory without her permission is a death sentence. We would do no good to your boy when we’re all dead anyways.” He shakes his head, an almost imperceptible grimace of regret on his face. “I do not wish any child the presence of the Evil Queen, but I cannot help you. If that is why you sought me out, unfortunately, you’ve wasted your time. We’ll return you to the next port, and perhaps another ship can help you there –”

He begins to turn away, stepping back into the shadows of the passage towards the upper deck, and Emma grips the iron bars, wishing she could reach out and grab him instead.

“No, Killian, wait –”

But that’s the wrong thing to say. Hook whirls around, face pale now and eyes wide in honest shock. Emma backs away from the iron bars out of instinct, no desire to feel the sharp edge of his hook at her throat, as he marches back to her.

“How do you know that name?” he growls, and it’s easy to see how he gained his reputation as the fearsome Captain Hook with those black eyes directed at her, the snarl on his lip, the dark tenor to his voice.

“I – you told me,” she says, which is true but a very stupid thing to say.

“You’re a liar,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “The only people who know that name are either up on my deck or have been dead for centuries.”

Emma’s throat dries up. He’s right, and she doesn’t know what to say that he’ll believe, not that she’d have a good excuse for why she’d know it in this cursed realm anyways.

“I – uh –” Then she pauses. An idea is forming … it’s not the wisest choice, it may get her into more trouble, it really isn’t the best idea but – what choice does she have? She takes a deep breath and says, “The truth is … I know who you are because I know who you’re after – Rumplestiltskin.”

Hook gapes at her, and if he had looked taken aback at her saying his name before, its nothing like his shock now. Usually one never at a loss for words, now he is, totally flabbergasted and bewildered.

“You – the crocodile?” He shakes his head, as if trying to make sure he heard her right. “You – are you working with him? What do you want? Who are you?”

“I’m not working with him,” Emma says vehemently, interrupting his stream of questioning, his voice having risen with anger with each accusation. “I would never work with Gol – the Dark One. How I know him … well, that doesn’t matter – listen, please. I’m telling you the truth. I need your help.”

Hook isn’t listening to her. He’s started pacing the small corridor opposite her cell, his hand absently playing with the brace of the hook strapped tightly to his wrist, and he demands of her, “Where is he? Where is the Dark One?”

At that, Emma hesitates. Rumple was sent out of Storybrooke by Belle several weeks ago, and no one has heard a thing from him since. She has no idea if this new curse had enough strength to drag him back to the Enchanted Forest from an unmagical land, and even if it did, she has no idea where he’d have ended up here.

The truth seems like a viable option at this point, with a furious Captain Hook glaring at her, and she nearly confesses that she has no idea.

But she changes her mind at the last moment. She has very little power here, in the cell of the Jolly Roger when its captain doesn’t know who she is, but she does have some leverage. Clearly this cursed version of Hook is still desperately after Rumplestiltskin, and if he thinks she can help him get to him … well, then maybe he’ll help her in return.

After all, once they get to Regina in the first place and break this curse, then it won’t matter that she doesn’t know where Rumple is.

It’s an awful feeling to know she’s going to lie and manipulate this Killian, but she’s not sure what else to do. She has no power other than this, as far as she can tell, and if he remembered her, he’d be absolutely willing to help her. She could try telling him about this curse in the first place, but she figures that telling him, this suspicious version of Captain Hook, that she accidently released a magical curse to send them all back here from another world won’t endear him to her cause.

She straightens her back, and swallows down the guilt and unease. “I know where he is, but I need your help first.”

Hook stops his pacing at that. For a moment, he looks slightly impressed before his lips curl into a cold smirk. It’s a cold smile that Emma’s seen him give to many other people before, but never directed to her.

She hates it.

He chuckles once, a sound that send shivers down Emma’s back, and he shakes his head, his expression grudgingly impressed.

“Ah, I see. Well played, Mistress Swan.”

Emma curls her hands into fists at her side, hating the swoop of guilt in her stomach, but there’s no backing down now. “You help me, I’ll help you. If you help me rescue my son, I’ll take you to Rumplestiltskin.”

Hook stares back at her, eyes narrowed in contemplation and his expression stony. Then he smiles again, that same cold smile. He steps forward and extends his hand through the bars, the rings adorning his fingers glinting in the faint light.

“Then we have an accord.”

Emma steps forward tentatively and grips his hand with her own. She knows her Killian, knows him even as Captain Hook in the depths of his revenge, but as she shakes this version of Killian’s hand, his eyes unreadable and hard, she can’t help but wonder who exactly she’s made this deal with.

xxxx

After Hook leaves her alone again, Emma spends a few hours of total boredom and frustration in the brig. It’s cold and damp, with a terrible smell, and there’s no place to sit that doesn’t get drenched in seawater as the ship cuts through the waves outside. She can hear rats scurrying about around her, searching for scraps and crumbs, even nibbling at her shoes at one point. When she gets back to Storybrooke, she’s going to fix this brig up into some sort of respectable holding cell, or at least one without rats or leaky floorboards.

The rickety boards outside the cell creak then, and Emma looks up sharply. Its Hook again, stepping out of the shadows, his expression unreadable. Emma tenses, watching him closely, but he merely approaches the door, unlocking it with a thin key, and he gestures her out of the cell.

“This is no place for a lady to sleep. Follow me.”

A bit taken aback, Emma scrambles to her feet and trails after Hook as he leads her through the depths of the ship, down the narrow corridor that leads to his own cabin. That he is taking her there surprises her again – she knows this version of Hook doesn’t trust her as far as he can throw her, and yet he still has brought her here to his own quarters?

The interior of the cabin looks the same as it always does: the single bed in the corner, the oak table in the middle of the room, the walls lined with bookshelves. From the porthole and windows facing outside, Emma sees that it is sunset already, the fading sun casting a low glow of amber light into the small cabin. A folded set of clothes sit on the table, and Hook picks them up to give to her.

“Dry clothes.”

“Thanks,” she replies, unfolding the clothing to look at it. It’s one of Hook’s own black shirts, and a cloth pair of trousers, and her heart twinges. “These – these are just what I need.”

He inclines his head at her, still distantly polite. “You must be hungry. I’ll fetch you something to eat.”

He disappears back out into the corridor, and when she’s alone, Emma strips out of her soaked jeans and thin shirt into the fresh clothes, tossing her leather jacket over the back of one of the chairs. The new clothes smell strongly like Killian, and the familiar scent makes her heart pang once again.

Though the clothes are clean and dry, her time in the brig has left her with a chill. Emma moves to the bed in the corner of the room, settling down on it as she usually does. She’s only been seated for a few minutes before Hook returns, a plate with a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a pear on it. He skids to a stop in the doorway, an eyebrow raising at the sight of her.

“You’ve certainly made yourself at home.”

Emma tenses. She’d sat on his bed out of habit, and she gets to her feet, moving quickly away to the other side of the room. “Sorry, I just –”

“It’s fine, love,” he replies stiffly, placing the plate on the table. “As I said, the brig is no place for you to sleep.”

“Thanks –” Emma starts, but Hook is already backing away from her.

“Goodnight, Mistress Swan. Sleep well.”

And, with that, he’s gone, closing the door firmly behind him, his footsteps loud and echoing as he marches away.

Emma stares at the closed door, a swoosh of loneliness overcoming her. Here she is, in Hook’s cabin, on a ship where he doesn’t know her, where she’s nothing but a fugitive in a world where no one else knows her either. The exhaustion from the day, from the spell that drained her magic, truly starts to hit her now.

She returns to the bed, and trying her best to ignore the longing ache in her chest, Emma pulls the covers high, breathing in the familiar scent of the sheets and blankets, and falls asleep.

xxxx

The next days are amongst the strangest in Hook’s life. The witch – Emma, he reminds himself sternly – has been aboard his ship for only a handful of days, but she might as well have been here her entire life.

He had expected her to sequester herself in his cabin, wary of the suspicious pirates, but instead she’s been on deck most of the time, walking around the ship as if she owns it. The crew keep their distance from her, satisfied with their captain’s explanation that she has information of value in the hunt for Rumplestiltskin but with no desire to spend more time than necessary with her. After all, to them, they view her as nothing more than the witch who had appeared on their ship out of nowhere.

Emma seems unbothered by this, and she spends most of her time with him instead, apparently unafraid of either the hook at the end of his wrist or his reputation that sent her here in the first place.

At first, he’d been surprised by that, but that soon became the least of the surprises. To add to the unexpected behaviour, Emma treats him with her own sense of informality and familiarity that compounds his sensibilities. He’d first noticed it the day she arrived, when she’d settled herself in his bed like she belonged there, and then again when she began marching around the ship as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

She’ll say things out of the blue that catch him so off guard it makes him pause and wonder how the hell she could know that or a teasing comment that only someone who knows him well would dare to say. Other times he catches her staring at him, a strange expression on her face, that she quickly tries to mask.

He thinks he may be losing his mind. In fact, he’s certain of it as, the more time he spends with her, the more familiar she seems to be to him. He knows he’s never met her before – he would remember that face, he’s sure – but there’s something strangely familiar about her, something magnetic that draws him in and makes him doubt his own mind.

Every time he is around her, his skin prickles with a sense of déjà vu. A knowing smirk, a teasing lilt to her voice, a warm hand on his arm – all things that feel intimately familiar, as if he’s experienced it all and more. A strange vision of seeing her blonde hair whip in the wind on this ship before, of seeing her seated casually at his dining table in his quarters, of hearing the sound of her laugh before. It’s maddeningly frustrating, and try as he might, he cannot place where he may have met her before.

One night, after a fruitless attempt to sleep amongst the snores of the crew in their hammocks and quarters, Hook stands on the deck in the middle of the night, his mind troubled. Tonight, not only is his mind twisted with thoughts of Emma and wondering who she really is, he also can’t seem to shake the fact that she knows the Dark One.

Could that be why she knows so much about him, why she seems familiar? Perhaps that is why he feels like he has known her before, maybe in one of his many schemes to find the Dark One, he has met her before.

Truly, he thinks, he must be losing his mind.

All he knows is that ever since Emma said his name, since she vowed to help him find the Dark One in exchange for her son, his mind has been as turbulent as the rough seas. The promise of finally finding the Dark One is like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse, or (more appropriate to his case) throwing a life raft to a drowning man. The final key to the quest that has haunted him for centuries, the end goal to all his suffering and misery.

Though he’s cautious about getting his hopes up; he’s been burned too many times before. How can he trust the word of this woman, who knows his true name, who claims to have learned it from the Dark One? Perhaps she’s a former apprentice of the Dark One, bitter and spurned by an inevitable betrayal, willing to betray her former master to Hook in a version of her own revenge? Or perhaps an equally powerful witch who wants one up on the Dark One for whatever offence he caused her? Or maybe he’s the one who sent her son away to the Evil Queen, and now this is Emma’s revenge for that instead?

If attempting to save her son from the Evil Queen doesn’t kill him, he’s starting to think the madness of trying to sort out just who exactly this Emma Swan is may do it instead.

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the hatch leading down to belowdecks opens and a figure emerges onto the dark deck. Emma, wrapped in the blanket from his bed, straightens, a silhouetted shadow illuminated by the lantern in her hand against the darkness of the deck, and Hook can’t help let a chuckle escape.

Of course, she’s here now too.

He clears his throat to get her attention, and she starts, whirling around dramatically. She relaxes when she realizes it’s him, and heads towards him.

“You’re up late,” she calls out, joining him on the upper deck. She sets the lantern down, casting an amber light around them, and she leans against the railing beside him, their arms brushing.

“Could say the same about you,” he replies, pulling away from her slightly if only to clear his own mind. Just another example of her informality to add to his list …

Emma doesn’t seem to notice, shrugging as she pulls the blanket around herself tighter. “Can’t sleep,” she says simply.

He nods absently, thinking back to his own pointless tossing and turning. “I know how you feel.”

She casts him a knowing look. “I bet you do.”

Another one of her strange comments. He frowns, and they lapse into silence then for a long while, the glimmering lantern light flickering with the rocking of the ship against the waves.

From the corner of his eye, he watches her. She’s stoic, her brow pinched in a frown, and is gazing down at the dark ocean with an unreadable expression.

He’s curious about her, about this witch who knows Rumplestiltskin and has a child kidnapped by the Evil Queen. She’s nothing like he thought she would be when he first talked with her in the cell, where he saw only the powerful witch who knew too much and demanded too much. Against his better instincts, he wants to know more about her and her past. He nearly begins to question her, but then changes his mind.

Now, looking at her in the glow of the lantern, he knows it’s not the time. Instead of the powerful witch who may be connected to some of the darkest figures of magic, right now, she looks like nothing more than a tired and stressed mother.

“Worried about your son?” he asks gently.

Emma sighs, and nods. “I hope he’s okay. He – he’s only a kid. He doesn’t deserve all this crap that keeps happening to him.”

“What did happen? I mean, how did he come to be taken?”

Emma tenses. “Uh, it’s complicated. I – uh … well, I suppose it’s my fault, really.”

He frowns, not expecting that answer. “How so?”

“I – well, I guess I cast a spell that got him into this situation. I didn’t mean to,” she adds, a touch of defensiveness rising to her voice at Hook’s raised eyebrow. “I – I can’t always control my magic. I was looking at something, and it turns out it was – it was some sort of spell, and it caused this whole mess.”

He frowns. She’s speaking out of the side of her mouth, vague enough that Hook has no idea what she’s really talking about. But he decides against questioning her – as long as she keeps her end of the bargain after they rescue her son, she can keep her secrets. Whatever she did, it’s apparent she’s torturing herself over it.

“It sounds like it was an accident,” Hook murmurs, and Emma glances over to him. “I’m sure your son will understand.”

She regards him quietly, her eyes unreadable and dark in the dim light. “I hope so,” she says, after a long while of silence. “I hope everyone I … affected with this spell will forgive me.”

She says it meaningfully, as if there’s some message within her words, but again, Hook frowns, confused. She smiles sadly, and shakes her head briefly, pulling away from the railing. She pats his arm, and tugs the blanket tighter around herself once more.

“Goodnight, Hook.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

He watches her retreat to the cabin belowdecks, the lantern light winking out as the hatch door shuts, leaving him in the dark of the night, now more confused than ever.

xxxx

Several days later, after another few days of confusion and madness, the ship turns from the open waters and towards a small seaside town, emerging slowly from the morning fog coating the shoreline. With another four days of sailing to get to the Evil Queen’s fortress, they need more supplies to make it there.

Hook joins the crew in securing the sails as they get closer to the small town. They’re about to make port when Emma emerges from below deck, dressed hastily and haphazardly. She hurries towards him, her hands dropping to her hips as she approaches, and Hook is struck by the sight of her, emerging from his cabin in his black shirt, hair a mess.

“We’re stopping?”

He looks back to the rope he was tying, and focuses firmly on it instead of her. “Aye. We need more supplies before we continue on into the Queen’s territory.” He chances a glance back to her, and can’t help but grin teasingly. “Another mouth to feed drains our supplies quicker, you know.”

Emma rolls her eyes, though her mouth ticks up in half a smile. “How long will you be gone?”

“A few hours at most.” He finishes tying the rope, and straightens, wiping at the sweat on his brow. Emma looks tense, rubbing absently at her arms, and he adds, more gently, “I know you’re anxious for your son, but we do have to stop and replenish our supplies.”

She remains troubled, but nods in understanding. “Okay.”

She moves to leave, but Hook steps forward, blocking her path and grasping her forearm, brow furrowing. “You’re not a prisoner, love. You can come too.” He pauses, considering, and then adds, “I won’t leave without you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She hesitates, glancing out to the approaching town, emerging from the fog to be a small cluster of thatched roof buildings and fishing boats. Something crosses over her expression, her brow furrowing briefly in worry, before she shakes her head.

“No, I know you won’t leave. But I’m going to stay here.”

Hook wants to press her for more information, wondering what has made her worried, but instead he nods, releasing her forearm and stepping back.

“As you wish.”

Emma smiles strangely at that, and quickly excuses herself from his presence. He loses track of her in the business of making port, and when they are docked and secured, Hook leads the majority of the crew down the rickety docks into the quaint town square, while several of the crew remain behind to watch the ship. He has stopped here at this village before – a small town on the outskirts of the kingdom – and while the people here may have no love for pirates, they do have love for what Hook brings with him: gold, and plenty of it.

The crew disperse into the nooks and crannies of the town, off to fetch new supplies of fresh water and food, while Hook wanders further into the village. His stomach growls as he passes by a bakery, but he forges on. He’s on a mission – after seeing Emma, tousled hair and dressed in his clothing, he’s decided she needs some of her own clothing.

The last thing he needs is something else adding to his growing confusion and disconcertment regarding her.

At the end of the lane is a small seamstress shop, small but stuffed with swarths of fabric and ribbons. A small bell tinkles over the entrance as the door swings open, and the woman behind the counter straightens when Hook enters, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Can – can I help you?”

“Yes,” he says, briskly, and requests her to bring some of her pre-made garments out for him to look at. There only a handful; most requiring accurate measurements from the individual in question to be sewn, and he frowns, considering them.

“For your lady, sir?” the woman asks innocently, and Hook glances sharply to her.

“Uh,” he starts, and then decides to just go with it, because explaining that no, actually, this clothing is for the witch who appeared on his ship and promised to take him to an immortal demon, is something he’d rather not do. “Yes.”

He chooses two of the dresses, one beige and one maroon, as well as a pair of soft cowhide pants and a white blouse. They look to be Emma’s size, or at least something she can made do with so he pays the woman and leaves with the clothing bundled under his arm.

As he’s strolling back down the lane, whistling to himself absently, a large pin-board near a cluster of taverns draws his attention, cluttered with flyers and posters. Habit draws him closer; sometimes there are bounties posted here, for pirates like himself, and he always likes to check in on these, to get a sense of what law enforcement is onto him.

This time, however, it’s not a bounty that catches his eye. In the centre of the board is a large WANTED poster, and he stops dead in his tracks, gaping. The blood drains from his face, as he stares back at the WANTED poster, at the very face of the same woman aboard his ship right now.

#captain swan #ouat #cs ff #now up to 3 parts!#fic: the art of summoning

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emms-jules · 4 years ago

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Catch Fire

Hello guys! It's my first time writing for TSC universe, and I made this to cope with finishing TDA since I still can't get over it and want to explore it more. Most of the plot was still applied, but some are removed for the story. Anyways, I hope you all like it! Any suggestion is a great help! :)

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269344

If Emma was asked that question five years ago, she would have easily said numerous reasons.

"I want to be with Julian. I want to officially be his. I want to spend my travel year with him. I want to answer his calls. I want to reply to his messages. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to take care of the kids with him. I want us to damn our lives as long as we got to live it."

But this was a different time now. She may still want the same things, but the person she wants to be with might not want it anymore.

Prologue

2012

Emma was walking in the desert beside the Institute under the blaze of the sun. She sees herself in a white flowy dress, as it brushes her legs in each step. She also realized that she was walking barefoot. What am I doing here? She thought. Where is everyone? Julian?

Suddenly, a small light much brighter than the sun appeared, and began getting larger. Emma found herself squinting and raising her hands above her eyes. Just as the light covered the sun, it disappeared.

“Emma Carstairs.” A voice said, sending a shiver up her spine. It sounded terrifying and melodic at the same time. She slowly removed her hands from her face and opened her eyes, which widened upon realizing who, or what, bestowed upon her.

As a Shadowhunter, she has already seen numerous depictions of such creatures. After all, one of them created her race. They were found in every part of the Institute, the Silent City, and even in Idris, their country. However, there has been no reporting of appearances from them for a long time, except from Clary and Simon.

“Angel Raziel?” She asked in astonishment. The angel fit Clary’s description. The angel took the form of a man, but it bears beautiful wings and radiates the bright light that shone earlier. The angel looks like a statue made of gold. It looks beautiful, but his presence made Emma’s heart pound.

The angel shook his head. “I am Gabriel. The angel who explained to Daniel his visions.”

“The messenger.” Emma replied, remembering her studies. Gabriel did not respond, however, which made Emma uncertain if she was heard.

“I have a message from my brother, Raziel. Julian Blackthorn and yourself have survived the curse of the parabatai. You have also won the battle against your fellow Nephilim. You have been given a second chance at life. But make no mistake, for the next time you and your parabatai do this, it will lead to your death, or both of yours.”

Emma gasped.

“One cannot cheat death, but you did, among others. The angel bears no ill will for the two of you. However, what is set in stone cannot be changed. May you make the right decisions.”

“But how do we-” But the angel already left, leaving Emma alone in the desert. She feels a sudden burn on her left arm. She flips her arm over and sees her parabatai rune burning, and fade from existence.

“Emma? Emma, wake up.”

She opens her eyes, and slowly bring herself to focus. She realizes she’s at the Basilias in Idris, inside a room with a single bed. Sitting on the chair next to her bed is Jem Carstairs, her only relative left.

Jem has a relieved smile on his face. He puts a hand gently on Emma’s hair, soothing the girl. “Thank the angel you’re awake.”

Upon hearing the word, she remembers her dream and feels herself about to cry. She looks at Jem and asks, “Julian?”

“He’s in the room next to yours, and has been awake for a day now. You, on the other hand, has been asleep for three days now. He’s been waiting for you to wake up. I shall go to him now.” Jem was about to stand, but Emma grabs his arm. “Don’t.”

Jem, though puzzled, sits down. “Do you now want to see him?”

I do, God I do, she thought. However, the dream was crushing her more.

“Can you please get Cristina for me? And don’t tell anyone else that I am awake.” She replies instead. Jem still looks confused, but stands and leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Emma lifts her arm up to see their shared rune, and like in the dream, her arm is bare. She gasped. The rune is gone. For so long, we’ve been waiting for this.

Emma wills herself not to cry. She thinks of everyone she loves. She thinks of Tavvy, who gave her the name “Memma” when he can’t speak her name yet. She thinks of Dru, who will soon need someone to talk to about teenage girl problems and help when she goes on dates. She thinks of Ty, who just recently lost his twin, and needs someone to understand. She thinks of Mark, who is still trying to gain himself everything he had lost. She thinks of Helen and Aline, Clary and Jace, Magnus and Alec, Isabelle and Simon. She even thinks of Kit.

She thinks of Julian, his room just beside hers. She imagines herself calling out to him, and he comes, both of them relieved that the curse is gone. They can finally be with each other truthfully. She had died, but she is now alive, and she can finally live.

Then the angel’s words come rushing back into her mind. But make no mistake, for the next time you and your parabatai do this, it will lead to your death, or both of yours.

She remembers Clary, both of them at the roof of the Los Angeles Institute, telling her of Jace’s proposal. Of how she refused, because of her constant dream of dying. Clary did want to marry Jace, but imagining herself suddenly dying was unfair to him. Fortunately, her vision was not about her, but another Clary of another dimension. Emma feels tears running down her cheeks. If only she and Julian were as blessed as Clary and Jace. For so long, we’ve been waiting for this. And it still isn’t given to us.

She hears the door creak, and Cristina walks in. Her lips were about to form a smile, but stopped short when she realized that Emma was crying. She quickly scrambles to her friend and wipes her tears. “La hermana! Why are you crying of sadness?!”

“Help me, Tina. Please. Help me.”

#tsc #tsc fic #tda #tda fic #jemma blackstairs #emma carstairs #julian blackthorn #shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #the dark artifices #lady midnight #lord of shadows #queen of air and darkness

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lilacmoon83 · 5 years ago

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A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 13: Late Night Musings

Mr. Gold left the station in a fury and became frustrated by his cane. He normally didn't mind his disability all that much. He had grown used to it, but it was times like these that he missed his magic most. If he could, he would have marched over to Cora's mansion and obliterated her. Of course, if there was magic, then she'd put up a fight. But his fury was so great that she wouldn't get the best of him like she had in the past. Whatever love or affection he had once had for her was so beyond destroyed that it was laughable. It was all frighteningly clear now. The fire at his house was just theatrics to obtain a drop of blood from him. She had located his son and sent her pirate lapdog to retrieve him. He could only imagine what she had planned to do with him if she had been able to keep him in her captivity. He knew she would have used him to get her way with him and he shuddered at that, because she would have succeeded.

Fortunately, Bae had managed to get away from Hook, but unfortunately, three hundred years seemingly had done nothing to ease his son's anger at him. He supposed he really couldn't blame him. It was an action that still haunted him and was the reason for any of this.

Letting someone like Cora rise to this kind of power was not a decision he had made lightly. She was never his first choice to cast the curse. Despite needing the curse, he didn't wish misery on most of the people that ended up as collateral damage. First and foremost, getting back to Bae was most important to him, but he had never sought to harm most of the people that lived in this town under Cora's terrifying rule. He had considered her evil husband at one time, but determined that his rule would have been even more devastating, especially for Snow. Cora wasn't much better and not even he could have anticipated the situation she bestowed upon David in revenge for getting Snow to safety with their child. But at the end of the day, Cora had been the only one with magic and evil enough to cast his curse. But the misery she had enacted was about to come back to her ten fold. No one would forgive her for the things she had done. Even before she was evil, Cora had never been particularly good either.

Her bitterness at being born a Miller's daughter had darkened her heart long before he had met her. There were things in her past that one might have had a note of sympathy for at one time, but he knew many others that had suffered far greater than her and still managed to be good people. Certain circumstances may have made Cora into a villain, but the woman had been born for darkness. And that was why she would receive little to no pity when she was finally ousted from her Throne. And with the election for Mayor being less than twenty-four hours away, he suspected that ousting would soon begin.

As he wandered the streets of Storybrooke, he hardly felt like going home and decided that a drink might calm him. He wasn't one to venture to the Rabbit Hole often. In fact, he usually only stopped there to collect the rent, but he was much too restless to go home right now.

As he stepped inside, a few of the patrons stopped briefly and watched him carefully, as he approached the bar.

"The boss isn't here," the bartender stated nervously.

"Relax...I'm not here to see Mr. Locke," he eased.

"Brandy…" he requested. The bartender looked at him and then poured the drink. He took a sip and turned to observe the few patrons in the bar and that's when he froze in disbelief. He blinked and shook his head, but she didn't disappear. If he had drank more than a sip, he would have definitely thought he was hallucinating, for the brunette in the racy blue dress was supposed to be dead.

"Belle…" he uttered, as he hobbled toward the table.

"Belle…" he said again, as her eyes met his with no recognition.

"I'm sorry?" she asked and he was at a loss for words. She was alive and had no memories.

"I'm...I'm sorry. You look like someone I know. Her name was Belle," he stated.

"Oh...well, sorry. I'm not Belle. The name is Lacey," she responded.

"Lacey…" he said, as the anger inside him threatened to boil over, as new and creative tortures for Cora cropped up in his mind.

"Hey babe...whaddya say we blow this joint and go back to my place?" a drunken Keith Notting said, as he stumbled up to her and slung an arm around her waist. Of course, Rumple knew this man to really be the Sheriff of Nottingham and he was now plotting his slow demise. Lacey smirked.

"You're drunk, which means you'll be spending your night in the bathroom. And that's not something I want any part of," she refuted, as she returned to the game.

"Oh come on...I'm not that drunk," he said, as he put his hand on her arm. The rage was blinding and Rumple raised his cane...

~*~

Emma huffed, as she stormed back into the station late that night. A walk had done nothing to calm her down and she decided that if she wasn't going to sleep that she could at least find something to do at the station. And that something meant finding a way to stop Cora.

"Hey…" Neal said from the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Can't sleep…" he replied. She snorted.

"Yeah...that seems to be a theme tonight," she retorted.

"Then maybe we should talk," he said, as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

"You wanna talk?" she asked contentiously.

"Emma…" he started to say.

"No...let's talk," she said, as she sat down facing him.

"Okay...I was a coward and when August told me who you really were and that you were coming here as soon as you were able to find the place where the curse sent everyone...I panicked," he confessed.

"This curse...the Queen did it, but my father orchestrated it. Because of me," he added.

"I know that...August has been studying the curse since he was a kid! I mean, I didn't know that Baelfire was you, but you know what I mean. He's been transcribing all the stories from our land like some kind of fairy tale historian for years," she added. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Then you know what he did to me!" Neal responded.

"Yeah...he chose magic over you and that sucks," she replied. He looked at her indignantly, but wisely closed his mouth, because she was clearly not finished.

"But you know what also sucks? Every single thing my mother has endured because of this. Every single thing my father has endured because of this," she said.

"Then you get it! He's the reason for all of this!" he replied.

"I get that to a degree, but you're his kid and he'd do anything for you. And my Mom gets that. Cora is the real evil here," she added.

"I get that…" he started to say.

"No...I don't think you do," she retorted.

"Look...I get why you're pissed at him and what he did was really crappy. But he instantly regretted it," she told him. His eyes narrowed.

"How do you know that? Is that what he claims?" Neal questioned.

"Actually no...I know that, because of my brother," Emma revealed.

"I don't understand...I don't understand how August even knows any of that," he refuted.

"Maybe because not all magic is as bad as you think. I don't know how or why he was chosen, but August did all this," Emma revealed, as she pulled the brown leather book out of her bag.

"It just appeared to him blank one day. It was a rough time for him as a teen and he was still blaming himself for taking my dad's place in the wardrobe, even though it's never even entered Mom's mind to blame him," she explained, as Neal looked through it.

"How...how did he do all this? My story happened three-hundred years before either of you were born," Neal replied. She shrugged.

"I don't know, but it came with a pen that helps him out," Emma replied, as she recalled her mother telling her about the day August came to her with the book since she was only around six at the time.

~*~

Flashback

August hurried into the diner that afternoon and climbed into the usual empty booth he occupied in the afternoons while he waited for his Mom to get done with work. He saw her serving coffee to some of the regulars in the diner and he hated the way this particular, boisterous crowd treated her. They always tipped well, but his mother earned it. They always leered at her, said crude things, and even went as far as propositioning her for dates back at their place. There was another stab of guilt that ate at him for this. If David had come through the wardrobe with her, things might be very different.

"Hey sweetie…" Snow greeted, as she removed her apron and sat down beside him.

"Hi Mom…" he muttered, as he glowered at the men's eyes that were still wandering to his mother.

"Don't pay them any mind…" she said, as he sighed and then remembered why he had been so excited in the first place.

"Mom...I have something to show you and I think it might change everything," he replied, as he pulled the brown leather book out of his bag and set it in front of them.

"Once Upon a Time…" she read from the cover.

"Did you check this out from the library?" she asked.

"No...that's the thing, Mom. It just appeared in my locker today and it came with this," he whispered, as he looked around, before opening the book.

Snow gasped, as she saw the scene at the Troll Bridge and tears filled her eyes, as she gently touched the illustration of her husband.

"August...how is this possible?" she whispered.

"I don't know...but the book was blank and it came with this pen," he said, as he showed her.

"Then during study hall...I feel like I blacked out or something, cause when I came back, study hall was over and I think I did this. With the pen," he explained.

"Oh August...this is incredible. You got all the facts exactly right…" she told him, as she looked over the text.

"I didn't think magic was possible here...but maybe it's a sign, Mom. It's a sign that we're going to find David and everyone else!" he exclaimed.

"And this book is the answer," he added. She beamed at him and hugged him tightly.

"Oh honey...thank you. Thank you…" she said, as she sniffed and kissed his hair, as she continued to stare at the image of her and Charming at the Troll bridge as they were about to part ways.

"We're going to find you, my love," she promised.

~*~

"The Author…" Neal uttered.

"What?" Emma questioned.

"Uh...it sounds like August is the Author. I read a bit about this in my research," he revealed. Her brow furrowed.

"What research?" she asked. He sighed.

"The research I started doing after August told me about the curse. As it turns out, one of the largest libraries in New York has books that look just like these and they're all blank," he replied. She stared at him in disbelief and then shook her head.

"I...how is that possible?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Not many know about them. They're in a room that keeps a collection that's not open to the public," he replied.

"Then how did you get in?" she asked and then realized what she had just asked.

"Never mind...you were researching the curse?" she questioned. He nodded.

"I wanted to get ahead of it since I knew it meant my dad would be looking for me," he answered and she let that sink in.

"Emma...all that would have changed if I'd known about the baby," he added. She snorted.

"Sure…" she said, unbelieving of him.

"I'm serious," he insisted.

"Do you really think I'd willingly abandon my son the way my father abandoned me?" he questioned and she shifted uncomfortably.

"I guess not…" she admitted.

"Look...I know you don't believe me, but I love you...still. And even if you decide there is no chance for us in the future...I'm not leaving my son. I'm here for the duration," he promised. She sighed.

"So...are you going to fight me for custody?" she asked. His eyes widened.

"What? No!" he responded.

"It's all up to you. I would never try to take him away from you and I'm here to help undo all the damage my father did with this curse," he promised.

"Cora's the real evil and your father wants her to down as much as we do. He's even helping my parents," she replied. Neal snorted.

"He never helps anyone without getting something out of it," he warned.

"Yeah...he gets Cora's demise out of it like the rest of us. He and my Mom made a deal to work together against her," Emma revealed. His eyes widened in horror.

"Your mother made a deal with him?!" he exclaimed.

"You don't know what Cora did to my father! She trapped him an abusive marriage! Your father is his lawyer, because the only other lawyer in this town is Albert Spencer, who would never help him. But your father is helping him with his divorce, for free," she informed him. Neal sighed.

"Emma...I'm sorry. I had no idea that your Dad was in that kind of situation. But my father caused it and from what August told me, he had a lot to gain by making sure your parents are together," he replied.

"My parents are together, because they belong together. Not even Cora can stop them, though she's trying," Emma refuted.

"And like it or not, we're all family now, thanks to our son. So...either deal with your father or stay out the way," she added. Neal sighed and relented.

"You always did drive a hard bargain," he commented, with a chuckle.

"And I guess it's time that I deal with my past. I've been running for three-hundred years and I guess I finally have something to stop running for," he continued, as he looked at her.

"Okay...I'm in," he decided. She smirked.

"Good...cause we're going to destroy this bitch and break the curse," she stated, as the station phone rang and she answered it.

"Sheriff's station," she answered and listened to the irate person on the other end.

"Okay...I'll be right there," Emma said, as she stood up.

"Get your coat...there's trouble at the Rabbit Hole," she said.

"What kind of trouble?" Neal asked, as he put his coat on.

"Just your Dad beating the crap out of some guy," she revealed.

"Oh hell..." Neal cursed, as he followed her out in a hurry.

~*~

Snow gently put little David back down. He was mostly sleeping through the night by now, but there were times he still woke up in the middle of the night and this happened to be one of those nights. She didn't mind though. Emma wasn't home yet and neither was August, which left her restless and unable to sleep anyway. She had some comfort though since David was safe and asleep downstairs on the couch.

"Hey Mom…" August whispered, as he peered into the nursery.

"Auggie…" she said, as she went to him and hugged him gently.

"I finished that story. Cora's going to be livid, but I did it. If she wins tomorrow night, it will only be because she cheats," he said. She shook her head.

"She's not going to win...Regina is. I have a good feeling about that," she replied, as he looked down.

"Mom...about Neal…" he started to say.

"I know you were just trying to protect Emma," she replied.

"I should have told you...I should have told you that Neal was really Baelfire and the Dark One's son. But...when I couldn't find him, I thought maybe it was for the best. I honestly didn't think we'd ever see him again. He was pretty adamant that he was never going to let his father find him," August confessed. She nodded.

"I get it...but yes, you should have told us. I forgive you though...none of this is really your fault," she admonished.

"Do you think Emma will forgive me?" he asked.

"Give her some time...but yes, I know she will," Snow replied, as she kissed his cheek.

"Get some sleep," she told him.

"That goes double for you, Mom," he called.

"I'll try," she promised.

As she padded down the stairs, she smiled gently at David and had to resist the urge to caress his handsome face. She tiptoed back toward her bed and then heard his voice.

"Mary…" he called in a sleepy tone.

"I'm sorry if I woke you. Little David was fussing a bit, but then I'm not really able to sleep," she mentioned. He sat up and motioned to her, so she eagerly sat down beside him and let him cuddle her close. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. Gods how she had missed just being held by him and breathing him in. She used to wake up from dreams about him and swore she could smell him; that unique mix of leather and musk that was just uniquely Charming.

"You didn't wake me...but somehow, I guess I just sensed that you needed me. Is that weird?" he asked. She smiled and looked up at him.

"No...it's amazing. Having someone I love and trust to hold me again. I think my heart has been trying to find you for years and there were times that I wondered if it ever would," she confessed.

"I feel mine has to and it shouldn't make any sense...but it does. We just...I don't know if it's soul mates, or true love, or all of the above. But this is right...we're so right," he confessed in return. She finally let the tears flow at his words and felt like the weight of the last twenty-years on her shoulders being lifted away by his love. And not surprisingly, she was fast asleep in his embrace within mere moments...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #AU #CORA cast the curse #August W. Booth #the author #Neal Cassidy #Swanfire #feat baby Henry #Lacey #romance #family #adventure #a darker curse

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pocket-anon · 7 years ago

Text

The Long Way Home (9/10)

A fic update at a decent hour? *gasp* Amazing how much more you can accomplish when you're not working 12 hours a day, isn't it? This chapter got a bit away from me in terms of length, but I hope you all like it. You guys have been amazing and said the most wonderful, effusive things about this story, and I really can't thank you enough for all your continuing support. Your words have been a gift. Enjoy!

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

When Emma finally emerges from below deck, refreshed and tidied up a bit, a great shout arises, with Smee roaring to the rest of the men, “Three cheers for the Lady! Hip-hip!”

“Hurray!”

“Hip-hip!

“Hurray!”

“Hip-hip!”

“Hurray!”

Killian sets his sextant on the sideboard and comes to meet her, beaming as the Princess, glowing with joy and embarrassment, is swarmed by his rough-and-tumble crew. They descend upon her to bestow hugs and kisses as if she were a beloved sister, and her exhilarated laughter can be heard in the ensuing commotion.

“Alright, alright, mates,” he barks, waving his hook hand in feigned annoyance as Martin rounds out the pack by giving Emma a hug that lifts her boots right off the boards. “Give the Lady some space.”

Martin sets Emma back on her feet, and the men back up a little, the cheerful din dying down.

“We have news,” Killian announces. “Some of you are aware that our lovely Swan had lost all memories of her life prior to arriving in Vicarstown. But the curse that was responsible has been broken, and I’m in a position now to introduce you all to Her Royal Highness, Emma,” he turns his head and favors her with a proud smile, “Princess of Misthaven.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and the men gape, a few of them removing their headwear and giving Emma deferential bobs of their heads.

“The plan remains the same,” he continues, his tone taking on a stern edge, “We get her safely home. But there is some urgency to the matter now, so we must make haste. Am I understood?” He nods at the scattered calls of acknowledgement, and the tiniest of grins tugs at his mouth. “Extra drink tonight to celebrate the Princess’ recovery, but none for those I catch idling. Back to work!”

At his command, the crew disperses in good spirits, and Killian turns to see Emma’s knowing smirk. He smiles, puzzled. “What?”

“You’re in a good mood.”

He lifts her hand into the crook of his arm and leads her on a stroll astern. “Can you blame me?” he asks quietly in her ear.

Emma ducks her head as though to hide the flush in her cheeks and the way she bites her lip. “I guess not.” They arrive at the aft rail, and she releases his arm, turning to squint up at him in the sunlight. “Time for morning inspection?”

“Aye,” he agrees with a rueful grin.

“Want to spar this afternoon?”

Killian allows himself to grin like a cad, and he leans down so his breath warms her cheek. “With swords or below deck?” he teases. “Because my answer is yes.”

“Hmm.” She colors again, rolling her eyes even as she tries to suppress her smile. “Maybe I should magic your sword away in the middle of practice today.”

“That’s hardly fighting fair, darling.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, and her green eyes glint impishly, “maybe there is a little pirate in me.”

His mouth falls open in a thrilled smile, and he revels in the innuendo, whether she intends it or not. “If you’re trying to tempt me to drag you back to bed,” he mutters in her ear, “it’s working.”

Emma chuckles. “To your post, Captain,” she says, gracefully slipping out of his reach. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watches her walk away, admiring the subtle sway of her hips and trying not to focus on the memory of how he gripped those hips between his hand and stump as he knelt atop his berth and took her from behind scarcely an hour before. He groans inwardly. Gods, but he’s a lucky bastard.

Roberts approaches and follows his gaze. “She seems to have come through the storm well enough,” he remarks, throwing Killian an astute sideways glance.

Killian quickly puts his prurient thoughts aside and arcs an eyebrow at his quartermaster. “Say what you mean, Old Man.”

Roberts is no fool, and he chooses his words carefully. “It looks as though you two have reached a new understanding,” he observes. “She looks… very happy.”

Killian allows himself one more muted but self-satisfied smile as his eyes continue to follow the Princess across the deck. “Aye,” he answers softly.

“Well, forgive me for sayin’ it’s about bloody time.” Killian turns his head to fix him with an incredulous grin, and Roberts shrugs. “What? We aren’t blind.” He rubs the back of his head. “And she really is the Princess.”

“You doubted me?”

The quartermaster snorts. “Like I don’t know better.” He shuffles his feet a bit. “What becomes of you when we return ‘er to ‘er kingdom?”

Killian’s smile fades, and he looks away, his throat tightening. “That remains to be seen,” he admits at last.

Roberts hesitates, as though weighing the risk of asking another question. “Would you let ‘er go?”

“Back to work, Mr. Roberts,” Killian orders quietly. He rotates away to face the rail and directs his eyes blankly out over the water.

He can all but hear the other man’s sigh of resignation. “Aye, sir.” The boards creak beneath his feet as he retreats.

Killian stares out over their wake, miles upon miles of traversed ocean stretching out behind them. They’ve come so far, he thinks somberly. The thought of sailing away from Emma, of saying goodbye and choosing the sea over a life with her, causes his stomach to clench. Never. But what will that mean for the crew? For the Jolly? His hand drifts absently over the painted yellow rail. This ship has been his home for over a century, his most constant and enduring companion, and as much a part of him as anything in his life. A captain’s heart belongs to his ship, Liam had been fond of boasting.

The sound of Emma’s enthusiastic call causes Killian to look over his shoulder, and he turns partway round to watch her join a few of the men in trimming the sails. The corner of his mouth quirks fondly, and there’s a sad smile in his eyes as they flit about the ship. Sorry, Old Girl, he thinks with a resigned sigh, his gaze returning to the Emma’s shining face. My heart belongs to another now.

The morning passes swiftly, what with there being three days’ worth of issues – issues Smee had wisely determined could wait until the Captain was fully available – to deal with. Most have to do with the blessedly limited damage they sustained in the storm and the loss of supplies that had washed overboard. Thankfully, none of the concerns prove to be truly serious or difficult to address, though Killian is still vastly grateful at midday when the audible gurgle of Smee’s stomach causes his first mate to stuff the dog-eared list of items back into his pocket and decide the remaining entries can be dealt with later.

Sword fighting practice with Emma is enjoyable and satisfying as always. The Princess’ skills continue to progress nicely, and he allows her to try disarming him today, crowing triumphantly when she finally succeeds in loosening his grip and forcing his blade out of his hand. It clatters to the raised platform housing the mid-deck hatch.

“Very good!” he commends her, holding his arms up in mock surrender.

“Is this the part where you beg for mercy?” she teases, advancing on him with an irresistible smile on her lips and the tip of her cutlass aimed at his throat.

He grins and surprises her by stepping on the tip of his sword and flipping it over the edge of the platform. The grip lands back in his hand, and steel clangs again as he catches her blade effortlessly. “Pirates don’t beg.” Killian savors the breathless admiration on her face with a chuckle and pulls his cutlass back in order to assume another fighting stance. “But you’re welcome to keep trying. Again!”

* * *

As promised, they enjoy a night of celebration out on deck, with the crew milling about and Thomas handing out portions of the evening meal from a makeshift station he sets up on a couple large crates. When everyone is outfitted with food and grog, he leaves to fetch more water and rum for the second round of drink. He returns to find Emma using what remains of the near-empty water cask to mix a few more cups of grog for the men.

She meets his stunned stare with a knowing smile as she hands a cup over to Roberts. “Hope you don’t mind me standing in for a minute,” she says cheerfully, holding the next cup out to him. “I do have some serving experience, you know.”

Thomas sets the new cask and bottles he’s carrying down and accepts the cup with a little laugh. “Yes, mil—Your Highness.” He raises it to her and then sips, his eyes lighting with pleasant surprise.

Emma smirks. “Taste alright?”

He nods enthusiastically, drinking again and swishing the watered-down spirits around in his mouth. “For a princess, you make a pretty good pirate,” he comments shyly. “Never knew that day you asked to climb the mast how well you’d take to…” he waves his hand around the ship, “all of this.”

Emma chuckles, handing a cup to Martin and grinning as the carpenter accepts it with a comical little bow and moves off. “I have my parents to thank for that, I guess.”

He cocks his head quizzically and sits down next to her to open the new cask. “I thought you didn’t have much experience on ships.”

“I don’t.” She grins, pouring fresh rum into the now-empty grog pitcher and squeezing in the juice of two lime halves before passing it off to him and wiping her hands on a rag. “But my mother taught me to climb trees and throw knives and shoot with a bow when I was just a girl. After years on the run from the Evil Queen, she decided survival skills were kind of essential.”

"Oh." Thomas looks impressed. “Makes sense, I guess.” He begins cutting the rum with water. “And your father taught you to fight with a sword?”

Emma nods, looking nostalgic. “Well, he and my godfather, Lancelot. Lance brought me my first toy sword when I was three. Mother says the head groom was a little horrified when I started chasing imaginary dragons around the gardens with it, but Papa and Lance were so proud.”

Thomas shares her little laugh. His sets the cask aside and gives the pitcher a good swirl, falling quiet for a moment. “You must miss ‘em.”

Her smile turns a bit sad. “I do, but I’ll see them soon.” She studies him. “Do you have any family?”

The young man shakes his head. “Never knew my father, and my mother died a few years back. My older brother and I survived doing odd jobs at the docks until he was killed in an accident,” he reveals, looking blue. “Wasn’t long after that that I met the Cap’n and he offered me a position on Jolly.” He darts a glance around them at the other crewmen. “This is as close to a family as most of us have now.”

Emma feels a twinge in her chest, and she flashes him a heartfelt smile. “Well, thank you for letting me be part of your family for a little while,” she says gently.

Thomas blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “The debt’s still ours to pay, ma’am.”

When dinner is over and the music commences, Smee comes over to where Killian and Emma are seated against the gunwhale, his hat humbly in his hands and a hopeful grin on his face. “Captain? Permission to ask the Princess for a dance?”

Pure intrigue crosses Killian’s dark features as he peers up at his nervous first mate, but one glance at the sparkle in Emma’s eyes causes him to nod, an amused grin tugging at this mouth. “Granted.”

Smee makes a slightly clumsy bow and extends his hand, the apples of his cheeks glowing red. “Your Highness?”

Emma flashes Killian a brilliant smile as she lays her fingers in Smee’s plump palm and climbs to her feet with a chuckle. “Of course.”

The crew roars at the sight of one of their own escorting the Princess to the center of the deck, and it emboldens a handful more to step forward. Emma laughs and shrieks with delight as Martin, Thomas, Alec, and a few others each take a turn, whirling her around the boards and then handing her off to the next man. At last there comes a rowdy cheer, and she finds herself being spun into a familiar pair of waiting arms as Killian, having left his heavy coat aside, finally claims the rest of the dance for himself. Roberts switches the tune on his shrill little pipe, and the crew begins to clap and chant:

The maiden, oh, the maiden, oh, The sailor loves the maiden, oh! So early in the morning, The sailor loves the maiden, oh! A maid that is young, A maid that is fair, A maid that is kind and pleasant, oh, So early in the morning, The sailor loves the maiden, oh!**

Killian reaches down and wraps his arm around her hips, his face jubilant in the lantern light as he lifts her off her feet and spins them around. Emma gasps in surprise, bracing her arm across the back of his shoulders and beaming down into his shining eyes. Her hero. Her sailor. Her love.

He sets her down at the song’s end, and she wraps both arms around his neck to steady herself, her heart thrumming in her chest and her lips parting in awe as she realizes that, for the first time in all their nights on deck, he’s singing too, directing his smooth baritone down to her while he draws close and bumps his forehead affectionately into hers.

“The sailor loves the maiden, oh!”

* * *

It’s late in the evening by the time they slip below, the muffled sounds of the crew’s merrymaking still audible above their heads. Killian sets their lantern on the table as Emma presses the cabin door shut behind them and hangs up his coat. He comes up behind her and runs his hand down her arm, nuzzling the side of her face and placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Tired, love?”

He smiles at her throaty little chuckle. “Only a little.” She spins and lays her hands on his chest, and desire rolls into the pit of his belly when her lips find his. Her kiss is gentle at first, tender and slow, but she mewls when he emits a quiet growl and tugs her hips flush with his, her hands winding up and over his shoulders and her mouth opening wider to allow his questing tongue better access.

His trousers grow tighter as the heat between them flares, and he pulls away a moment, panting, the tip of his nose drifting across her cheek. “Would you like to...”

“Yeah.”

An idiotic grin spreads across his face as she presses forward and kisses him again, and they stagger backward toward his berth in a progressively mad fumble. Her slender fingers work at the clasps of his waistcoat until she can slide her hands beneath the soft leather and push it free. Killian chuckles into her mouth at the hunger in her kisses and the efficiency of her movements as she strips him, a little groan tearing from his throat when she manages to undo his shirt buttons and her hands alight on his bare chest, her fingers smoothing upward through the soft dark hair atop his skin and skimming laterally along his collarbones until she shoves the fabric up off his shoulders. He struggles to detach his hook in time so he can finish shedding the shirt without tearing the cotton, opening his eyes long enough to toss the brace and hook haphazardly onto the shelf behind the bed with a clatter. His lips are still upturned and his voice gravelly as his shirt hits the floor and he reaches for her jerkin. “My turn.”

In a few minutes more, he has Emma naked and on his bed, and she barely has time to pull her hair down before he sheds his boots and trousers and chains and crawls up over her to resume his assault on her mouth while his fingers traverse the miles of creamy skin beneath them, caressing the globes of her breasts and then running south to skim her damp folds. Her breath catches at the latter, and he smiles and fingers her sex again. “So perfect.”

Her hands flail between them, tickling down across his stomach, but his involuntary laugh turns into a sharp intake of breath when she finds his swollen member and her fingertips drift down the shaft. Emma looks up at him with uncertainty. “Is this…?”

His hair hangs in his eyes as he nods vigorously, groaning again when her hand tentatively closes around him and begins to pump slowly. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and letting himself savor the tantalizing sensation that washes over him in waves. She begins to twist a little with every stroke, growing bolder and picking up speed, and he falters, rolling to one side and pulling her with him. They wiggle about on the narrow mattress until he’s under her, and he gazes up at her spellbound as she straddles his thighs and reaches for his erection again. Her continued attention makes Killian throw his head back against the pillow, chest heaving and eyelids heavy. Pleasure surges through his veins, building by the second, and he begins to sense that familiar tingle at the base of his spine. “Swan…” he grunts, face contorting with need. “Please…”

He hears her quiet giggle, and her hand slows. “I thought pirates didn’t beg.”

Her cheek causes a faint smile to ghost across his face while he does his best to retain his self-control. “I stand corrected,” he manages. “There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t be asking for mercy right now.” He gestures. “Come here.”

She obliges, rising up a little and shifting forward, and he brings his knees up and plants his feet, guiding her hips until she’s lowering herself onto him. Emma tosses her head and bites her lip, whimpering as he fills her, and she sinks down until she’s fully seated, her backside resting against the slope of his thighs.

The sight of her like this – bare, magnificent, and mounted, with her head thrown back, hair cascading over her shoulder and throat exposed in a graceful line – it’d be enough to make him weep if the sensation of her wet heat around him didn’t reduce Killian’s coherent thoughts to a mere memory. His hand and stump remain on her waist when she leans forward on his chest and begins rocking, grinding against him and whining as she seeks her climax. They establish a rhythm, with her pushing and him pulling in tandem, and her breathy little moans only serve to drive him closer and closer to the brink as she rides him with increasing fervor until at last she cries out and buries her face in his neck. Her entire body shudders, her muscles pulsing tight around him, and he finally lets go, his eyes clamped shut and his jaw slack as ecstasy overtakes him.

Emma rolls her hips against him a few more times before giving into exhaustion and falling still at last. Her body continues to tremble, and he smoothes her hair back and turns his head to press his lips to her forehead before rolling them back over.

“Emma,” he murmurs, cupping her cheek in his hand and trailing soft kisses down across her face. “My Emma.”

She chuckles with breathless satisfaction.

He drifts back to her mouth, pulling at her lips with his. “For the record,” he says between kisses, “you’re welcome to make me beg like that anytime.”

Emma laughs beneath him. “Noted.”

* * *

The rest of the week flies by like a wonderful dream, their usual daytime activities now punctuated with shared looks and a habit of easy, casual affection on deck – a hand around her hip, a touch on his arm, the diminishing space between them when they stand together with his hand on her back or her fingers around his hook.

She asks Killian to show her more of the stars, so they take the night watch one evening when the wind dies down and the seas are calm, bundling up together beneath a blanket on the top with the sails above them furled in order to give them a better view of the northern sky. He points out the constellations one by one, his voice growing melodious in her ear as he waxes poetic about the legends surrounding each cluster of stars until well past midnight. From there they turn to other topics, and under the cover of darkness they share warm, lazy kisses and stories of their past adventures until Emma doses off, snuggled in his arms and reclined against his chest.

He watches her sleep as he keeps an eye out for anything unexpected ahead, reflecting with a private grin that the soft, even cadence of her breathing may have surpassed a tranquil ocean horizon as the greatest calming force in his life. A deep sigh escapes him as he listens to the hushed lap of the water and familiar groan of the timbers and the occasional squeak of a rusty hinge on the solitary lamp that hangs off the bow to light their way. It’s perfection, this moment, he thinks. Up here on the mast with Emma in his arms, the stars overhead, and the ship below – it’s as though everything he needs is here in this one place. Peace. Home. Love. He wonders whether he’ll ever be afforded another moment as perfect as this. He’s long been used to uncertainty about his future, long appreciated the potential for each day to bring something new, but now that he’s found Emma, he finds himself feeling anxious about the unknowns that await them in Misthaven. How will he keep her safe from the Dark One? What will her parents think of their precious daughter taking up with a pirate? Will they try to drive him off, or worse, try to send him and his crew to the gallows? Out here on the ocean, there’s nothing to come between him and Emma, but when they reach land, aye, that’s a different tale. Killian sighs again and tightens his arm around her shoulders, touching a worried kiss to the top of her head. One moment at a time, he thinks, focusing on her breathing and trying to silence the fears niggling at his heart. One moment at a time.

The sky lightens over the next few hours, transforming from black to navy as the golden penumbra of the rising sun peeks over the lip of the visible world off to their right. As the light grows brighter, pinks and oranges bleed into the sky and cause the low clouds that hang just above their heads to glow with the same warm shades.

Emma stirs, shifting against him groggily and shivering a little as she reaches up to rub her eyes. “What time is it?”

He buries his nose in her hair. “Just about six, I imagine,” he says with a little smile. “Cold?”

“I’m okay.” She tugs the blanket tighter around them. “Though I wouldn’t mind a warm little nap in your cabin this morning.”

He chuckles and hugs her tighter to him. “Agreed. Would you like to head down now? I can join you when Alec comes to take over as lookout in a bit,” he offers. His smile widens when she shakes her head.

“I’ll stay with you.”

Killian leans forward and kisses the cold shell of her ear. “Good.”

Her lashes flutter as she rolls a bit in his embrace and stares upward, and he admires the gleam of her green eyes in the morning light before following her dreamy gaze to the tip of the fore-mast as it skims the rosy clouds above their heads.

A glint in the distance draws his attention back to the sea, and he blinks, wondering if it’s a trick of the light until he sees the little flash again.

Emma senses his distraction, and she cranes her neck back toward the horizon. “What?”

Killian squints, reluctantly releasing her so she can sit up and he can reach for his spyglass. “There’s something out there,” he says with a frown. “Something small.”

Emma shades her eyes as she peers into the glare of the rising sun. “Bird?”

He shakes his head, extending the barrel and raising the glass to get a better look. “No. It looks like it’s… floating.” His brow furrows as he considers the options and sees the sunlight reflect brilliantly off the little object again. “It looks like gold.” He hands the spyglass to Emma. “A magical talisman?”

Emma raises the eyepiece, looking perplexed. She’s silent for a long moment before she suddenly bursts out laughing.

Killian straightens. “What? What is it, love?”

She hands the spyglass back to him with a sly smile and flips her palm upward. In the distance, the object disappears in a poof and reappears in her hand, and Killian gapes down at a jeweled hair comb, the gold intricately molded to look like a spray of tiny flowers.

Emma grins at him, her cheeks pink with amusement. “It’s the comb Blue enchanted to find me,” she says. She dries the water droplets that still dot the precious metal with her shirt sleeve. “It must have been in the ocean this whole time.”

“Huh.” Killian’s forehead wrinkles. “At that speed, it would have taken a year to find you in Vicarstown,” he points wryly.

She chuckles and shrugs. “Admittedly, most people don’t disappear to the other side of the world.” She runs a thumb over the flowers affectionately. “I’m glad I got it back. It was a gift from the dwarves. Buttercups are my favorite.”

He nods, suddenly feeling another pang of melancholy at this reminder of her impending return to her other life. He bows his head and forces a smile. “It’s lovely, Swan.”

“Mm.” Emma tucks the comb into her jerkin and snuggles close to him again with a contented sigh, her eyes returning to the multicolored sky and the radiance of the rising sun. “I could stay here forever,” she hums.

The warmth of a tear presses its way to the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to plant a fierce kiss on her cheek, closing his eyes against the ugly fears begin to claw at his heart once again.

She rubs the angle of his jaw without taking her gaze off the light dancing on the ocean. “Have you ever done this before?” she asks. “Watched the sunrise up here, I mean.”

He thinks, frowning as the answer occurs to him. “I haven’t.”

“Ever?” She chuckles incredulously. “In over a hundred years?” She fixes him with a curious look. “Why not?”

“Well,” he shifts, tightening his arm around her torso, “Milah never cared for heights. And since then, there’s been no one to share the stars with.” A sad little smile twitches at the side of his mouth. “I might never have done this, had it not been for you.”

Emma lays her hand on his chest and closes the distance between them for a slow, ardent kiss, her cold lips somehow managing to warm something deep within him. The corners of her eyes crinkle when she pulls back. “Well, I’m glad we did,” she murmurs.

“As am I.” Killian looks down and reaches for her other hand, lacing his fingers between hers. “But it’s not watching the sunrise that’s special, you know,” he adds quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s having you here with me.”

Moisture gathers on her lashes as she blinks rapidly up at him, his own happiness reflected in her huge eyes, and she seems at a loss to do anything but press forward and draw him into another excruciatingly gentle kiss. Their lips are unrushed as they move together, every shared breath deliberate and saturated with emotion and promise, and he hears her sniffle just as a solitary tear leaves a cold trail down his cheek.

She’s changed everything for him, he realizes. It doesn’t matter what awaits them in Misthaven. He’d abandoned the hope of finding a happy ending long ago, but he understands now that he was wrong. It’s here. It’s her. And now that he’s tasted heaven, he’ll walk through hell if that’s what it takes to keep it.

* * *

Well, isn’t this interesting?

The Dark One stares with fascination at the image of the pirate kissing the Princess that fills his crystal ball, and his blackened heart swims with a myriad of emotions – ages-old bitterness, hate, disgust, curiosity, and even perverse amusement at the idea that the he’s about to have the opportunity to get Excalibur back and kill the arrogant bastard, Hook, once and for all.

He supposes he couldn’t have planned it any better, really.

With a wave of his hand, the crystal goes blank, and he rises and heads for his spinning wheel. He always does his best plotting while at the wheel, and between planning a welcome home of his own for the Princess, a suitably painful execution for the pirate, and the assassinations of a veritable rainbow of fairies, there’s much to think over.

* * *

“Land, ho!” Alec’s voice booms triumphantly overhead.

His call brings Emma and Killian’s latest sparring session to a halt, with the pair of them whirling to look fore. Killian stows his cutlass and reaches for his spyglass, waiting until Emma’s hands are free to hand it over with an encouraging smile. “Go on, Swan. Set your sights upon home.”

She grins weakly and makes haste for the nearest shroud, shimmying up onto the rigging in a flash.

Killian comes to stand below, fixing his eyes on the dark green shoreline in the distance. “How far is it to the castle?” he asks as she drops back down to the deck.

Emma clears her throat and hands back his glass. “Not far. Less than a day’s ride.”

He frowns at her pensive expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” She gnaws on her lip, her eyes faraway. “Maybe you should stay here with the ship.”

“What?” He frowns sharply. “Why?”

Poorly-suppressed emotions cross her face, her eyelashes fluttering with uncertainty. “Just until we deal with the Dark One,” she explains, trying to sound firm. “I’ll send word when it’s done.”

Killian straightens, cocking his head back with indignation. “All due respect, darling, but that’s a load of bloody nonsense,” he grinds out. “I go where you go, and I’m sure as hell not letting you face the Demon alone.”

Her green eyes shimmer, and she shakes her head with increasing frustration. “It’s too dangerous. Even if he didn’t already hate you, it’d be dangerous.”

“Aye, he hates me,” Killian nods, “but you’re the one he’s coming after. And it is dangerous. That’s why our best choice is to face it together.”

“I…” She turns away, her voice cracking.

He rolls his eyes and reaches out to rotate her back toward him. “Swan—”

“I can’t lose you!” she explodes. She glances around self-consciously at the surprised looks from a few nearby crewmen, her cheeks growing hot. Her gaze falls to the toes of her boots, and she sniffs. “I just… I can’t.”

Killian stares, his features softening as he reads the resolve in her face and wonders yet again what he’s done to deserve a woman like this. He shoots his men a look that sends them scuttling off before turning back to her and wrapping his hand reassuring around her arm. “Love, you don’t have to worry about me,” he replies gently.

Emma blinks up at his soft grin, her wide eyes searching his face expectantly.

“One thing I’m good at,” he reminds her, stepping closer and tipping his head forward, “is surviving.” He grins as some of the anxiety fades from her expression and she manages a weak smile, and he closes the remaining inches between them and captures her lips with his.

She melts in his arms, her whine soft as he draws her up against his chest and continues to kiss her soundly, and when they finally pause for air, she blushes an even deeper shade of pink. “The men are watching.”

“Let them,” he rumbles, pressing forward to kiss her again.

The Jolly makes port at the seaside town of Jennings Harbor by midday, and though it takes the harbor master a few long minutes to recognize Emma standing at the gunwhale, excited calls suddenly erupt along the wharf.

“It’s the Princess!”

“The Princess has returned!”

The ship is moored and the boarding plank lowered, and Killian is the first off, stepping out on to the plank and turning to offer Emma his hand and a sober grin. “Welcome home, Swan.”

She squeezes his fingers gratefully as they descend, her face a mixture of relief and apprehension.

Having bustled out on to the dock, the harbor master doffs his hat and greets them with a low bow that belies the man’s portly frame. “Welcome home, Your Highness. Are you alright?” He eyes Killian and the crew beyond with a nervous smile.

Emma gives him a gracious nod. “I’m fine, Mr…?”

“Rosen, ma’am,” he supplies, setting his hat back atop his head.

“Mr. Rosen.” She smiles. “May I present Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger?”

Rosen’s jowls pale a bit at confirmation of the ship’s identity. He bows his head hastily in Killian’s direction, his brown eyes widening at the sight of Killian’s hook. “S-sir.” He darts Emma a questioning glance. “Your Highness?”

“These men are my friends, and I owe them a debt,” she tells him firmly. “They’ve sailed halfway across the world to bring me home, and they’re to remain in port for the time being. Please look after them for me?”

He gulps at her request. “Y-yes, Princess.”

“We need a horse,” Killian tells him. “We ride for the castle immediately.”

Rosen gives a hasty bob of his head. “Of-of course. We’ll send word to the Royal Guard in town,” he says, looking to Emma for approval.

News of the Princess’ return seems to spread across the town in mere minutes, and the guardsmen are quick to arrive even without a summons. They ride up in a party of four bearing silver armor and shields emblazoned with what Killian supposes is her parents’ crest.

“May we escort you, Your Highness?” the middle-aged captain asks, aiming a wary look at Killian as Emma selects one of their mares and swings expertly up into the saddle.

She beckons Killian to climb up, and he happily follows, hoisting himself into place behind her, her back warm against his chest. It’s not lost on the Guard when she twists a little and gestures for him to take the reins for a moment, but if she notices the disapproving stares that come when he softly slips his arm around her waist to grab them, she pays them no mind. “That’s not necessary, Captain,” Emma replies with a little smile, tilting her head sideways and tugging her hair down to hurriedly plait it over one shoulder, “but you’re welcome if you can keep up.”

Killian smirks.

The guards swap bewildered looks before the captain signals gruffly for two of his three men to accompany them.

“My thanks for your help, Sirs.” Emma’s hand drifts over Killian’s as she reassumes the reins and catches his eye over her shoulder. “Ready?”

He flashes her a grin and nods. “Aye, love. Let’s go.”

* * *

It feels a bit surreal to be home and flying along familiar forest roads with Killian at her back and her world so changed since she was last here, Emma thinks as she drives the horse west at an aggressive pace, hooves going thubuddy, thubuddy against the packed dirt. Killian’s hand is solid against her belly, and the way they rise and fall together with each extension of the mare’s legs makes her mind drift to more pleasurable activities – thoughts that make her skin tingle even as her stomach clenches with anxiety at her parent’s reaction to her choice to be with him. The guards’ reaction to seeing her physical ease with Killian was not subtle, and she bristles inwardly at the thought of having to endure the same looks from virtually everyone they encounter. As it does around the world, Killian’s reputation precedes him here. She remembers the stories she heard growing up in Court of a dashing and treacherous pirate with a hook for a hand, and though she now knows those tales mix truth and exaggeration and do not accurately portray the complicated man she loves, the problem of how to get her parents and the rest of the kingdom to see what she sees gnaws achingly at her.

They ride hard for several hours with the guardsmen in tow before electing to stop at a noisy brook to stretch and rest the horses for a short while.

Emma kneels by the water to scoop a few handfuls up to her mouth and then splatter some on her face, the ice cold splash the perfect relief for her sun-warmed skin. She catches Killian grinning at her as she dabs at her jaw with her forearm. “What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, love. You just seem at home here.”

She gives a dry chuckle. “I had an early education when it comes to the forest. My mother knows this land better than even our most experienced huntsmen.” She spies a berry bush a dozen steps upstream and wanders over to pick a few of the small, dark fruits that hang heavy among the prickly leaves. The sweet and slightly tart taste is as well-known to her as her favorite songs and her most cherished childhood memories, and her fingers work absently, her restless thoughts continuing to simmer.

Killian’s footsteps approach from behind. “What’s wrong?”

She turns her head a bit as he draws near, a half-hearted dimple appearing at how unnecessarily close he pulls up next to her. “Hmm? Oh. Nothing.” Her voice is soft.

Killian’s hand brushes soothingly across the small of her back. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Emma glances at him, both annoyed and touched that he knows her so well. "How do you know?"

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he informs her cheerfully, "but you’re something of an open book, Swan.”

His continued use of her nickname makes her smile, wistful as she is now for that time when she was a simple barmaid with no worries about royal obligations, political affairs, or some impending battle with the Dark One. She arcs an eyebrow at him and holds out a handful of berries. “Am I?”

“Mm-hmm.” His hum generates a pleasant shiver between her shoulder blades, and she watches him slip the fruit into his mouth and consider the taste. “Worried about introducing me to your parents?”

“I…” She rolls her eyes at how spot-on he is. “Maybe a little.”

He falls silent for a moment, though she can virtually hear the wheels in his head turning as he catches his hook on the bramble to hold a branch steady while his fingers pluck off a few more berries. “I can’t ask anyone to turn a blind eye to what I’ve done in the past, love,” he says soberly, “but I’ll do what it takes to be with you.”

“And what if my father just wants to have you thrown you in the lake?” she asks, her face glum.

Killian smiles. “Then I should be happy to oblige him. I’m an excellent swimmer, you know,” he quips, popping a few more berries into his mouth and brushing his hand on his shirt.

Emma chuckles in spite of herself. “Pirate.”

“Naturally.” He reaches up to finger a stray lock of hair over her ear, his expression turning solemn. “I’ll figure something out.” He thumbs at a bit of juice at the corner of her lips. “I always do.”

The sun is beginning to set as their destination finally rises into view, the golden rays shining from behind the looming stone towers and buttresses in a brilliant halo and shimmering across the waters of the surrounding lake. The royal palace looks at it always has, with a dozen spires of various heights reaching for the sky and flags waving proudly in the spring breeze, and despite all her uncertainties, the sight of it fills Emma with an enormous measure of relief.

“That’s it!” she calls excitedly. “Home!” A elated laugh breaks from her chest, and she sniffles.

Killian’s arm hugs her closer, and he presses his face close to her ear. “Is that it? I was expecting something… grander.”

She giggles and elbows him lightly in the ribs.

A heavy gate flanked by stone guardhouses stands at the beginning of the great bridge that spans the divide between the mainland and the rocky island on which the castle is built. Emma’s homecoming causes more shouts to ring out as she’s immediately recognized by the soldiers standing watch, and there’s a great scramble to swing the wrought iron out of the way in time.

They thunder by, the loud clip of the horses’ hooves across the bridge’s gray pavers announcing their arrival, and mere moments later they pass through the even larger, more imposing gate leading to the castle grounds.

Emma draws them to a halt in the main courtyard, the mare blowing and knackering while Killian leaps off and takes the horse’s head to steady her.

“Princess!”

A familiar voice cuts through the air, and Emma’s face lights up. She jumps down and greets the white-haired head groom with a hug. “Marcus!”

“Thank goodness you’ve returned! We’ve been so worried.” The uniformed gentleman holds her out at arm’s length, his brow wrinkling in confusion as he studies her rumpled clothes and appearance. “What on earth are you wearing?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the fastidious old man. “The appropriate clothes for a long voyage at sea,” she explains patiently. “It’s been quite a journey.”

He seems unconvinced. “Ah.” He glances fleetingly at her attire again, a distressed grimace hinting at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I shall have a bath set up in your chambers straight away.”

“Later,” she says with a shake of her head. “Where are my parents?”

“The King and Queen are in the Council Room, last I knew.”

“Good.” Emma turns and gives the weary guardsmen a quick smile. “Thank you for the escort,” she says, grabbing Killian’s hand and summoning her magic. “Excuse us.”

Smoke surrounds them, and when it dissipates, they’re standing in the wide hallway just outside the heavy wooden doors to the chamber in question. Her heart races with anticipation and nervousness, and she pauses to take a deep breath, turning to Killian and squeezing his fingers. “Ready?”

There’s matching anxiety in the brief way he licks his lips, but he puts on a smile. “After you, Swan.”

Emma studies his brave face and pulls him into an impulsive hug, cradling his jaw and kissing him deeply, unsure when she'll have the chance again. She looks back up at him, her thumb brushing across his scruff as she tries to memorize the weight of his arms around her. “I love you.”

The heart-wrenching devotion in his blue eyes is something else to savor. “And I you,” he murmurs. He gives her another peck. “Go on.”

She gives him one more shaky smile and lets him go, taking a massive door handle in each hand. “Mother? Papa?” she calls, “Are you here?” With a shove, the doors swing open.

* * *

Emma’s parents are indeed in the Council Room, and a bit of excited chaos ensues when she pushes her way in.

The King and Queen are standing on the far side of the room next to a great crackling fireplace that sits beyond an enormous rounded table. Their heads are bowed together as they confer about something, but Emma’s voice causes them to both look up in astonishment.

“Emma?”

“Emma!”

Their voices echo in the cavernous room, and Emma scurries across the polished stone floor, threading a neat path around the table and the wide red-and-gold trimmed stone pillars that bear up the ceiling. She grunts happily as her father catches her in his arms, and the trio locks into a tight embrace. Light from the hearth dances over the emotion that wells up on the King's face. He cups the back of Emma’s head while her mother bursts into relieved sobs, and the sight of the triumphant reunion causes Killian’s chest to swell as he wanders in and positions himself unobtrusively next to a nearby pillar.

“Thank the gods you’re alright!” Emma’s father mutters. “Are you alright?”

Emma nods against his chest and shudders, her voice muffled in his tunic. “I’m fine. I missed you.”

“We missed you too. We were so worried, honey,” the Queen sighs. “We were so happy when Blue told us she’d seen you.” She opens her eyes and spies Killian, her lips parting in surprise. “Oh! You brought a guest.” She pulls away from her husband and daughter and hurriedly dabs at her tears with the end of her sleeve.

The King looks up as well, creases forming on his forehead and his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he takes in Killian’s appearance. He straightens and squares his shoulders. “Hello.”

Emma steps away from her parents and motions toward him. “This, um, this is the man who brought me home,” she explains, sounding nervous. “Captain Killian Jones.”

Killian gives her a soft smile as he takes her hand and lets her draw him forward. “Your Majesties,” he says, dipping into his best formal bow. “A pleasure.”

The King glances with a frown at the way their hands linger together for a second too long. “Captain.” He bobs his head stiffly, meeting Killian’s eye before allowing his stare to fall to the hook. “The Blue Fairy told us you were involved. Thank you for returning our daughter to us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Emma’s mother echoes more effusively. “We owe you a great debt.” She finishes composing herself with one last sniffle. “We will gladly compensate you for your efforts.”

Killian gives her a warm smile and bows again. “I’m sure my crew will appreciate it.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence.

“Um, where are they now?” the Queen asks politely.

“My ship is at Jennings Harbor. The men stay with her pending further orders.”

“Right.” The King clears his throat. “Well, we won’t keep you from them long. We can outfit you with your reward and have you on your way tomorrow morning.”

Killian and Emma share an uneasy look. “Actually, I was planning to stay close by,” he says carefully. “Emma may be home, but she’s still in danger of attack by the Dark One, as I’m sure the Fairy also told you.” His eyes flit back to Emma, and the corner of his lips tugs upward solemnly. “I don’t intend to leave her in a time of need.” Or ever, he thinks.

The Queen looks genuinely moved, but her husband shakes his head with a chuckle. “Well, that’s very noble of you,” he says with a smile that comes just short of genuine, “but we don’t need you to stay.”

Killian tips his head back, surveying Emma’s father coolly. “It’s not open for debate, I’m afraid.”

The King blinks, his incredulous grin widening. “No. It’s not. We don’t need help from a pirate. We’ve already got a plan.”

“And what’s that?”

“That’s none of your concern,” the King shoots back, his voice now bordering on testy.

Killian snorts. “The bloody hell it isn’t.” He feels Emma's fingers intertwine with his, and his thumb sweeps across her knuckles restlessly in reply.

The King looks affronted and the Queen curves a brow as they note this action with a mix of interest and alarm.

Emma layers her other hand over the back of his, and Killian glances up to see a silent plea for patience in her large eyes. He folds his lips, trying to suppress his look of irritation, and she turns to her parents.

“What’s the plan?” she asks.

“Emma, are you two—”

“What’s the plan, Mother?”

“Squid ink.” All attention turns to the King, who impatiently pulls a small vial out of the chest pocket of his dark red velvet tunic. “It stops any magical creature in its tracks. We’ll use it to disable the Dark One and capture him.”

“It was Blue’s idea,” the Queen explains. “Our friend Ariel helped procure it.”

“See?” the King says pointedly, glowering at Killian, “We’re perfectly capable of protecting our daughter.”

“Oh, are you now?”

They whirl in the direction of the open door, and Killian’s sword is out of its sheath at the first sound of that sinister, sing-song voice he knows all too well from his nightmares. Bloody fucking hell. The Queen gasps as a spritely man with a gold sheen to his leathery skin and a coat made of crocodile hide steps into view, and even though he’s across the room, they all back instinctively toward the fireplace.

“Shame that you’re the ones that need protecting,” he cackles, the light from the overhead chandelier glimmering off his unnatural complexion. He passes over the threshold, waving one hand in that peculiar, dramatic way of his, and the squid ink flies out of the King’s grasp and plummets to the hearth with the sound of smashing glass.

** So Early in the Morning (a.k.a. The Sailor's Loves) is an real traditional sea shanty. You can read more about it and listen to the tune here, though I imagine Roberts' version to be much more upbeat. :)

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#csbb #cs ff #cs fic #cs smut #captain swan #captain wench #captain duckling #cs ef au #cs anastasia au #cs au #cs au ff #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #my writing #the long way home

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swanqueeneverafter · 7 years ago

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21. The Cricket Game, Pt.1

Storybrooke. Present. The town line. (Mr. Gold removes William Smee from the trunk of his car.) Mr. Gold: “This will only take a moment.” William Smee: “Don't push me over. If I cross the line, I'll lose my memory. It's a cruel fate.” Mr. Gold: “A fate you were more than willing to bestow upon Belle. (Pushes him to the ground with his cane, and removes his red cap:) You've had this rag since the day we met. Why is it so important to you?” William Smee: “My grandmother made it for me when I was a boy. It's always brought me good fortune. What difference does it make?” (Mr. Gold pours a potion on the cap.) Mr. Gold: “Oh, ho ho. All the difference in the world. It's your only chance.”(Returns the cap.) William Smee: (Puts on his cap:) “What do you mean my only-” (Mr. Gold kicks him across the town line, and magic is visibly running across Smee's body.) Mr. Gold: “What's your name?” William Smee: “William Smee.” Mr. Gold: “And who am I?” William Smee: “Rumplestiltskin. (Stands up:) The Dark One. I remember everything! How can this be?” Mr. Gold: “Well, it seems that our little experiment was a success. (Pulls Smee back across the line:) Now go. (Smee runs off:) I have a trip to plan.” Storybrooke. The Mills' House. (Regina, Henry and Emma all sit around the dining table finishing up their meals. The atmosphere is relaxed and cordial. The initial uneasiness of the last few days having mostly faded.) Emma: (Tentatively:) "So, er... your magic is still on the fritz?" Regina: (Nods, taking a sip from her glass:) "Yes. Absorbing Gold's protection spell has left me powerless. Not that I want that information known to everybody of course. I trust I can rely on both of you to keep my secret? (Both Emma and Henry smirk and cross their hearts mischievously:) Thank you.” Henry: (Frowns:) "But you could get it back, right? Like you did before?" Regina: "I could, there are ways to reclaim my powers, but I don't want to. (Henry smiles at this. To Emma:) The temptation is far too great." Emma: "Yeah, but if it wasn't for your magic, Mary Margaret and I would've been trapped or worse." Regina: "And if that was to be my final magical act then I don't regret a thing." (Emma and Regina share a smile.) Henry: "Do you think Cora will try again? I mean, she knows where Storybrooke is now, doesn't she?" Regina: "My mother is relentless but as long as there aren't any other portals in the Enchanted Forest, we're safe." (Emma frowns and remembers something which Henry notices.) Henry: "Mom, what is it?" Emma: (Shakes her head:) "Nothing, just tired I guess." Regina: (Notices too:) "Henry, why don't you take some of these plates into the kitchen and put out the ice cream bowls, hm? (Henry smiles and rises from the table, taking his and Regina's plate as he passes. Once they're alone:) All right, out with it." Emma: "What?" Regina: "I know that look, Emma. You went quiet as soon as I mentioned portals. What is it?" Emma: "It's nothing. I mean, well... the giant." Regina: "The one you took the compass from?" Emma: "Yeah, he did say that he and his family used to grow beans." Regina: "Did you see any when you were in his castle?" Emma: "No. He said he destroyed them all when his family died but-" Regina: "Giants don't exactly trust humans." Emma: "Right." Regina: (Sighs:) "I can't say I'm not concerned about my mother returning, especially now that the curse has been broken." Emma: "I don't think you have to worry about. She seemed determined to help you before we escaped." Regina: "That, Emma, is precisely what worries me."

Enchanted Forest. Past. (The Evil Queen overlooks a burning village when her knights approach her from behind.) Knight: “My Queen, we've received word. Snow White and the Prince have defeated King George. His army has fallen. The kingdom is theirs.” Evil Queen: “And what of George?” Knight: “His fate is unknown, but without his forces, we are now alone. We cannot defeat them.” Evil Queen: “Do not tell me what we can or can't do. Where is Snow White now?” Knight: “Alone, on her way back to meet the Prince.” Evil Queen: “Excellent. I don't care how many men you lose. Keep them apart long enough for me to find her. I will not let them defeat me.” Enchanted Forest. Past. Deep in the forest. (Snow White is running and trips over a rock. The Evil Queen arrives on her horse and dismounts.) Evil Queen: “Leaving the battle so soon?” Snow White: “The battle's over, Regina. Our army is too great. You can't win.” Evil Queen: “Well, that all depends on your definition of victory.” Snow White: “I offer you parlay to negotiate the terms of your surrender.” Evil Queen: “My surrender? Fair enough. My terms are quite simple... Your death.” Snow White: “Now!” (The Blue Fairy traps the Evil Queen with her magic, rendering her unable to move.) Evil Queen: “It was all a trap.” Snow White: “You should've surrendered when I gave you the chance.” Prince Charming: (Approaching:) “We knew you couldn't resist going after Snow. And now because of your bloodlust, the kingdom is ours. Your reign of evil is over.” Storybrooke. Present day. Storybrooke Harbour. (The Jolly Roger docks at the harbor and Captain Hook and Cora climb off the ship.) Captain Hook: “Well, my dear Cora, this is where we should part ways. Thank you for... everything. It's time for me to skin my crocodile.” (Hook walks off. Cora magically transports from behind him to in front of him.) Cora: “You might want to rethink this.” Captain Hook: “We had a deal. Get out of my way.” Cora: “Believe it or not, I'm doing you a favor.” Captain Hook: “By preventing my vengeance?” Cora: “Ask yourself how I'm doing that.” Captain Hook: “By using your Dark Magic.” Cora: “Exactly. Magic is here, and that makes matters a bit more complicated. If you go off half-cocked after an empowered Rumplestiltskin, do you know what'll happen? (Hook looks away, a troubled look on his face:) So you do. Good.” Fisherman: “Hey. You folks need anything? Tackle shop don't open until morning, but if you want to go out and try and snare some of New England's finest sea creatures, I'd be happy to open early for ya.” Captain Hook: “No, thank you. We're fine.” Fisherman: “It's a fine vessel you got there. When'd you get in?” Cora: “What vessel?” Fisherman: “Why, that one right... (Cora makes the ship magically disappear:) Hey, that's a neat trick. You some kind of magician back in our land?” (Cora turns the fisherman into a fish.) Captain Hook: (Kicks the fish into the water with his foot:) “What did you do with my ship?” Cora: “I hid it from prying eyes. For what we both want to do, we need the element of surprise. Now, are you ready to listen to me?” Captain Hook: “Go on, Your Majesty. What now?” Cora: “Let's go have a little look at this Storybrooke. Shall we?”

Storybrooke. Present. Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer. Day. (Belle enters.) Belle: “Hey. What-ah, what's wrong that you couldn't tell me over the phone?” Mr. Gold: “I did it. I can leave.” Belle: “You can cross the town line?” Mr. Gold: “Indeed, I can. (Reaches for and grabs potion:) When I pour this potion onto the object I hold most dear, that object becomes a talisman, it allows me to cross the town line and still remember who I am.” Belle: “And who you're looking for.” Mr. Gold: “My boy.” Belle: “What, um, what will you enchant?” Mr. Gold: (Removes an item from a safe in the wall behind a photo:) “This shawl... is all I have left of my Baelfire.” Belle: “I don't suppose I could come with you?” Mr. Gold: “No, I... I truly wish you could. But I only have enough of this potion for one object. (Returns the shawl to the safe:) Hey. This is my journey, Belle. I'm afraid that it's something I have to do alone.” (They embrace.) Belle: “I know.” Storybrooke. Present Day. Blanchard Loft. (David and Mary Margaret lie in bed kissing.) David: “What are you thinking?” Mary Margaret: “Oh, that it's good to be back.” David: “Yeah.” Mary Margaret: “Uh-huh.” David: “And what are you really thinking?” Mary Margaret: “Twenty-eight years is too long to wait between...” (Henry and Emma return suddenly to the loft.) Henry: “Hey, guess what. Taco shells were on sale.” (David & Mary Margaret hurriedly cover themselves.) Emma: “Apparently, tacos not a big ticket item in the Enchanted...” Henry: “What are you guys still doing in bed? It's the middle of the afternoon.” Mary Margaret: “The trip back was tiring, and I needed to rest.” David: “And I needed to... help her... rest.” Emma: (Mortified, turns to Henry:) “Uh, let's-let's go make the tacos. We have to make a lot because there's gonna be a ton of people at Granny's welcome back party tonight.” Mary Margaret: (Whispering:) “We thought you were gonna be back later.” Emma: (Whispering:) “Yeah, well, we weren't, so maybe next time you could put a tie on the door or send a text or... (Pauses:) You know what? I'm... I'm gonna go make some tacos.” (Leaves and goes to the kitchen.) David: (To Mary Margaret:) “It's impressive that we can still provide her with a few traumatic childhood memories at this stage of the game. (They both laugh:) Come on.” (They get out of bed.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. War Council Meeting. Jiminy Cricket: “I fear the Queen will never change. We must dispense justice.” Prince Charming: “Agreed. What are our options?” Grumpy: “How about giving me five minutes alone with her and my axe? (Cautiously:) She's still restrained, right?” Blue Fairy: “Yes. But the magic that we used to capture her will only keep her powerless for a short while.” Granny: “How about banishing her to another realm?” Jiminy Cricket: “We can't. It would be unconscionable to condemn another realm to the suffering that we've endured.” Red Riding Hood: “Jiminy's right. She's our problem, and we have to deal with her.” Prince Charming: “And only one thing is certain... As long as the Queen lives, the kingdom is in danger.” Snow White: “Are you saying...” Prince Charming: “Yes. We must kill the Queen. Thank you all.” Snow White: “Are you sure this is what we must do?” Prince Charming: “What choice do we have? As long as she draws breath, she will come after us, after you.” Snow White: “There's always a choice. You stopped me from killing her once. Took an arrow to save her. Why is this different?” Prince Charming: “I took that arrow to save your life, not hers. That was an assassination. This is an execution. If we don't stop her now, there's no telling what she'll live to do.” Storybrooke. Present Day. Granny's Diner. (Emma and Mary Margaret's welcome back party. Emma, Henry Mary Margaret and David enter to loud cheers.) Ruby: (Runs over and hugs Snow:) “I wasn't worried a bit.” Mary Margaret: “I can tell.” Dr. Hopper: “Oh, we all missed you.” Emma: “Tacos. I cannot tell you the relief of cooking something that I didn't have to kill first.” Granny: “Don't I know it. Meatloaf back home? What a bitch.” David: “I just wanted to, uh, thank you all for joining us tonight. Mary Margaret and I, we have a saying, that we will always find each other, and while I believe that with all my heart, I'd like you all to raise your glasses and join me when I say, here's to not having to look for a while. To Mary Margaret and Emma.” (Door opens.) Regina: “Sorry I'm late.” (A hush falls over the crowd and Emma smiles as the Mayor enters.) Leroy: (Picks up a knife:) “What is she doing here?” Emma: “I invited her.”

(Mary Margaret takes Emma to where David is standing so the three can have a discussion.) Emma: “What? We're celebrating today, because of Regina. She helped us get home. No matter what she did in the past, we owe her our thanks now.” David: “Didn't you think to tell us about it?” Emma: “I did, but you two were a little busy this afternoon.” Mary Margaret: “Emma! She tried to kill us, yesterday.” Emma: “No, she didn't. She's trying to change for Henry. He believes in her, and, despite everything, so do I. Look, I couldn't have changed if I wasn't given a chance, so... she gets one, too.” By The Counter. Henry: “I'm glad you came.” Regina: “Me, too. (To Leroy:) Oh, I made lasagna.” Leroy: “What's the secret ingredient? Poison?” Regina: (Unfazed:) “Red pepper flakes. Gives it some kick.” (As the evening progresses we see everyone talking and laughing in small groups as Regina sits alone. Deciding to make a dignified exit, the mayor stands, puts on her coat and heads for the door.)

Storybrooke. Present Day. Outside Granny's Diner. (Emma runs after Regina.) Emma: “Archie made a cake. (Regina stops and turns:) You don't want to stay for a piece?” Regina: “I'm fine. Thank you.” Emma: “Okay.” Regina: “Thank you.” Emma: “You just said that.” Regina: “F... For inviting me.” Emma: “Of course. (Looks back at the Diner:) You can’t really blame them, you know?” Regina: (Shrugs:) “I’m not worried by what they think of me. To be honest I much prefer more intimate affairs. Like last night.” Emma: (Smiles:) “Yeah, me too.” Regina: “I'd like to see him more. Both of you, really. Maybe you'd consider letting him stay over some time. I have his room just... just waiting for him.” Emma: “I know. He knows, I mean it’s not like he’s actively staying away, he’s just enjoying catching up with his grandparents, you know?” Regina: “Of course. (A long silence:) And... you?” Emma: “Me?” Regina: “Yes, I’d like to spend more time together, like before... perhaps.” Emma: “Ah. I'm... I'm not sure that's best.” Regina: (Looks away:) “I see.” Emma: “Hey, No. Wait I'm sorry. I... (Walks closer, talking quieter:) I just meant that... these last few weeks have been nuts. It’s a lot to process and I need time to think about things. (Regina nods:) But that’s not to say that I don’t... that we won’t... I mean I’m living with my parents for the first time in my life. Things are a little complicated to say the least.” Regina: (Smiles:) “I understand, Miss Swan.” Emma: “Just this morning I walked in on them having-” Regina: (Cutting in:) “I can imagine what you walked in on, Emma.” Emma: “Yeah, well I didn’t have to imagine it, trust me.” (Regina begins to chuckle and, despite herself, Emma does too.) Regina: “I should be going.” Emma: “Yeah. I’ll see you around, right?” Regina: (Nods:) “I am still the Mayor.” Emma: (Smirks:) “And, I’m still Sheriff. (Both women continue to stand and stare at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Finally, as Regina turns to leave, Emma moves quickly over to the older woman:) Wait. (She takes Regina’s hand and leans in for a soft, delicate kiss that surprises both of them. As they part, their fingers caressing each other until the very last moment:) G’night.” (Emma turns and heads back inside the diner.) Meanwhile, watching from a rooftop. (Hook and Cora on a building rooftop spy on Regina walking home.) Captain Hook: “Well, that was certainly interesting.” Cora: (Her expression unreadable:) “Indeed it was.”

#sq #swan queen #swanqueen

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once-upon-a-time-psychblog-blog · 8 years ago

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I’m finding all the CS wedding hype rather amusing… I said I was done with this show a while back but split Queen lured me back in. I bailed again because the show hasn’t redeemed itself and I don’t believe this wedding is an indication of a happy ending. I’m not going to talk about that today. Today is for the upcoming musical episode, where the fan focus hasn’t really been about the musical element at all, it’s been the Captain Swan wedding. Captain Swan are getting married! They are endgame and SwanQueeners will just have to deal with it and accept that Captain Swan is the most beautiful love story ever told, and oh my god Jen chose a wedding dress Grace Kelly wore in a movie called “The Swan” and Grace Kelly was such a style icon that this wedding is so iconic because Captain Swan is the purest of true loves and that must be why Jen chose the dress and they are gonna live happily ever after and they’ll finally have sex on their honeymoon and have CS babies and won’t that be just so wonderfully fantastic! 🙄 I wonder if my fake fangirling and heavily sarcastic tone was detectable in that speech… My response to the first part, about the wedding actually happening is… it may happen, and it may not. Even when couples say “I do” and wear rings after tying the knot, it does not necessarily mean that it is true love and they will live happily ever after. Princess Diana wasn’t happy in her marriage to Prince Charles and look how that ended, which was also dubbed as a fairytale once upon a time by those who knew nothing of Diana’s life or her marriage. 👸🏼 Aside from the fact that all true love’s kisses on OUAT happen during a curse, and it’s always been the first kiss shared that breaks a curse, Captain Swan have had their first kiss outside of a relationship and outside a curse in Neverland so I wouldn’t expect a rainbow blast then. Snowing only get those happen when they are in a curse. In Ruby Slippers, Red kissed Dorothy to break her out of a sleeping curse - first kiss rainbow blast. Hades and Zelena’s first kiss broke the curse Hades brother placed upon him so they got their rainbow blast. Aurora was woken by Phillip and it was the first kiss we saw between them… the only time where a curse has been broken without a kiss was during the frozen arc with but it wasn’t a curse as such, it was a spell. The spell of shattered sight. Spells are different to curses. ✨ So Captain Swan had their first kiss and subsequently been in curses & true love’s kiss has never actually worked for them. You can argue all the other red herrings of Captain Swan being true love but the fact is a true love’s kiss is what is meant to break any curse, true love being the strongest magic of all and that still has not happened. Why is that??? Maybe they are saving it for the wedding day CSers cry. Maybe they are, it is a possibility. But in my opinion it’s highly unlikely. You should know Adam and Eddy’s way of writing by now. What they show you in canon text is NEVER what is intended. Unless of course you refer to the Snowing ship. This is why SUBTEXT is so important. I’m not talking about SwanQueen subtext. I’m not even going to go into a SwanQueen is endgame argument, which may shock you. No, I’m going to just use the OUAT storytelling as it has always been to make my point without bringing SwanQueen into it. 😧 Firstly, this is Adam and Eddy we are talking about. The same guys who gave us the mysterious Lost series, where we were trying to figure out what the hell was going on with this strange island that attracted planes to crash into it that people miraculously survived from. The people were stranded and trying to find a way off the island. The island at first seemed like some sort of conspiracy. There was a Dhama project and the word Dhama in Buddhism means TRUTH. So there was this element of trying to figure out what the truth was. This place didn’t make any sense and was totally confusing. Turns out that it wasn’t a reality as such. Seeing as many years have passed since then I think I am safe to say it… the island was some form of purgatory. They were held there and when some vanished in whatever fate was bestowed upon them, that was their soul moving from purgatory. At least that’s how it was interpreted. The ending actually infuriated a lot of viewers. 😤 So if you aren’t familiar with Adam and Eddy’s work, I suggest that you get to know it and understand that nothing is as straightforward as it seems where those two are involved in the writing. If they are happy with a wedding spoiler to be released (the guys who are strictly “no comment no spoilers”) then it’s safe to say that this wedding isn’t actually going to be as it seems. 💍🙊 Do you remember when Rumple’s dad played “Follow the Lady” before he became Peter Pan? It’s the three card trick where the player must keep their eyes on the marked card (the Queen) whilst it is shuffled around with two joker cards though some use aces. This is also called three card monte. When the swindler has finished moving them around, the player must choose the marked card (the Queen). The players watch carefully trying to keep an eye on that marked card focusing so hard on what they are told to focus on. Only when they turn the card over they believe is the marked card, it turns out they have been focused on one of the two jokers. This is Adam and Eddy’s game when they tell a story. They are telling you to focus so hard on the wedding. It’s the marked card. But when the wedding scene actually happens, you can bet your bottom dollar that when that card gets turned over, you’ll end up with a joker, and the wedding isn’t what it seems. ♠️♥️♣️♦️🃏 This is why SUBTEXT is actually more important than CANON TEXT! Things that are canon because they are written and verbally stated by characters, are generally what they WANT you to focus on, so when they flip that card (the plot) you feel like a fool staring down at a joker. So when it comes to that episode I think I’m gonna sit back, sip my tea, and have a giggle at all these CSers flipping their shit because they truly believed they are actually going to get what they want. 🐸☕️ Naturally they won’t direct their frustration with Adam on twitter, oh no, the’ll misdirect that anger at Swen because they’ll convince themselves that Adam and Eddy listened to us and gave in. But if it goes the way Adam and Eddy like to play, Swen won’t get what they want out of this episode which would be for Emma to realise she is making a mistake at the very least, and as a bonus run off with Regina. Yeah that’s not going to happen either, although it is nice to dream it at this point. What happens in the future who knows? The thing with Adam and Eddy is they aren’t afraid to give nobody what they want or hope for. OutlawQueen didn’t have a true love’s kiss, they didn’t even utter the words “I love you” - funny how that without saying I love you that their relationship can be seen as canon love because of the obvious subtext, whereas something like SwanQueen can’t because they aren’t dating. 🙃 But not going there. 😋 Realistically, it’s been 6 years, and in that time nobody ever gets what they want, and only side characters have ever had true love’s kiss because other wise the story would be over and done with quick if all the mains got their happy endings. I mean, y'all should have learned the routine by now CSers. Oh but what am I thinking, of course you haven’t learned the routine because only canon written things are important to you. Silly me! 🐸☕️ As for the Grace Kelly wedding dress, and the movie The Swan in which Grace Kelly appeared in… let me clear up a few things, seeing as I tend to watch a lot of vintage movies. I love to watch Grace Kelly, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Doris Day… not only to see such a difference with acting back then to how it is today, but because these women were fashion icons of their time and are still icons in history. I have a particular interest in styles of those eras and how very different they were compared to the styles around today. But the movies… the actresses were great, but the messages of them weren’t always. Some were quite degrading to women in my opinion; The Swan being one of them. 🐥 The premise of the Swan… Prince Albert, visits a banished family of nobles. Their matriarch ( to spell it out for you this means the head of the family) Princess Beatrix (who seemed to act like more of a domineering queen), wants her daughter Alexandra, to marry her own cousin Albert so that the family will be welcomed back into the kingdom. So Alexandra’s mother encourages her to flirt with Albert to gain his affections to regain regal status as she believes he will fall in love with her, marry her, and they can finally rule a kingdom again. (Reiterating this point to CSers because generally they only focus of context rather than any subtext… this is not love, because love is not a choice and love isn’t manipulation in order to gain status or material possessions). 🙄 Princess Beatrix: Oh my dear child, this is the one thing, the one opportunity that all your life I’ve been praying for - for you to become a queen. - Doesn’t she sound like Cora! Not at all like Snow. The one opportunity in all YOUR life that I’VE been praying for. Never mind whether Alexandra has any feelings of her own. I’ll just dream your life for you and you do as I say to fulfil my own dreams for your life. This is such a common thing. When you think in terms of sexuality, though this has nothing to do with sexuality, a lot of homophobic parents like to do, control and force their child to be in straight relationships they don’t want to be in. Controlling and forcing relationships is something a parent should never do, regardless of whether or not their child is heterosexual or otherwise. Control and manipulation is not an act of unconditional love. Anyway, I digress. So back to the story… 😑 Much to her Beatrix’s dismay, Albert doesn’t show much of an interest in Alexandra. So Beatrix encourages Alexandra to flirt with her tutor, Nicholas in order to rouse Albert’s attention. 😧 Princess Beatrix: My dear child, how do you suppose I came to marry your father? You can’t think a man just gets an idea into his head and asks a woman to marry him? Of course not! All your father ever cared for was horses. He wouldn’t even look at me. So I looked once or twice at the riding master. Your father proposed the very next afternoon - on horseback. 🤔 Don’t you just love pushy manipulative people who become parents who then try to manipulate force their children into a relationship where there is no feeling not to mention the fact that Albert was Alexandra’s cousin? I know you CSers are so quick to jump on an incest wagon when you compare Regina who was no blood relation to Snow, was forced into a marriage with Snow’s father, man she didn’t love and therefore was forced to be a stepmother very temporarily to Snow, whom she didn’t want to be a step parent to, rather than also accept the fact that Hook actually had a relationship with Henry’s biological grandmother by choice, and was Baelfire’s/Neal’s step father by your own logic, was even trying to act as such whilst Baelfire was aboard the Jolly Roger, and therefore acted unbeknown to him as Emma’s step father-in-law… so this marrying of a cousin thing should really be a pleasant thing for you guys to hear. Anyway…. 🙃 Dropping the prince and princess titles as writing that is becoming rather monotonous, Alexandra does as her mother wishes and flirts with her attractive tutor Nicholas. However, later the plan backfires when she develops genuine feelings for Nicholas. Nicholas is already quite taken with Alexandra, so when she invites him to the farewell ball for Albert (her last chance for the plan to work) he eagerly accepts. Later when they are dancing at the ball it appears that Albert is getting jealous, (how very possessive considering his apparent lack of interest) but instead of saying something, he appears to show more interest in playing the bass viol in the orchestra. 🎶🎵🎶 Despite the original intention of using Nicholas, Alexandra realises she is quite taken with Nicholas. Here you can see her conflict where she expresses feelings for him but you can see that she is bound by her ploy in order to gain the Kingdom for her family… 💔 Dr. Nicholas Agi: You’re so sweet and so beautiful… Princess Alexandra: Don’t come any closer Nicholas… I’ve never seen a man in love and… he happens to be in love with me. Dr. Nicholas Agi: Are you so afraid of me? Princess Alexandra: Oh, if I am I want always to be afraid. I want to be so good to you. I want a hundred things. I want to tell you everything that’s in my heart… I want to look after you and spoil you and… oh, eat something. The wanting to always be afraid is a hint of saying I want to always be afraid that I will lose you because that’s how I know, in this confusing time where I feel things for you but I’m trying to gain my cousin’s affections, that my feelings for you are genuine. But obviously she cannot be so transparent and say this aloud because of her mission set by her mother. 😔 Eventually, she tells Nicholas that it was all a ploy to get Albert to propose to her and she suspected he felt this way. She realizes that she has some feelings for him but he feels used and that Alexandra has been disingenuous, so refuses her affection. Albert comes to find out about this situation and is a little taken aback. Albert and Nicholas trade insults, and Nicholas then storms out and tries to leave the next morning. 😭 Alexandra, distraught over what happened, tries to leave with him, but he refuses her again. YES… SHE WANTED NICHOLAS NOT ALBERT! Albert’s mother shows up and gets the entire story and is aghast. Albert actually GIVES HIS BLESSING to the pair and says that when he is king he will allow them back into the country. However, Nicholas is still hurt ends up leaving the mansion without Alexandra. 😭💔 So… there you have it. She didn’t actually want to marry Albert, because she actually loved Nicholas. But royalty being what it is, marrying for love is rare. She did end up marrying Albert but it wasn’t for love. These are the last lines where Albert tries to console Alexandra… 😭 Prince Albert: Your father used to call you his swan, so I am told. I think that’s a good thing to remember. Think what it means to be a swan: to glide like a dream on the smooth surface of the lake, and never go to the shore. On dry land, where ordinary people walk, the swan is awkward, even ridiculous. When she waddles up the bank she painfully resembles a different kind of bird, n'est-ce-pas? Princess Alexandra: A goose. Prince Albert: I’m afraid so. And there she must stay, out on the lake: silent, white, majestic. Be a bird, but never fly. Know one song, but never sing it until the moment of death. And so it must be for you, Alexandra: cool indifference to the staring crowds along the bank. And the song? Never. 😭😭😭💔💔💔 Now… first off, Albert insulted Alexandra. She is graceful but only where she belongs… he doesn’t see her gracefulness in any other circumstance. Out of her natural habitat (i.e. with Nicholas whom she actually had romantic feelings for) she would be awkward and ridiculous. Instead of being the regal beauty that she is, she would be more like a goose. It’s all metaphoric to suggest that she is far too good for a man who was actually a nice guy, but not royal and therefore not worthy, despite the fact that she genuinely loves Nicholas. It was suggesting that her life was to be unfulfilled, and that her cousin who wasn’t interested in her to begin with, and who only did become interested when another man was on the scene, who will give her a life where she can be regal and graceful, but she as a Swan cannot sing her (Swan) song and must be silent and subservient to preserve the perfection illusion for the Kingdom. This is the life she was born into and she should just accept it. 😤 What kind of message is that really to women? To settle for a guy you’re actually related to, in a loveless marriage, living a life where the surface everything looks perfectly regal and wonderful, but she can’t even express herself… sounds like such a wonderful happily ever after, doesn’t it? [Oh sorry, insert sarcastic tone here again!] 🙃 And wouldn’t you know it, beautiful blonde woman with a Swan wearing a crown was the poster for that 1950’s movie. Seems to depict the oppressive nature of how royal romances are more of a transaction than of genuine love. Not saying that some aren’t for love, it’s just not often that a royal will marry someone for love. Though I do believe that Kate and William in the UK did marry for love. I guess time will tell. 🙃 Ironically, Grace Kelly was courting her own prince while making The Swan. She met Prince Rainier during April 1955 Cannes Film Festival. By December that year, he proposed to her. Royals do work fast and this is usually down to external pressures in retaining their kingdoms. It was speculated that he was seeking a wife, as a treaty with France in 1918 stated that if he did not produce an heir to the throne, Monaco would revert to France. However this was neither confirmed nor denied. It was also rumoured he had an affair with three different women and the first was during Grace’s first pregnancy, but that was also neither confirmed or denied so we cannot say for sure whether it was a faithful marriage. 😕 Also ironically, that movie featured several eerie similarities to Kelly’s future. Her white lace costumes are quite similar to her wedding dress, and Alec Guinness who plays Prince Albert in The Swan, actually looks a great deal like Grace Kelly’s husband, Prince Rainier in this movie. 🤔 Interestingly enough, Grace Kelly actually did some work for ABC! Yes, she narrated ABC’s made-for-television film The Poppy is Also a Flower (1966). She and Rainier worked together in a 33-minute independent film called Rearranged in 1979, which received interest from ABC TV executives in 1982 after premiering in Monaco, on the condition that it be extended to an hour. Before more scenes could be shot, Kelly died and the film was never released or shown publicly again. Grace Kelly died in a car accident. The beautiful blonde princess lost control of her car after suffering a minor stroke that caused her to lose control of the vehicle. Her daughter, Stephanie, one of her three children, was in the car with her and she tried to regain control by taking the wheel after her mother lost consciousness, but failed to do so. Grace was alive but unconscious, with injuries to her brain, thorax and a femur fracture, she was in a coma on life support until the following day when Rainer decided to terminate the life support as doctors determined that she would not recover. Stephanie suffered bruising, concussion and a fracture to her spine. She didn’t attend her mother’s funeral due to these injuries. 😢😢😢😢😢😢😢 A tragic way for a princess to die, a tragic way for anyone to die really. Her life was cut short, so the happily ever after bit didn’t really happen for them. 😔😔😔😔😔😔 During her marriage to Rainer, Grace was not permitted to act anymore, a decision that Rainer himself imposed after an outcry in Monaco when Hitchcock offered Grace a part which would depict her fictional character as a kleptomaniac. So Grace had no choice but to decline Hitchcock’s offer. Despite acting being her dream and pleasure in life, the only way she could do it would be to divorce Rainer, which would mean leaving her three children in Monaco, and she would never do that. So she threw herself into her role as a princess and engaged in charitable work. Grace Kelly’s dream was to act and it had been her dream from being a very young child, much to her parents initial displeasure. However, her life changed, and she had to put not only her children and husband first, but the reputation of Monaco before herself too. She was no longer in a position to pursue her dreams. After her death, Rainer lived out his life, but never remarried and he is buried alongside her. ☹️ Most see Grace Kelly as this gorgeous blonde woman, who got lucky and married her own Prince Charming in a fairytale come true. But what I see is this whirlwind romance where a proposal was made after 8 months of not actually spending a lot of time together what with their individual commitments (particularly Grace’s as she was filming at the time). She accepted it meant that she had to give up her dreams, sadly her tragic death meant the apparent on the surface perfect fairytale (which it really wasn’t) ended prematurely to what a happily ever after is meant to be. Fairytales don’t end in tragedy. So I really find it somewhat interesting that Jennifer Morrison chose a Grace Kelly wedding dress of all the dresses she could have chosen. It will be interesting to see just how this pans out. 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 Follow the lady does not mean follow Emma into the canon plot spoiler that they don’t mind you seeing with blind faith that it will happen. The truth and the clues as to what will happen have already been shown to us, but you guys are too busy focusing on what they tell you to look at. It’s not the big obvious canon things where the truth is found, it’s in the details and the subtext, in the small things. Even in the things you believe are not canon because they haven’t been said. But what do I matter huh? I’m just a fan who ships SwanQueen and as YNB said once only canon ships are worth talking about 🙃 I wonder if that statement will still hold up after all of this is over, or whether Adam and Eddy’s storytelling will teach the lesson that just because something is canon, doesn’t mean it’s set in stone and that it always will be.

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marajade4s · 8 years ago

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True Love Will Always Find A Way (10/?)

Read on: FF.Net / AO3

Read from the beginning: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True Love Will Always Find A Way

Ladyhawke AU

Princess!Emma & Pirate!Killian Jones

Emma is one of the most beautiful princesses in the Enchanted Forest, and Killian Jones is one of the most cutthroat pirates to sail the seven seas. When Emma refuses to give Baelfire any hopes he might win her heart, a set of events is set in motion, one that will forever entwine the fates of the princess and of the pirate.

Part 10

Emma stares wide eyed at the wolf in front of her, too shocked to move a muscle. The animal barks once, as if in greeting, then moves closer to her, pushing at her hand with its muzzle. Habit takes over and Emma caresses the wolf’s head absentmindedly. He seems to notice though, because he whines a complaint at her, nudging her. It’s only when she feels the wolf wrap himself around her legs, does Emma come out of her trance.

“By the Gods, I saw you Killian”, she tells the wolf as she crouches low. He can’t answer her with words, but, like every so often, he puts his head on her shoulder. Emma’s arms wrap around him and she buries her head deep in his fur, breathing him in. It’s something she’s grown to appreciate in the last few months, the scent of him always calming her nerves. She closes her eyes and strokes his back, waiting for her heart to calm down. He’s usually not so amenable - the wolf’s not accustomed to being hugged for so long, after all - but this time he doesn’t protest. It’s as if he feels she needs embrace.

Emma is unsure how many minutes pass before her heart feels calm again and she lets go of him. The wolf is watching her closely when she lets go, and this time, the intense blue stare makes shivers run down her spine. She now knows for a fact they’re his eyes she sees every time she watches the wolf and that thought makes her heart leap in her chest again.

He’s beautiful, more beautiful she ever would have thought. But it’s his eyes that have her mesmerized. They were opened wide in shock, and despite the lack of time, she did catch a glimpse of more in his gaze: there was also kindness, care, and so much pain. He was a man accustomed to loss and that was present in his gaze, fleeting as the encounter was.

She realizes then that something like this should not have happened. The curse should not have allowed them to see each other, not matter how short the meeting. So why did it happen? How? These are questions she does not have an answer to, questions she doesn’t even know where to start answering. But maybe Killian will know! With this thought formed, Emma rushes to the desk to write a message for him. She sees his note and while she’s curious to see what he’s sharing with her, her excitement is too great to put a lid on. Only after she pens her own message to Killian, does she pick up his note again.

“My dearest princess,

You certainly are a brave one, aren’t you? I confess I didn’t believe you would accept this arrangement, but I suppose I should not find it so unbelievable since few things have gone to plan since I’ve met you.

If at any time you feel uncomfortable about this, you need only say the word and things will go back to the way they were until now. It is a bit odd, is it not, to take such a step without having seen each other yet?

Today is the autumn equinox, one of the two moments a year when the day and night have equal length. It means nothing to our current predicament, but it is something I believe you will enjoy knowing.

Do you know you’ve been with us for almost 3 months now? Would you consider having dinner with me in celebration of our anniversary?

Yours, Killian

P.S. Please say yes!

Just like that, Emma is stunned into speechlessness again. If she’s surprising him, he certainly manages to keep up with her on that front. An equinox! And an anniversary dinner! How does he think they could manage it? But after today, maybe there’s a way. She never would have thought she’d see him while still cursed, but maybe it was the equinox that helped them beat those particular odds. So why not dinner, she thinks.

~~~~~~~~~~

Killian wakes up to a familiar lull. It takes him a few seconds to recognize it as his own bed, in his own quarters, and even longer to realize why that might be odd. As he opens his eyes, his gaze falls upon a hawk - his princess, his True Love. She shrieks and opens her wings wide, the gesture one Killian is familiar with by now. It’s the sort of greeting she bestows on him and he can’t help the smile forming on his lips. She’s magnificent.

That’s when the memory hits him. He’s seen her last night! For barely a moment, but he caught a glimpse of her and it was enough for the image of her to imprint itself on his retinas and senses. The Princess Emma from Henry's drawing had been beautiful, but the woman in front of him had been nothing short of magnificent. Chuckling to himself, Killian thinks the adjective is an apt description for her in either form, human or beast.

And her eyes, that’s what he mostly remembers. Green as the lushest forest or the colour of the seas after a storm, it was the look in them that spoke to him. He’d started to care for her in the weeks since she’d come aboard, but one look in her eyes and he’s hooked for good. If he’d been lured in by her personality, bravery, determination, and stubbornness, he’s definitely aware now he’s fallen in love with her.

Remembering all of a sudden the question he’d asked the day before, he turns towards his desk, eager to discover what her response is. His heart starts beating wildly in his chest; it’s ridiculous, he knows, but he can’t help wanting for this to happen. So what if they can’t meet face to face yet (for more that a glimpse, apparently), he can still woo her. And on that thought, how did they see each other?

The question remains unanswered, though. Emma’s answer is yes and it blots out any other train of thought. She wants to have dinner with him, to celebrate their anniversary, and he wants to make it memorable for her. He won’t be able to be there with her, but he will plan this dinner to the best of his abilities. Thoughts on how they met are pushed aside for now; he has a meal to prepare for.

It takes him the rest of the day to get everything done. He’s careful to choose the dishes he knows or suspects she likes; he even helps the cook prepare some of them in his quest for perfection. He asks Henry to create some paper flowers for his princess, and then he hovers over the boy’s shoulder to make sure they’re the right hue and shape.

An hour before sunset, he goes to the bow of the ship to make the last preparations for the picnic. He’s so caught up with the finishing touches, he barely realizes it when the sun sinks below the horizon. Sighing, he moves the pot of flowers a little bit more to the left, then goes downstairs. The time is up; he just hopes Princess Emma will like it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The moment she comes to, Emma notices there’s something different about the room, although the wolf is in his usual place, head resting calmly over his forward paws. It takes her a few minutes to pinpoint exactly what it is. He’s a neat freak on the best of days, but he’s obviously made an extra effort today. The change is subtle, but it’s there: the room is spotless clean, more so than usual, a single white envelope sitting in the middle of the immaculate desk. She recognizes immediately Killian’s flourished handwriting and she can’t help but smile. If these subtle changes are any indication, then Killian has put an extra effort into making this dinner a pleasant affair for her.

The thought warms her heart. They cannot be face to face on this occasion, but she’s sure he’s prepared something special for her. The realization makes her feel giddy like a little girl, again. How many times in the last few weeks has he made her feel this way? She’d lost her heart to him long before she’d seen him in the flesh yesterday. Emma’s grin broadens. She’s found her True Love and fallen in love with him. The thought alone makes her feel hopeful beyond belief; the night she’d discovered about the curse she had felt as if the world had come crashing down on her, but now she’s ready to take on the entire universe.

So, because he’s apparently made an extra effort, Emma dons her best dress and takes extra care to arrange her hair in an elaborate braid, one that circles her head as a crown. Finished, she twirls a bit around the room and looks at herself in the small mirror hung up on one of the beams by the door. She may have worn more elaborate gowns and may have had more intricate hairstyles, but she can’t remember a time when she’s felt more desirable. She hasn’t even seen what he’s prepared for dinner yet, but somehow she knows he won’t disappoint on that front either.

Pleased with her looks, Emma steps closer to the desk and picks up the letter.

“My dearest Emma,

After I lost Liam, I never thought I would have someone else to care for in my life again. But then I found you. I don’t care how we’ve come to find each other, only that we did. And to be perfectly honest, I’m grateful for the circumstance that has brought you to my life, be it as it is.

I would love nothing more than to join you at the moment you’re reading this, but alas, we’ll have to wait a bit more. I do hope, once the curse is broken, that you will agree to accompany me on another dinner. Until then, a small feast awaits you, my lady, at the bow of the ship. Henry will tend to your needs tonight, but the others will leave you be, should you so wish it.

Killian”

Eager, and with a huge smile plastered on her face, Emma extends her hand towards the quiet wolf still in the corner. He hadn’t moved an inch since her transformation, silently watching her find her bearings and get ready. “Come on, now, let us go above stairs”, she beckons. He’s up on all fours and by her side in a couple of seconds. Emma opens the door of their quarters a bit forcefully, very much determined to make it up on deck as soon as possible, and stumbles her way through the narrow passage.

True to Killian’s word, Emma finds a skeleton crew of the night shift on deck. Jamison is there, manning the helm, and so is Henry. The lad smiles brightly as he notices her and scrambles across the deck to join her. He makes an exaggerated bow, more like the type of bow he thinks she expects, than the real thing, but it doesn’t bother her. It’s a sweet gesture, and it warms her heart to know that they’re all trying to make this night memorable for her.

“Good evening, Sir Henry”, she greets the boy as she hooks her hand through his arm. Henry blushes profusely and stammers a response in kind, which makes her grin wider. “What is Killian up to,” she asks the question still smiling. The boy seems to catch up on her light mood, because he’s smiling too. “If you will allow me to escort you, you will find out soon, Your Highness.”

It’s a bit too saucy a reply for Henry, so Emma raises one of her eyebrows in turn. It’s such a Killian Jones thing to say, it’s endearing really to see it on his young charge; but she cannot let Henry get away with it so easily, hence the raised brow.

Henry gets a bit flustered, but recovers himself quickly and motions Emma towards the bow. She stops mid-step a few feet before she reaches it, stunned. While she knew he would prepare something grand, the end result is so romantic and sweet, she never would have imagined something quite like this from Killian Jones. Not in the middle of the high seas, at any rate.

There’s a woollen blanket draped across the floor, a few covered pots in a corner and a bottle of wine beside it. But what draws her attention next is a bottle turned into a vase - there are paper flowers in it, a dozen by the looks of it. Confused, she looks at Henry. The lad blushes again and scratches at something behind his right ear.

She picks one up and looks at the craftsmanship - it’s beautiful, almost real. Were it not for its texture, she would have thought it a true rose. After all, from afar, it had looked like a small bouquet of roses.

“The Captain asked me to make these for you, Your Highness”, Henry supplies in explanation. “He wanted you to have some flowers, but since we’re in the middle of the sea, this was the only solution he came up with.”

Not wanting Henry to see how touched she is by this seemingly inconsequential gesture, Emma cradles the flower to her chest, head lowered. Her pirate is definitely a romantic, much as he would probably deny it even under threat of torture.

“The Captain has also prepared something special for you. He and the cook have spent most of the afternoon working on this”, adds the lad with a satisfied smile on his lips.

Bowing, with one hand extended towards her, Henry continues: “If you would, milady.” Emma places her hand in the lad’s and he helps her sit on the blanket. He bows again before retreating a bit to the side. “Enjoy the meal, Your Highness. If you need anything, I’ll be here.”

Alone, Emma stares again at all the things laid out on the blanket beside her: the pots of food, the bottle of wine on the side, the roses carefully crafted by Henry. And, at the side, another scroll - a message from Killian, no doubt. She takes a moment to calm her racing heart - no one, ever, had gone to so much effort for her. The feast isn’t luxurious by any stretch of the word, but the care that went into preparing everything, makes it all invaluable. She may have received countless presents more expensive than this, but this dinner will forever be one of her most cherished memories.

She stretches her hand to grab the foolscap and it’s only then she realizes that her hands are trembling. She takes a few deep breathes and tries again. The message is indeed from Killian, and this one is much longer that the letters he usually leaves for her. It’s soon clear why: most of this letter contains details about the constellations she’s going to see in front of her as the hours will pass. His letter is full of tales of woe and love stories and it once again surprises her just how much the lonesome pirate knows. And she can’t help but wonder how good at storytelling he actually is.

She’s going to spend the evening as he’s wished it: eating the meals they’ve prepared for her, drinking some wine and enjoying the clear sky with all those constellations making an appearance tonight. There’s only one thing that puts a pall on the evening: his parting words - “Wishing I were there with you”. It’s a statement that has a claim more and more profound on her heart, one that makes her soul hurt more and more each day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two months later, Killian feels frustration and hopelessness engulf him. He’s not made any progress in weeks, and while he’s narrowed down the location of the next possible eclipse, he’s nowhere near knowing where exactly it will be. And the fact that time is running out for them weighs heavily on his mind. On Emma’s too, he knows, but she’s too gracious to say anything about it. He can feel it though, and it’s enough to choke him on the best of days. But today, he’s downright depressed.

There’s less than half an hour to dusk so he doesn’t bother going back on deck. He’ll just wait there for the transformation to occur. Maybe this is what his life is destined to be like for the rest of his days: half man, half wolf, in love with a woman he can never touch in human form, but condemned to long for her forever.

“Bloody hell”, he yells in frustration, throwing the book he’d been reading at the door. Sighing, Killian passes a tired hand through his hair and picks up his pen.

“Emma,”

He stares at her name for several minutes. Where should he start in telling her it’s hopeless. That the eclipse could happen a day’s length away, but he has no idea in which direction? That he feels they’re so close, yet so far away from a solution?

I haven’t made any breakthrough today, either. I do not know where to go from here. Forgive me.

He feels tears welling in his eyes and he swats angrily at his eyes. He leaves the letter unsigned; he should say more, but the feels there’s nothing more to add.

~~~~~~~~~

Emma becomes aware of her surroundings shortly after the sun has set. She’s a tad confused at first, as usual, but her bewilderment disappears as soon as she sees the wolf. He’s sitting down in front of their shared desk, head on his front paws. It’s his usual position, but something feels off. He barely lifts his head in acknowledgement and she knows something’s happened. While different beings, Emma knows by now that the wolf usually acts in tune with his human counterpart.

Besides, she’d known Killian was getting despondent. The few lines she finds from him heighten her worries. Because they are a sign of more than that. He seems to have lost his hope and Emma knows that is dangerous. She knows how debilitating not believing can be, so she wants to do for him what he did for her when he kidnapped her: give him some hope.

She crouches low besides him and threads her head through the wolf’s mane, in a soothing gesture. He barely reacts.

The question is how to cheer him up. What could she possibly say to him that wouldn’t sound pathetic? What could she help him with? While she’d learnt everything he’d told her, and read every book on navigation and astronomy in his possession, she’s aware her input is mildly helpful at best. And right now, nothing short of concrete steps forward will help him. So what could she do?

She peruses his notes again, then the letters where he’d taught her something about the movement of stars. She’s barely aware when Henry brings her some food, but she’s happy for the interruption. She’s starving. She tries to feed the wolf as well, but he’s still not paying attention to her and that just makes her more determined to find a way to get his hopes up. They’re close, she knows it.

It’s some time later, after she’s gone through his notes for a second time, that she notices his maps. She may not know much about navigation, but she can read maps. Picking up the first of the bunch strewn across a corner of the desk, obviously the one Killian is currently focused on, Emma peers at it to study the several lines drawn across the upper half. They mean nothing though; they’re just curved lines from one side of the map to the other.

Emma sighs wistfully. She really wishes she were able to know what he was doing there… Were those the boundaries for the solar eclipse? She does remember Killian telling her solar eclipses are to be found within certain areas. Emma can’t ask him right away to clarify, but she does intend to do so in her next letter.

Then something draws her attention to the upper right corner of the map and Emma gasps. It’s Arendelle, her friend Elsa’s kingdom! It’s been so long since she’s been there, since she’s talked to Elsa and Anna. Those first few months after Elsa had lost her parents, Emma had been with her friend in Arendelle, helping her cope with taking leadership of her realm. Those moments spent together had only reinforced their friendship.

She misses Elsa and her clear head and Emma feels a stab of guilt. Elsa is her best friend, yet, since the curse, she’s never told her what she was going through. She’d written to her, of course, albeit sporadically, but she’d never confided in her friend. And she’d refused any invitation to visit Arendelle. Yet now, as she thinks about everything, Emma feels an idea taking shape.

Killian’s been upset because he couldn’t get any more useful information from his books. But Elsa has books. Plenty of books, to be honest! Emma has no idea where the Jolly Roger is at the moment, but maybe they can go to Arendelle next. Elsa would help them. She may be distrustful of a pirate ship in her port, but Emma knows Elsa trusts her, and she trusts Elsa to help them. The queen of Arendelle will keep them safe. Determined, and feeling much better, Emma starts writing her message to Killian.

My dear Captain,

Remember it is always darkest before dawn! Have hope!

I went through all our notes, but I cannot give you any insight at the moment. I did notice the map, though. Those lines, what are they? Do we have to be within their perimeter in order to see the eclipse?

I don’t know where we are currently, but I’d like to make a suggestion. Elsa, the Queen of Arendelle, is my dearest friend. She will aid us, if we were to ask for her help. And she would allow us to make use of her vast library if we so desired.

I would like to ask for her help, Killian. I know you don’t trust royals, but I am asking you to trust me, again. Elsa will not betray us. And if you do agree to go to Arendelle, we must arrive at night. I must talk to her first.

Yours, Emma

P.S. I miss the sun so much. Sometimes, I don’t even believe I recall what its warmth feels like. Shall we go on picnics when the curse is broken?

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, things feel a bit different. The wolf seems to be a bit more animated than before and that gives Emma confidence that Killian’s found some hope in her letter. And when she reads his message, she knows she had the right idea.

Emma,

It will be as you wish, my lady. We are close to the Arendelle border, and I’ve set the Jolly on a course towards the capital. If the weather holds, we should be there in two days time.

Yours, Killian

P.S. It would be my pleasure, Your Highness. Shall we go on picnics at night, too? I would love to show you the stars myself. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them last...

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter, the longest so far. The “date” scene sprang out of nowhere and it proved to be the most difficult to plan and write. I wanted to do it justice, while also making sure it was fit for the story. And then, by the time I finally sorted things out and my professional life seemed to calm down a bit, things in my country went to hell and I’ve been out doing my civic duty in every spare moment. If you’ve followed the news, maybe you’ve heard something about the protests in Romania against corruption. Anyway, I needed to think about something else tonight, so I decided to finish the chapter and post it. It’s barely been edited, so I really hope I haven’t made many mistakes and that it was worth the wait :)

#cs ff #cs au #captain swan #cs ff au #true love will always find a way #marajade4sff #cs fic #cs au fic #pirate duckling

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gray-autumn-sky · 8 years ago

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Meant to Be Yours, Chapter 18

Henry starts his sessions with Archie. Meanwhile, Regina makes a very calculated move that she can only hope won’t backfire.

For @stick-to-the-lasagna-lady who sent me a bunch of quotes to include in this verse, and I actually managed to include them. :)

Previous chapters can be found HERE.

It’s nearly the end of January when Henry’s first appointment with Dr. Hopper is scheduled—and on a nearly daily basis, Henry has waffled back and forth about whether or not he wants to go. But each of his protests are met with a gentle but firm insistence from Regina—and each time she insists, she hopes she pushing him for the right reasons.

But over and over again, she tells herself that it isn’t about the curse or Emma Swan, it’s about Henry and helping him through the trauma that had been his early childhood.

His birthmother aside, his nightmares hadn’t stopped. More times than not, he awoke in the middle of the night with teary eyes, gasping for air as he tried to remember where he was and that he was safe with her. Sometimes he woke her up—quietly, he’d push open her door and peek inside her bedroom and his little voice would murmur a barely audible Are you still awake? On those nights she’d peel back her covers and cuddle him close, they’d reach extra chapters of whatever book they were in the middle of or they’d go down to the kitchen and talk it out over mugs of warm milk until his eyes were drooping and he was no longer afraid.

But there were other nights that he didn’t come to her—nights he’d lie alone in his darkened bedroom, nights when didn’t seek her comfort. On occasion, she’d awake in the middle of the night and go to check on him, finding him curled up and crying; and on those nights, though he was willing to accept her comfort, he wasn’t willing to talk about it.

In some ways, they were so similar—how they’d bottle up negative feelings, not wanting to share, not wanting to voice certain things and not wanting to admit to others. On the nights when she found him, alone and scared, she remembered how she’d sit up at night, listening to her mother rage—sometimes this was actually happening, but other times, more frequent times, she was reliving a memory or a something that happened in a dream which had only felt real—and each time, she felt so trapped. It didn’t matter that her nurse would come in and sit with her—that she’d comfort her in the ways she now tried to comfort Henry—there were things that just couldn’t be comforted or loved away. She’d been trained from a young age not to cause a scene, not to upset people and to diminish her own feelings—though it hadn’t been intentional, this was one of the lasting lessons her father had bestowed upon her—and she wondered if it wasn’t the same for Henry.

And she wondered how much of his childhood he kept from her—how much he refused to share, how much he kept tucked away in the recesses of his memory, for himself to endure. He knew how guilty she felt about giving him up and she told him enough how she’d truly believed it was what was best for him, that she couldn’t love him the way a child should be loved, that she couldn’t give him the childhood he deserved. Of course, she’d been wrong—something she acknowledged again and again—and she wondered, if somehow—conscious of it or not—he was trying to protect her.

This wasn’t about the curse or Emma Swan; it was about Henry.

It was always about Henry for her.

“Mom,” he asks, yawning and stretching out beside her on her bed. “Can I stay home?”

“From school?” She asks, rolling onto her side as her eyebrow arches and she stifles her urge to grin. “Why don’t you want to go to school?”

“I’m… not feeling well.”

Laughing, she slides down beside him, pressing one hand to his forehead—which was soft and cool—and pressing the other to his pajama-covered stomach. “You don’t seem sick.”

“But I am.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he nods, his eyes moving to her hand as it slides from his stomach to his side—and immediately, he flinches and giggles as she starts to tickle him. “Mo-oom…”

“You are a terrible liar, Henry,” she laughs as he squirms beside her.

“So tell me, why don’t you want to go to school?” Her eyes narrow as her fingers walk from his side up to his chest and tap his chin. “The real reason.”

“I have a math test.”

“Ah…”

“And I’m worried about it.”

“We’ve been practicing. We studied for an hour last night.”

“I know,” Henry sighs. “And it makes sense when you and Robin do it with me, but then I see the problems on the test and I just… forget it all.”

“Oh…”

He sighs and turns his head on the pillow, and looks away. “And no matter how good I think I’m going to do, I always get it back and… find out that I did bad on it.”

“Some things are just tough…”

“Not for everyone else,” he tells her, turning his head back. “The last one, I got a C and….”

“And I was really proud of that C. You worked really hard.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly. “But I was the only one who didn’t get an A.” He sighs. “My class did so well that Ms. Blanchard gave us candy.”

“Did you get a piece?”

“Yeah,” he tells her with a little nod. “But I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t earn it like everyone else did.” His eyes again fall away from hers. “Everyone knew it, too.”

“Henry,” she murmurs, reaching out and tipping his chin toward her. “You did earn it. You might not have gotten an A, but you did well on that test. Math is hard for you, and you got a lot of those problems right. You did your best.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding a little. “I guess.” And then his jaw starts to tremble. “I just don’t understand why I always have to work so much harder than everyone else for things. It’s not just math…”

Her chest tightens and her arms fold around him, pulling him against her chest as tears spill down his cheeks—and more than anything, she wishes that there were more that she could do for him. She pulls him tighter, one hand clenching to his pajama top as the other cups his head; she murmurs soothing things and rocks him gently—and all the while, she feels a familiar rage bubbling up inside of her.

On most days, she’s able to control it. On most days, she’s able to push aside the past and contain her rage and anger, focusing on the things she has, focusing on the future and focusing on the things she can control. But every now and then, she finds herself unable to let go—unable not to let her anger permeate, unable not to cast blame where she feels it belongs, unable to stop herself from wanting someone to pay.

And she can feel that this is going to be one of those days.

Taking a breath, she pushes him back a little and kisses his forehead, letting her eyes linger on his as she brushes the tears from his cheeks.

“Well,” she begins, slowly exhaling her breath. “I can’t do much about the math test…”

“So I can’t stay home?”

“No,” she tells him, a small pang of regret striking at her core—a familiar feeling when she feels she’s disappointed him. “But, if you get dressed and cleaned up in the next fifteen minutes, we can go to Granny’s for breakfast before school.”

“Really?” He asks, perking up as his eyes widen. “Can I get waffles and whipped cream?”

“Sure,” she laughs as he rolls off the bed and bounds toward his bedroom.

She waits to hear the bedroom door open and close, and then, taking another breath, she gets out of bed. Running her fingers through her hair, she looks in the mirror—and for an all too brief moment, she sees her former self looking back at her. Shaking her head, she looks away from the mirror, opening the closet door as she reaches for a simple black dress and a gray blazer. Tossing the garments over her arm, she looks up at the top shelf of the closet—and instead of reaching for a pair of black Jimmy Choos, she reaches for the shoebox with Henry’s name on the top.

Dressing quickly, she puts on her makeup—and when a light knock comes onto her door, she calls Henry in, grinning as he pokes his head in. “You ready?” She asks, as she slips her feet into her shoes—and then reaches for her leather tote bag containing the box. Her heart flutters with nervousness as he nods and takes her head, leading her down the stairs.

They pulls on their coats and gloves—and ten minutes later, they’re nestled into a booth drinking orange juice and waiting for waffles. She reminds him that after school he has his first session—and though he scrunches his nose, he nods and asks if he’ll like Dr. Hopper. She tells him sincerely that she hopes he does and she hopes it’ll help him—and when their waffles arrive, she pushes away the thought of how disappointed Archie would be with her if he knew of her afternoon plans.

_____

“Mmm, we should do lunch more often,” Robin says as his lips fall to her bare shoulder. “This was so much better than an egg salad sandwich and choosing how to best arrange next month’s sale items.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m more enjoyable than egg salad,” she laughs.

“You’re more enjoyable than a lot of things…”

She hadn’t been able to concentrate. Budget reports and planning an agenda for the next town hall meeting hadn’t held her interest and every time she tried to focus, all she could think of were Henry’s tears and her inability to stop them. She’d pushed her keyboard away and opened her desk drawer, impulsively pulling out a stationary set and a favorite ink pen. Quickly, she scribbled a note, her jaw tightening as her the knot in her chest loosened with the satisfaction of doing something—a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long, long while. For a moment, she stared down at it—wondering if she wanted to do this, wondering if this was necessary, wondering if it would really help—but then, she thought again of Henry and the difficulty he had trusting in safety, in believing that good things could he permanent, and the way his eyes fell away from hers that morning as he tried to hide the conviction in them, as he tried to hide his steadfast belief that he was somehow undeserving.

Exhaling a breath, she reached for one of the envelopes, then for her tote. Pulling out the box, she rummaged through the papers until she found what she was looking for—and for a brief moment, she let her eyes linger over the name, letting herself ruminate on it and letting herself decide.

And she decided a little pay back—a little discomfort for years of neglect—was in order.

Regina picked the pen back up, carefully addressing the envelope before tucking the note inside and sealing it. Easily, she tucked the paper back into the box and then tucked the box back into her bag—and a smile stretched over her lips as she considered the feelings her carefully written words would evoke, and she felt a wave of satisfied relief.

She’d been on her way to mail the note when she walked past Robin’s store, and caught a glimpse of him in the window. He was standing there with his John and she couldn’t help but laugh as they attempted to hang an oar in the window. Robin’s face scrunched as John hoisted up the oar, rolling his eyes when Robin shook his head and motioned to the left. John sighed and nodded, dragging the oar over and hoisting it up again—and he let out an audible sigh as Robin motioned back to the direction he’d just come from.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping inside and laughing as John smiled brighter than Robin. “You two look busy…”

“No, no,” John said reassuringly. “Just working on the window display… which… really is a one person job.”

“I beg to differ.”

“It’d be done if there weren’t two of us…”

“And it’d look terrible,” Robin sighed. “The point is to make the merchandise look appealing… not like… we hung an orr from a noose.”

“Perhaps our customers would like to think they’re freeing the merchandise from our torture,” John replied as Regina giggled. “Madam Mayor,” he said, looking to her. “Please tell me you’re here to take your boyfriend to lunch… preferably lunch that’s away from here.”

“I brought sandwiches,” Robin said, looking back at him. “Egg salad.”

“Oh great… I can be annoyed and disgusted,” John sighed as he turned back to the window. “Perfect…”

“Well, I was actually just going to mail something, but… now that he mentions it, it is time for lunch.” A smile stretched over her lips and a few minutes later, they were walking toward Granny’s; but before even stepping inside, they could see that it was crowded and that there was a wait, and Robin had turned to her and grinned, and asked if she wanted to go somewhere a little more private.

They’d ended up at Robin’s and almost as soon as they arrived, his lips found hers and instead of eating lunch, they were falling into bed together…

“I could stay here all day,” he murmurs as his lips slide from her shoulder and then to her neck. “All day…”

“That’d be nice…” she sighs, letting her head fall back as his tongue flicks at her earlobe. “If only…”

“Why if only?” He asks, a low chuckle behind his words. “We could stay here for at least a few more hours.”

“No…”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Our sons have to be picked up from school.”

Pulling up his head, he laughs. “I asked for one. That’s technically two.” He pauses and a grin tugs onto his lips. “And they could take the bus back here and we could…”

“Whatever you’re about to say, I’d love to,” she says, sighing as she pulls herself up. “But I can’t. Not today.”

Robin blinks. “Oh, that’s right…”

“Henry’s appointment with Dr. Hopper is right after school.”

“I forgot,” Robin says, sitting up and pecking her cheek. “Another time though.” He laughs as she nods, and his arm hooks around her waist. “But we do have a couple more hours before school gets out.”

Her eyes roll and though she shakes her head, ready to protest. But her lips brush over his as her fingers slide up over his stubbly cheek, and she finds it so difficult to say no. “Not today,” she murmurs, pulling back a little. “But another day. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he tells her, leaning in and capturing his lips between hers, sucking gently before pulling away as his stomach rumbles. “Can you at least stay for an actual lunch?”

“I think so,” she murmurs, watching as he gets out of bed and pulls on his pants.

A grin tugs onto her lips as she watches him—watching the way he moves and the way he bends, appreciating and getting lost in her view. He laughs as he picks up her dress from the floor, holding it out to her as she reaches for her bra at the foot of the bed. “I have left over shrimp scampi,” he tells her. “I’ll go heat it up while you get dressed,” he says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Her heart flutters as she watches him go and reluctantly, she slips from the warm bed. She dresses quickly and tussles her hair, her head swimming with thoughts of Robin and the way he makes her feel, of Henry and his pending appointment, of Henry’s tears and the stamped note in her bag that’s waiting to be sent; she thinks of Roland and the curse and she thinks about the story book that’s tucked into the top drawer of her desk and how Henry will react to it when he inevitably finds it. She’s barely aware of Robin opening the bedroom door, murmuring that lunch is ready as he comes up behind her and kisses up and down the nape of her neck, slowly drawing up the zipper on her dress as her hand seeks his.

Together they go into the kitchen where two plates of scampi and re-warmed rolls await them—and she can’t help but laugh at the little candle between the plates.

“You’re adorable,” she says as he pulls out her chair. “You realize that, right?” He laughs and shakes his head, then kisses her cheek as he sits down across from her. “I am also impressed that you got Roland to eat shrimp.”

“Well, you’ll notice there’s a lot of leftovers,” Robin tells her. “And… he enjoyed the pasta… more so than the shrimp.”

“Ah, of course.”

“My picky little eater,” Robin muses as he dips his fork into the pasta. “So, has Henry warmed up to the idea of seeing Archie this afternoon?”

“Well, he didn’t try to get out of it this morning…”

“That’s good. Maybe it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Or, he just… had other things he wanted to get out of,” she tells him with a sigh, recapping the conversation she and Henry had that morning about his math class. “Really, I think he just feels like having to see Archie is one more thing that makes him different than other kids. None of his friends see a therapist…”

“It’s understandable that this is hard on him.”

“I know,” she sighs as she pulls a piece of shrimp from her fork. “I just… hope that he’s open to it and that he’s not just going through the motions because I told him to.” She shrugs and twirls her for through the pasta. “Sessions with Archie won’t help if he doesn’t want them to.”

Robin hesitates for a moment. “You’re… speaking from experience.”

“That surprises you?” She asks, arching an eyebrow in his direction. “It surprises you that someone like me would go to therapy?”

“Well,” he murmurs, obviously considering and obviously trying to choose his words carefully. “You’re… very private. You don’t open up easily. So, yes… a little bit.”

“I… sort of thought you’d point out my… more psychotic tendencies.” He offers a tight smile and she sighs. “But, I just… I reached a point where I had to do something.” She glances up to find his blue eyes soft and attentive, willing her to continue. “I, um… I guess I just… needed someone to talk to. I didn’t… want to get lost in my own head again.”

“That’s understandable,” he says. “And Regina, I didn’t mean to imply that…”

“That there’s something wrong with me?”

“Certainly not,” he’s quick to say. “Or that there’s something wrong with you seeking help.”

“I didn’t take it that way.”

“Good…”

Suddenly, her chest feels heavy and she can’t help but lose herself for a moment in the memory of that day she went to Archie’s office to make an appointment. She’d paced on the sidewalk for the better part of an hour, and still, after making the appointment, she’d cancelled twice before finally paying him a visit.

At the time, she hadn’t been completely sure of why she’d made the appointment—she still hadn’t been in a place to accept her crimes for what they were and she was still in the habit of making excuses; yet, the curse wasn’t at all what she expected and she was even lonelier than she’d ever been. Her fresh started quickly went awry as she fell easily into the old habits she swore she’d leave behind—and somehow, her sins in this world carried a greater weight.

“When I… um… cast the curse, I told myself that it was going to be a fresh start for me,” she tells him, somewhat abruptly as she focuses down on her pasta. “Yes, I wanted to punish people but I also wanted to prove myself. For so long I was told that I was evil and that I could never do anything good, and…” she sighs, “I realize how crazy this sounds, but part of my victory was that I’d finally be able to prove everyone wrong.”

“That’s not crazy.”

“Well, I hadn’t been here a week before I… murdered someone,” she admits sheepishly as she looks to Robin, waiting for him to react. “This man and his son were camping in the woods when the curse hit and…”

“Kurt,” he murmurs as his brow creases. “And his son, Owen.” Swallowing hard, she feels her mouth go dry at the sound of their names. A knot forms in her stomach and she drops her fork, suddenly losing the feeling in her hands as her body numbs and Robin’s eyes darken. “I… remember them. They came into my store. They were… looking for an auto body shop and the boy played with Roland. They talked about Star Wars and… he showed Roland the lanyard he was making. You…” His voice suddenly halts, and he can’t finish the sentence as his eyes widening with recognition.

Looking down, her eyes sink closed. “I was wondering when this would happen.”

“Wh-what?”

“I was wondering when I’d finally reveal something that you couldn’t for…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Robin cuts in, his voice rising over hers, “What are you talking about?”

“That look in your eye, that tone in your voice,” she murmurs, blinking back her tears. “I knew eventually it would…”

“No,” he’s quick to say. “Regina, I think you forget that I lived through your reign. I kept out of the way and I kept a low profile, but just like everyone else, I was well-aware of the body count.” He sighs as he reaches for her hand, and she barely feels his fingers slide up over hers. “I know who you are and I’m not afraid of you. I know what lies in your past and…” He sighs. “I still love you.” A low and somewhat uncomfortable laugh rises into his voice as she looks up. “I don’t like a lot of the things you’ve done, but I’ve accepted that my girlfriend has a murderous streak and…”

“How?” She asks, her voice shaky but sincere. “How can you just… disregard that?”

“Because that’s not who you are anymore,” he says easily. “I don’t have to love the things you’ve done to love you.”

“That seems… dangerous,” she says, taking a breath as she thinks of the note in her bag. “You’re taking my word that I’ve changed. How do you know that… I won’t just… go back?”

“Well, I… guess I can’t know,” he tells her. “But I love you and I trust you, and… over the years, I’ve watched how you’ve changed. And I don’t believe for a second you’d do anything that would lead to Henry getting hurt.” He pauses, giving her hand a quick and reassuring little squeeze. “I remember when you first brought Henry to Storybrooke. I remember how you looked at him and,” a soft grin pulls onto his lips, “The way you used to rub his foot to comfort him and… I remember how sad you were when you let him go.”

“How could you… know those things?”

“Like I said, I spent years working up the courage to talk to you and… I spent a lot of time… looking for an opportunity.” A small grin tugs up from the corner of her mouth. “And I know better than most how guilty you feel for what happened to him after you let him go, how much you love him now and…” He shrugs and again gives her hand a little squeeze. “I trust that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. You’d never let anything hurt him.”

“That’s a lot of blind trust…”

“I disagree that it’s blind.”

“I… don’t think I’ll ever understand why you love me,” she says as a smile draws onto her lips. “But I’m glad that you do.”

“And you know that there’s nothing you could do or say to change that, nothing lying in your past that could change it.”

“You seem awfully sure of that.”

“I am,” he says with a confident nod. “When you love someone, you don’t just stop.”

“Ever?” She asks, her grin once again tugging up onto her lips, “Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy?”

“Even then,” he says with a soft laugh.

Her eyebrow arches, “Even when I’m the one rolling my eyes and calling you crazy?”

Laughing out, he leans over and drops a feathery kiss over her cheek. “Especially then,” he says pulling back and winking, “Most especially then.”

Sighing, she nods, reaching up and drawing him back to her. “I love you,” she murmurs into a kiss. “I… don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out.”

“Good,” she says, sucking gently at his lips and willing herself to forget about the note in her bag and enjoy the moment. His tongue slips between her lips and she smiles into the kiss. She hadn’t meant to confess what she did or for their conversation to take the turn it had—really, she’d only meant to tell him that it was her sessions with Archie that helped her to decide that she wanted to adopt a child, that it had been her sessions with Archie that propelled her to New York, that it’d been those sessions that taught her how to love—but she was glad for the turn it had taken, glad for his understanding and his empathy and his steadfast but undeserved faith in her.

And she could only hope that she wouldn’t disappoint him and prove herself unworthy.

_____

Henry clutches her hand tightly as she leads him into Dr. Hopper’s office. She can feel his little fingers pressing into her skin and tightening with each step they take; nonetheless, he follows her lead and he doesn’t protest. She signs in his name with his secretary, then they settle on two chairs in the empty waiting room—and still, he clutches her hand.

“How’d that math test go,” she asks, in an attempt to break the silence, hoping to distract him for a couple of minutes.

“I… don’t know,” he says, looking up at her. “I answered all of them, but…” He shrugs. “I never know.”

“Did you check your work like we showed you?”

“It’s just… harder without the blocks that Robin uses,” he tells her, sighing a little as he looks up at her. “Mom? Can I… ask you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“Do you think… I’m… crazy?”

“What?”

“Because of my nightmares? Because they… won’t stop.”

“Henry, no,” she says, her heart aching as her eyes meet his. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“I went to a therapist once before,” he says, looking down at his lap. “In New York. And the… the school psychologist used to call me in and talk to me sometimes.” He pauses and she watches him take a breath, watching as his little shoulders rise and fall. “They… they didn’t believe me.”

“What… didn’t they believe?” She asks in a careful voice, her jaw tightening at the thought of Henry literally crying for help, desperate to get out of a terrible situation and being ignored and cast aside again and again.

“Things that I said happened,” he murmurs quietly. “Nightmares that felt real… almost too real.” Again her jaw tightens, but her thumb rubs gently at his palm. “I think they always thought I was making stuff up.”

“This won’t be like that,” she says, wishing more than anything he’d open up and tell her more, that he didn’t keep things bottled up or make vague mentions of things, that he wasn’t so concerned with everyone else’s feelings, that wasn’t concerned with hers. “I promise.”

“How can you know for sure?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“No,” he murmurs quietly as a little grin pulls into his lips. “You haven’t.”

“Then why would I start now?”

He nods as his grin stretches wider. “Mom, can we make a big dinner tonight?”

“A big dinner?” She asks, smiling as he nods. “Even though it’ll just be the two of us?”

“Yeah, I… just… that’s always fun,” he says, giving her a bashful look. “I really like cooking with you.”

Leaning in, she presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I love that you like cooking with me,” she tells him. “We can make whatever you want for dinner.” Pulling back, she gives his hand a little squeeze. “Anything specific you have in mind?”

She watches as he considers and she can’t help but smile when his eyes light up. “You know that kind of chicken that has ham and cheese stuffed inside of it and covered with bread crumbs?”

“Seriously?” Regina blinks. “You want… chicken cordon bleu?”

“Is that chicken with ham and cheese stuffed inside of it and covered with bread crumbs?”

“It is,” she says with a little laugh. “Are you sure you’re really eight and not sixty-eight?”

Henry giggles. “We should make mashed potatoes, too. And those syrupy carrots you make and for desert…” Regina laughs out and again presses another kiss to the top of his head. “…we could make apple pie with vanilla ice cream.”

“Well,” she beings as she pulls back to look at him. “We don’t have carrots or ice cream, but I could always swing by the grocery store and pick those things up while you’re with Dr. Hopper.”

Henry grins. “Then we could get started as soon as we get home.”

“We could.”

“And can we… not make it all about fractions and adding measurements today?”

“Deal,” she nods as Archie’s door opens. “But don’t think we won’t be back to practicing fractions tomorrow.”

Henry nods and sighs, as he looks to Archie who smiles warmly. “You must be Henry,” Archie says, extending his hand to Henry. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve known your mom for a long time.”

“You have?” Archie nods and Regina squeezes his hand, and slowly, he lets go of her to shake the doctor’s hand. “I thought you just saw him a couple of times.”

“I did,” Regina answers, giving him a quick wink. “A couple… hundred or so times.”

Henry giggles. “We really have to practice your wink.”

“Among other things,” Regina tells him as he slides from the chair.

She watches him follow Archie into his office and she feels something stirring inside of her. Though she knows that this is something between Henry and Archie, she hates not knowing and she hates that something regarding her son is out of her control. Letting out a shaky breath, she stands and looks to the woman behind the front desk. Hesitating for a moment, she tells her she has a couple of errands to run and that she’ll be back before the end of her son’s appointment. The secretary nods and she feels a tightening at her core as she walks out of the office.

As she collects the necessary groceries for Henry’s dinner menu, she wanders through the store, unable to stop thinking about what he said in the waiting room. It breaks her heart and makes her blood boil that he spent his earliest years enduring so much trauma; and that when he asked for help, in the only way he knew how, he’d gone to the right people, but all of those people had ignored him.

The guilt she feels is overwhelming and as she makes her way to the checkout, she can’t help but remind herself that it didn’t have to be this way. Had she kept him, he would have grown up in loving home and he’d have wanted for nothing. Pressing her eyes closed she takes a breath, remembering how she’d cried for days and days after giving him up, how she’d known in her heart it’d been the wrong decision, and how she hadn’t trusted herself enough to believe that.

When her groceries are bagged she reaches into her bag in search of her wallet and when she does, her fingers touch to note she’d written out that morning. Slowly, she draws it out of her bag, looking at the name on the front and the address beneath it—and again, she feels that familiar rage bubbling within herself. Quickly, she pays and grabs her bag, all the while caught up in Henry’s tears and his nightmares and the unwavering belief he’d grown up with—the belief that everything he’d endured was his fault and deserved. Smiling curtly at the cashier, she walks back toward Archie’s office—and this time, she drops the note into the mail.

_____

Regina can’t help but smile as Henry kneels on a stool at the counter, hammering pieces of chicken.

He hasn’t told her much about his session with Archie, only that it was okay and better than expected. But he didn’t protest when she’d scheduled an appointment for the following week and he chattered on and on about the dinner they’d be making, double checking that they had enough syrup for the carrots and that she bought ice cream for the pie and giggle when she’d replied that of course they had apples at home to make the pie.

She took the pieces of chicken as he flattened them and layered in slices of ham and cheese, then passed them back to him to roll. He giggled as he stuck tooth picks into them, and then he lined them up on a tray as she mashed the potatoes. Carefully, he followed her instructions as he made pie crust—and it was well-past seven when they slid the pie into the oven and sat down at the table with their meal.

Henry quickly launched into a story about school—leaving out any details about his math test—and explaining that that they’d learned about mosaics and would be making one the following afternoon. She grinned as he told that he wanted his mosaic to be of a fish—and when she asked him why, he giggled and said he didn’t know; then, he continued on, recapping recess and story time, and telling her about his new tablemates.

Once dinner was done, they cleared away their plates and packed all of the leftovers into containers. Henry made his own lunch—a sampling of everything they’d had for dinner—and then, turned his attention to the oven. As she put away the leftovers, a smile stretched over her lips as he reached up and turned on the oven light, watching as the pie finished baking.

“Do you have room for that?” She asks, coming up behind him and pulling him back against her legs. “You ate quite a bit at dinner.”

“I always have room for pie,” he replies, blinking up at her as if she’d asked something that was completely ridiculous. “And ice cream.”

Sighing, she shakes her head. “What was I thinking?” She feels Henry watching as she moves to the cabinet, pulling out two small plates before reaching for forks. When the oven timer buzzes, Henry’s practically bouncing and he hands her her oven mitts and watches as slowly withdraws the pie. “So, do we let it cool or…”

“Why would we do that?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs, as Henry pulls open the freezer and leans up onto his toes to grab the ice cream. “I’m full of all sorts of silly questions today, I guess.”

“You really are,” he nods as he climbs up onto the stool beside her and pulls off the top of the ice cream container. “Mom,” he murmurs, looking up at her with wide eyes as she cuts into the pie. “Dr. Hopper told me that there’s something I should tell you.”

“Oh?” She murmurs as a knot suddenly forms in her stomach. “What’s that?”

Henry takes a breath. “That I didn’t know what it was like to be happy until I met you.” He offers her a sheepish grin as he fumbles with his hands. “He asked me what makes me happy and I said you.” Her chest clenched and she could feel warm tears brimming in her eyes as a smile stretched across her face. “He… said it would mean a lot of you know that.”

“It does,” she manages to say, taking a breath and blinking back her tears—and cutting him a even larger piece of pie.

For the rest of the night, they cuddle up on the couch together, eating their pie and ice cream, and nearly finishing The Prisoner of Azkaban. Henry falls asleep on her lap, his cheek pressed her shoulder and she’s perfectly content to hold him and stroke his head, and listening to his rhythmic breathing as she sleeps. Regretfully, she wakes him up for a quick shower, then she helps him into his pajamas and tucks him into bed. He falls asleep easily and she hovers, sitting at the edge of his bed caught up in how much she loves the little boy in front of her—and in the back of her mind, wondering how it was possible that anyone could not love such a sweet and beautiful child.

Finally, she gets up, turning off his Thor lamp and flicking on his Captain American nightlight, and murmuring one final goodnight before going down the hall to her own bedroom. She showers quickly the dries her hair before changing into her pajamas. She considers her options for the remainder of the evening—the work she didn’t accomplish that day at her office or reading more about the curse she desperately needed to break.

She chose the latter, padding down the hall to her office and pulling a scroll from her desk. Blinking down at it, she felt a mix of emotion, remember how she’d yearned for it, how she’d practically lusted after it, the way she’d believed so surely that it was the answer she’d been searching for. Off and on for weeks, she’d been painstakingly been translating the scroll, hoping that in some detail in the instructions for casting the curse would be a hint of what was needed to break it—or what would happen when it did. She knew that it was working—it had been the scroll that made her wonder if the Savior was really needed and it was the scroll that made her realize that getting the Savior’s son to believe in something magical was the first step in toward her ultimate goal. But since then, her progress seemed to have stalled; and every time the clock on Main Street ticked, she was reminded that was running out of time.

She flinched as her cell phone buzzed on her desk, suddenly jarred back into the present moment.

A grin stretched over her lips as Robin’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey,” she said, swiping her finger across the screen. “I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

“I know, and I know you wanted tonight with Henry,” he murmured easily. “But I just finished tucking Roland in and reading him a story, and I realized that likely meant that you’d just finished tucking Henry in and reading him a story, so… I figured I might not be intruding.”

“You’re not,” she confirms, leaning back her chair. “I’m glad you called.”

“How did things go today?” He asks, in a tentative voice. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Fine,” she murmurs back. “Henry didn’t say much, but he seemed to like Archie and was… very excited about making dinner with me.” She laughs a little. “He requested chicken cordon bleu.”

Robin sighs and chuckles softly. “Why is it that your child requests food like that and mine requests dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and fries… then scowls when I make sweet potato fries and will only eat them if they’d covered in cheese?”

“I have plenty of leftover food,” she tells him. “I could… bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“Lunch as in actual lunch or lunch as in lunch,” he asks, his voice dropping an octave on the word and she can practically see his eyebrows shrugging suggestively. “Because I wouldn’t say no to either of them, but both would be especially nice.”

“Actual lunch,” she says, a smile stretching over her lips. “Thanks to you I have a ton of work to do.” For a moment, she pauses, letting her thoughts drift back to that afternoon. “Hey, did that oar ever get hung up?”

Robin sighs and long groan escapes him. “Don’t even get me started,” he tells her, as she laughs again.

#oq ff #outlaw queen #regal believer #season 1 au #ouat fanfiction #regina mills #henry mills #robin hood #first curse AU #oq fic #meant to be yours verse

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