#ended up getting her WAY sooner than Emma Swan

[wtforkingshirtballs]

finally got the family together

[jrob64]

Long Overdue Conversations - Part 4 (Emma & Killian) A OUAT missing scene

Here is another conversation I feel should have taken place in Once Upon a Time. This one occurs immediately after the 'You traded your ship for me' scene at the end of season 3.

THIS PART IS RATED M!

Previous installments can be found on Tumblr: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

All parts can also be found on Ao3 & FFN

Special thanks to @hookedmom who always makes my stories better with her beta skills and suggestions for making this scene better (and hotter!)

*********

“You traded your ship for me?” Emma asked, amazement evident in her voice.

Killian gave a slight nod. “Aye.”

Then she was kissing him. Not a bruising and frantic kiss like the one in Neverland, but a tender, passionate one that took his breath away all the same. At one point, he had to draw back to look at her, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. When she smiled at him and rested her forehead against his, he caressed her cheek, running her silky hair through his fingers, before capturing her willing lips once again.

Their moment was interrupted when Leroy and one of his brothers came bursting through the door of Granny’s, drunkenly singing. It was all Killian could do to keep himself from throttling the dwarfs, but Emma simply squeezed his hand and gave him a soft smile.

“If you don’t have your ship anymore, where are you staying?” she asked.

“The widow Lucas granted me a room at her bed and breakfast.”

“Hmm…” Emma hummed in thought.

Killian tilted his head, waiting for her to continue. After a moment of silence, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Swan?”

Leaning in, she brushed her lips across his cheek. “Give me a minute to say goodbye to my family. I’ll be right back.”

He watched her rise from her seat and ascend the steps into the diner. Before disappearing inside, she turned and smiled at him reassuringly.

While he waited, he touched his fingers to his lips, just as he had after their first kiss. He loved the feeling of Emma Swan’s lips on his and wanted it to linger. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wait nearly as long to feel them again.

Sooner than he expected, Emma was back out the door. When she reached him, she took him by the hand, encouraging him to get to his feet. “Come on, pirate.”

“Where are we going, Love?”

She gave him a secretive smile. “To your room.”

In a near state of shock, he followed behind her as she led the way, still gripping his hand tightly. When they entered the lobby, Emma asked, “What’s your room number?”

“Um…four,” he stammered.

“Seriously? That’s the room I had when I first came to town.”

“Aye, the widow Lucas did mention that fact when she gave me the key.”

He trailed closely behind her up the stairs, his hand on the small of her back. He was hesitant to break physical contact with her, for fear she would suddenly disappear. It was Storybrooke, after all.

When they reached his door, he fumbled for the key. Finally withdrawing it from the inside pocket of his leather duster, it slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor.

Emma bent down and picked it up, smirking as she held it between her fingers. “Nervous, Captain?” she asked, before inserting it into the lock and turning it. The door swung open and they quickly crossed the threshold.

“I’m still trying to determine if this is indeed real, or simply my imagination,” he said. He closed the door and leaned back against it, gripping his belt buckle as he looked up at her through his dark lashes.

“Have you imagined this?” she asked, batting her own lashes at him.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, then ran it over his bottom teeth before answering. “Perhaps.”

Stepping closer, she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Move away from the door.”

Quirking a curious brow at her, he did as instructed. She held her hands up with her palms flat and facing the door. Closing her eyes, she concentrated until a soft glow emanated from them. Then she moved them slowly to trace around the entire frame of the door.

When she finished, she dropped her hands and turned to face him. Seeing the slight confusion on his face, she explained, “Silencing spell. Granny has supernatural hearing, remember?”

“You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.” He closed the distance between them, reaching up to sift her blonde locks through his fingers, his deep blue eyes boring into hers. “Now that we’re alone…”

Emma shrugged out of her leather jacket and let it drop to the floor, then ran her hands up the front of his vest and under the shoulders of his heavy, leather coat. Understanding her intention, he pulled his arms free when she pushed it off of him.

“Just how much does that thing weigh?” she asked. “And how the hell do you wear it around all the time?”

He grinned at her. “Is that really what you want to think about right now, Love?”

“You have a point. Besides,” she said mischievously, “I’m sure you’ve carried rum barrels heavier than that, right?”

His brows furrowed. “Come again?”

“Just something your former self said when he was carrying me onto his…your…ship.”

“Bloody wanker,” he grumbled. “I should have hit him harder.”

She began undoing the fasteners on his vest. “Is that really what you want to think about right now?” she asked, echoing his words.

“Too right, Love.”

Once the vest joined his coat on the floor, he removed his hook and placed it on the dresser. Then Emma slid his suspenders off his shoulders and started working on the tiny buttons of his billowy, black shirt. “How do you manage these things with one hand? I can’t unbutton them with two.”

“I don’t mess with the buttons. I simply slide it on over my head.”

“That explains why it’s always open practically to your waist.”

“You’ve noticed that, have you?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

“Kinda hard to miss it, with your whole chest on display.” Lifting her eyes to meet his, she abandoned the buttons and slowly ran her fingers through the hair on his chest that had been teasing her ever since she met him in the Enchanted Forest. Hearing him gasp at the contact, she added, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time.”

As her fingertips continued to explore, he dipped his head to capture her lips, his own calloused fingers finding their way under the hem of her turtleneck. He caressed the soft skin he found there, and she moaned into the kiss, “Killian…”

The breathy sound of his name from her sweet lips had him growing hard in an instant. “Swan,” he mumbled, “are you…are you quite sure about this, Love?”

She pulled back to look at him, her pupils dilated with desire. “I told my parents I wouldn’t be home tonight, brought you up to your room, and used magic to make sure no one would hear us. Does that sound like someone who isn’t sure?”

“You told your parents you were going to be with me tonight?”

“Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about them anymore.”

“Agreed,” he chuckled. “Where were we?”

“Right about here,” she said, crossing her arms to grab the bottom of her sweater, then pulling it over her head.

Killian could feel his heartbeat increase as his eyes roamed over her newly bared skin. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t longed for this scenario, but never could he have imagined the absolute perfection of Emma Swan.

“Your turn,” she said, grasping the hem of his shirt to tug it over his head. He tried to stand still as her hands explored the expanse of his chest, moved over his shoulders and down his arms.

He was so busy enjoying her touch and taking in her beautiful form, he had forgotten about his battered, leather brace. When her fingers found it, he involuntarily took a step backwards, pulling his arm away from her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It doesn’t bother me.”

His hand rubbed absentmindedly over the brace. “It…it’s ugly, Swan. It’s been a very long time since I’ve allowed anyone to see it.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me, Killian. It’s part of you and I…well, nothing about you could make me…care for you any less.”

Slowly, he stepped back into her space, his eyes never leaving hers. With practiced fingers, he deftly undid the buckles. After hesitating a few moments, he grasped the brace and twisted it off of his arm. Emma took it from him and laid it on the dresser beside his hook, as he removed the protective cloth covering his stump.

She locked eyes with him again, before dropping her gaze to his arm. Placing one hand under his elbow, she lifted it up while the fingers of her other hand gently traced the raised, jagged scars. “It must have been so painful,” she said quietly.

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching at the memory. “I…I don’t remember feeling pain when he…when he cut it off. I’d just witnessed him murder Milah and that pain overshadowed everything else. It wasn’t until later, when a crew member cauterized it, that I finally realized how much it hurt. By that time, my grief and anger had taken over and all I wanted to focus on was plotting my revenge.”

Emma bent to press a kiss to the end of his wrist. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Killian.”

“It’s long in the past, Love. I would much rather look toward the future.” Using his finger to lift her chin, he gave her a smile. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. “A future that includes you, I hope.”

In answer, she fused her lips to his, her hands beginning to roam freely over his body. When she slid her hands down inside the back of his trousers and squeezed his ass, he sucked in a ragged breath. “Bloody hell, Swan,” he growled.

“What’s the matter, Captain? Can’t you handle it?”

Before she could utter another word, he skillfully flicked open the button on her jeans and unzipped them. “Let’s see who can’t handle it, shall we?” Then his hand was inside her panties, cupping her mound.

  Her surprised gasp turned to a moan of pleasure as his long fingers slid through her slick folds. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet?” he asked, his voice low and husky in her ear.

“I…I’ve wanted this ever since…” She stopped talking and bit her lip.

“Since when, Swan?” he queried.

“Since…Neverland,” she admitted.

Hearing her finally confess her feelings made his own surge through him in a hot rush. He withdrew his hand and lifted her off the floor. Carrying her across the room, he deposited her on the bed. “Take off your boots,” he commanded, beginning to toe off his own.

She happily complied, then began pushing her jeans down her legs. When they reached her knees, she looked up and felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Killian was standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in nothing but his leather pants. They were straining against the huge bulge that was right at her eye level. Without conscious thought, her hands reached for him, rubbing his rigid member through the leather.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, exhaling the words, “I’ve wanted this for a very long time, too, Emma.”

“Then let’s not wait any longer.”

Her fingers set to work unfastening his pants to free his cock, which she promptly began to stroke. At the same time, he reached behind her and worked at the hooks of her bra. When they were undone, his hand and wrist tugged on the straps and her hands left his shaft long enough to wiggle out of it.

While she resumed her exploration of his sizable cock, he fondled her breasts - squeezing, pinching, rubbing and caressing them, murmuring words of praise for their perfection.

Killian suddenly realized how quickly they were working each other up, and put his hand over Emma’s to stop her stroking. “Can we…can we slow down just a bit, Love? I don’t want this to be over too soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said breathlessly. “Why don’t we finish getting undressed?”

“Aye,” he agreed.

Both of them removed their remaining clothes and as Emma laid down in the middle of the bed, she pulled Killian down beside her. He pushed himself up to lean on his left elbow, his fingers dancing along the skin of her belly. “Gods, Love. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman than you. You’re absolutely stunning.”

Her hand moved up his forearm and bicep, tracing the hard muscles. “So are you, Killian.”

They explored each other’s body with their hands and mouths, whispered words spoken against skin, between kisses, licks and nips. When Killian’s fingers found their way once again to Emma’s most intimate place, she bucked into his hand, clearly craving more.

He nudged her legs further apart with his knee, then slowly slid one finger into her warm, wet channel. “Tell me how that feels, Love,” he implored.

“Feels…amazing,” she complied, her eyes closing of their own accord and her breath coming out in short gasps.

After gliding in and out of her a few times, he pulled his eyes away from the sight to look up at her. “Are you ready for more?”

She nodded her head, biting her lip in anticipation.

On the next pass, he added a second digit. “So bloody perfect, taking me like that, Swan.”

“Killian, I’m going to…you’re going to make me…” she muttered, trying to speak a coherent sentence.

“Don’t hold back. Just let it happen and enjoy it, Love.”

She took his advice and soon she was clenching tightly around his fingers, the evidence of her orgasm further slickening his fingers. As she throbbed around them, he sought friction by rubbing his hard erection against her thigh, then sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Killiannn…” she moaned throatily.

He withdrew his fingers and chuckled lowly against her breast over her huff of annoyance. “Patience, Love. I have something much more…fulfilling…for that greedy quim.”

Instantly, she shifted onto her side and reached down to grasp his cock. “I’m ready when you are,” she breathed hotly into his ear.

With a growl, he flipped her onto her back, causing her to let out a little yelp of surprise. Then he swung himself over her body, hovering over her. Nuzzling into her neck, he murmured, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I was quite taken with that dress we pilfered during our adventure.”

“You mean the one…that made me look like…a bar wench?” she gasped, enjoying what his mouth was doing to her collarbone.

“Mmm, aye,” he hummed. “It certainly made you quite…distracting. And very enticing. I wanted to bury my face right here.” He licked up between her breasts, chuckling again when she uttered a curse.

Emma’s hands slid between them and wrapped around his girth. Widening her legs, she dragged the tip through her soaked folds. At his groan, she whispered, “You did promise to fulfill me, so fill me, Captain.”

He lifted his head to look into her face, giving her a grin. “As you wish.”

Her hand guided him to where she was aching for him and he slowly pushed into her, inch by glorious inch. Her legs wrapped around his hips, hands moving to scratch along his back, which added to the pleasure he was already experiencing from being buried inside the woman for whom he’d been yearning for months. He dropped his head to her chest, giving her a moment to adjust to him, while getting himself under control so he wouldn’t be on the verge too soon.

When he finally began to move, it was at a slow, steady pace. Experimenting with different angles, he took note of what brought the most response from her.

After several blissful minutes, she murmured, “Killian…”

“Yes, Love?”

“Make me see stars,” she requested breathlessly, reaching behind him to squeeze his buttocks almost painfully.

He kissed her and grinned slyly, determined to meet her challenge. Dropping to his elbows on either side of her, he began thrusting faster and deeper, until he was plunging into her with abandon, eliciting a loud exclamation from her each time he filled her.

He was getting close to his peak, but didn’t want to reach it before she did, so he caught her nipple in his mouth again, alternating flicking it with his tongue and sucking hard. His actions had the desired effect and soon she was screaming through her release, her head thrashing on the pillow, while her throbbing cunt rippled along his engorged cock.

“Bloody…fucking…hell,” he grunted, thrusting eratically, until he exploded, filling her with streams of his hot release. Not wanting to crush her, he rolled them over, sprawling her sweat-slicked body over his own.

Neither knew how long they laid there, trying to get their breathing and heart rates under control. He heard her mumble something into his chest, but couldn’t make out the words. Raising his leaden arm, he brushed her hair away from her face. “What did you say, Love?”

She lifted her face to peer into his. “You did it.”

“Did what?” he asked, thoroughly puzzled.

  “Made me see stars…and several planets.”

He laughed, then pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m glad to hear it, because you definitely did the same for me.”

“Good thing I soundproofed the room, huh?”

“Aye, Love. I don’t think I would be able to meet Granny’s eyes tomorrow morning if you hadn’t.”

It was her turn to laugh. As they lay in silence, she skimmed her fingers through the hair on his chest, enjoying the sighs of pleasure from him.

After several peaceful minutes, Emma said, “Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“I would have chosen you.”

He opened his eyes to see her looking at him earnestly. “Chosen me for what?”

“Remember back in Neverland when you told me I would have to choose between you and Neal?”

“Aye.”

“Even if Neal hadn’t…died, I still would have chosen you.”

He lifted his head from the pillow to peer at her more closely. “Truly?”

“Yeah. Well, to be honest, it wasn’t ever a contest between the two of you.” She watched him studying her closely, before adding, “Is that difficult for you to believe?”

“I saw how much his death impacted you and thought perhaps, given the chance, the two of you might have rekindled your relationship.”

“We actually had a really nice conversation just before I realized he was sharing a body with his father, and I felt like we were in a good place with each other at the end. Neal will always be my first love and Henry’s father, so he has a special spot in my heart; but…after what he did to me, I would have never been able to completely trust him. You, on the other hand, have never given me any reason not to trust you. You’ve proven time and time again that you’re in my corner, that you believe in me…”

“Of course I do, Emma. You’re the most determined and assiduous woman I’ve ever met. I trust you with my life…and my heart.”

She tilted her head and smiled softly. “I trust you with mine, too. I think you know me well enough to know I didn’t come to that decision lightly.”

He reached up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger. “Aye, that I do. I feel incredibly honored to hold your trust, Love, especially when not so very long ago, you chained me at the top of a beanstalk because you didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not why I chained you there.”

“No?” he questioned.

She shook her head. “If you recall, I told you I couldn’t take the chance of being wrong about you. Even then, I sensed I could trust you, and that scared the shit out of me.”

“That’s because you thought I was nothing but a pirate, as did the rest of your family. Your father used those exact words in Neverland.”

“Yeah, well, you proved us all wrong.” She cupped his face in the palm of her hand. “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.”

He smiled. “During our adventure back in the Enchanted Forest, when Dave didn’t know who I was, he told me your parents would be crazy not to approve of me as your suitor. I told him I hoped he would remember that.”

“He’s coming around. Give him time and you’ll probably end up being his best friend.”

He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, taking advantage of having her naked form pressed against him. She laid her head on his chest, humming happily.

Later, when they were cleaned up and she was asleep in his arms, wearing nothing but one of his thin black shirts, their conversation ran through his mind again. When Neal died, he saw how grief-stricken Emma was, and assumed she would have chosen the other man, had he lived. He was Henry’s father, after all, and Killian thought that connection between Emma and Neal would be enough for her to try to make their relationship work.

Hearing her say she would have chosen Killian made him happier than he had been for centuries. He fell asleep with his nose buried in her hair and a smile on his face. Tomorrow, they would probably face some sort of crisis, but tonight, Emma Swan was his and hopefully would remain his for the long haul.

*********

I hope you agree that this is a scene we all needed!

TAG LIST:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4 @hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @zaharadessert @lyssapup27 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90 @apiratewhopines

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}

Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’  But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact. 

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

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

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind. 

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d  placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door. 

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart. 

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault. 

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing. 

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road.  He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away.  I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before.  That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

[gleefullypolin]

Oh my, the fighting in the OUAT fandom was wild. I stepped in the tags once and saw the most ridiculous fights. Captain Swan was canon at the time and I saw them consistently attacked by other Emma ships and I was like, welp, I'm always down for a non-canon ship but I also have the critical thinking skills to understand what canon means, haha.

That pirate might have been the time I realized I have a very specific type. 😤

I always love a good underdog so I immediately loved Pen, she had my whole heart because she was trying so hard and just kept struggling. I don't think enough people pay attention to just how much some of the things she's done to protect people, even if the methods are maybe not the best, affects her. She's carrying such an immense burden but in a time where women aren't allowed to have the accomplishments she does, she's also got this thing that's hers and hers alone, she's successful because she made it that way, no one else.

They could make me very invested in Eloise's season but I agree, it will probably depend on how this season and next (if Benedict's) goes. It feels like they gave Eloise Colin's jealousy about LW from the books which I think makes more sense for the show, Penelope was doing all of the things Eloise had talked about doing. If Eloise had paid Penelope any real attention in s2 she would have figured it out much more quickly.

Which makes me hope Colin's reaction is more of the protective anger we saw in the books, that man was incensed and scared to death. With how protective Colin already is of her in general, I feel like it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.

Oh yes, I am not usually one for period stuff but the Polin of it all took me down. I enjoyed s1 as it was. I think s2 was more interesting overall for me but I wasn't really watching for more than Polin and Eloise.

Book Colin was absolutely insane over Penelope physically and I think that would be something that would be a good addition, and having him say what he does about being with others vs her in the books is something that should be included, whether he says it or it's woven throughout the brothel/polin scenes. There needs to be a marked difference in the way he is in them and I think we'll see that. It was obvious with Anthony (I don't remember the s1 scenes tbh ha) so I think that's part of their narrative for the male leads. The way Colin is with her is definitely why we love them, if they could kiss already that would be great.

I get fanon vs canon. I mean I ship Black Widow with Captain America so I totally feel the sting of shipping something you will never see on screen. I live in fan fiction for that. But I would never go after the Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers fans over it. Like it wouldn’t even occur to me to start a fight over it.

The OUAT stuff, well there were so many ships that were canon and fanon that were going after Captain Swan, and I was like…nope I’ll just enjoy the show because damn they were already angsty enough as it was on the show without the outside influence. They didn’t need anyone else saying “What if they don’t end up together” because damn I had no idea if they were going to leave him dead or not towards the end of that and it was painful enough having that last season without Emma around…

But YES, I love the underdog. And back to our beloved ship at hand, Pen that poor girl. I must say that I could give her an award for her brilliant eye rolls and looks of disgust she gives that no one pays attention to. Gotta love her true disgust with society. People truly do discount her, so one can’t blame her for wanting to go after that. I think many people forget how young she is and do not allow the mistakes she has made for her age. To think of the mistakes I had made by age 19. Damn! If no one had forgiven me for those, where would I be.

I feel like Eloise hasn’t paid nearly enough attention to her friend to have not figured out LW sooner OR to have figured out that she’s head over goo goo gaga for her brother. To think that she was writing Colin just to hear about his travels…sure girl.

I will give my right arm to see protective angry Colin. That whole taking her hand into the room and smashing the necklace thing last season leading right into a dance….yeah give me puffed out chest, this is my Pen, Colin, and no one is going to hurt her, terrified that the Queen is going to cut off her head, Colin.

I saw Nic’s comments today about how they didn’t hear them yell cut in the carriage scene, and they kept filming and I’m thinking holy hell when we get to that scene in June I may melt down for how much that scene will kill everyone and no one is going to even remember there were ever other suitors or women that even existed. I think the moment they kiss in episode 2 the entire Polin fandom will be too numb to argue about anything! And if they aren’t I don’t think either of us could help them anyway!

[spartanguard]

most wanted (9/11) [CSSNS 2021]

Summary: Killian Jones has been tracking Emma Swan, notorious cat burglar, across the realm as she’s wanted for murder. The sooner he finds her, the faster he gets back to his daughter. But meeting an enchanting lass in a small village—along with Miss Swan’s feline familiar (perhaps too familiar)—definitely affects his plans; this case might not be as open-and-shut as he’d like.

A/N: Well I had planned to get this up a week or so ago but *life*. Hopefully these last few chapters will go up a bit quicker! Thank you for sticking around! As always, thanks to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl​​​ and to @cssns​​​ for putting on the event each year, even if I am woefully late with this one.

rated T | 5.7k words | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | AO3

As much as Killian had romanticized the mattresses at Granny’s, he was pleased to find his own was far more comfortable than he recalled (especially compared to his bedroll and the hard-packed dirt they’d camped on the previous nights). 

He slept in a bit later than he normally would have, even though he went to bed roughly the same time he always did, shortly after he’d tucked Alice back in. Belle had retired nearly as soon as he’d rejoined them, most likely so she could have some more time to read on her own, but she’d given him an arched eyebrow as she headed to her room that he couldn’t quite interpret, though suggested she was leaving him alone with Emma intentionally.

There hadn’t been much for them to say, however, other than show her the way to the little-used spare bedroom and wish her a good night. He did apologize for the relatively spartan state of the room—it was truly just a bed and a nightstand, with threadbare curtains barely covering its windows, but Emma waved him off. “Compared to some places I’ve slept, this is luxury,” she assured him. “Probably the nicest I’ll have for a while.”

That was a sufficiently awkward enough note to end the conversation on. He could only hope sleep had found her as swiftly as it had him.

Now, though, as he lazed under the covers, glancing around the familiar trappings of his room and smelling the first whiff of sausage from where Belle was already working in the kitchen, he found that sleep had rested his body and brain, but not his conflicting thoughts and feelings.

But they only needed to lay low for a couple of days—just enough time to let Neal lose their trail and for them to come up with some semblance of a plan for exoneration. He could handle that.

He hoped.

And while he was sorely tempted to whittle down that time by hiding away in his room further, his stomach grumbled its own desires, so he slowly got up, dug some fresh clothes out of his musty wardrobe, quickly cleaned up at his well-loved wash stand, and headed out to the main room.

He was glad that Belle was the only one up—and that she already had a fresh mug of coffee waiting.

They shared quiet good mornings as he grabbed the cup, took a long pull from it, then went about setting the table per usual while exchanging simple pleasantries, like asking how he slept, and how she was liking the new book. Comfortable silence eventually settled on them as they continued their morning routine, but once he took a seat—while Belle was plating pancakes—she addressed him a bit more seriously.

“Killian…I know you know what you’re doing, and I trust your judgment, but…please be careful.”

“I always am,” he assured her. It had only taken one close call with a wanted pirate he was bringing in for him to exercise more caution while working, lest anything potentially take him away from Alice. (Though it wasn’t as obvious an injury as that to his left arm, the scar leftover from the bullet graze he took in that encounter carried almost as much weight.)

“You know what I mean,” she admonished, giving him a stern look. “I’m not talking physically; I’m talking emotionally.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she wouldn’t let him. “Don’t try to deny anything; I know you well, Killian Jones, and I read your letters.”

He’d long since learned when to argue with Belle and when it was a losing battle; the current discussion was the latter. Instead, he took another drag of his coffee to gird himself for whatever she was building to.

She busied herself at the stove for a bit, letting tension build in the quiet (though he could hear the creak of a bed frame somewhere in the house). But after she’d set the platters of food on the table, she put her hand over his brace—more specifically, over his blunted wrist. “We’ve both been there, Killian,” she cautioned, concern in her blue eyes. “I don’t want you—either of us—to get hurt again.”

“I know,” he sighed, reaching over to pat her hand where it rested on his arm. She’d always had an uncanny way of reading his worries better than he did. “I know.”

She gave him a sad half-smile and then a peck on the cheek—but then both jumped at the sound of the squeaky floorboard in the living room being stepped on.

“Oh—sorry,” Emma apologized, averting her eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” Belle waved off and moved back toward the stove. “Coffee?”

“Please,” she practically moaned, drawing a chuckle from the others. Almost instinctively, Killian stood and pulled out a seat for her, which she accepted, albeit cautiously—as though she was afraid she might break something or commit a faux pas.

Until the mug was in front of her and she pounced on it, draining it in one gulp.

“Did you sleep alright, love?” he had to ask.

“Oh, best I’ve slept in a while,” she answered. “Almost too well. Is that mattress magic? Because I could very easily fall back into it right now.”

Belle laughed and refilled Emma’s mug. “No; it’s exceedingly normal. But probably better than sleeping in the woods.”

“By far.”

The three of them started in on breakfast—Alice wouldn’t be up for a bit—and made light conversation, but he could tell something was bothering Emma.

So could Belle. “It looks like a question is caught in your throat,” Belle said to her. “You can ask.”

(He wasn’t sure what it meant that, despite her reservations, Belle seemed just as comfortable around Emma as he was.)

Emma briefly worried her bottom lip while glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t mean to overhear, and if I’m prying, you don’t have to answer, but…what you were talking about when I came in. Where exactly is it you’ve been before?”

Killian looked over at Belle, who had also sought out his attention. Even though his own history had been nagging at him the past few days, he’d hesitated to share it with Emma, for what were hopefully obvious reasons. But Belle’s tale wasn’t his to share—even if, he now realized, they had discussed it in part. Still—it was a fairly loaded question and he’d need a boost of confidence from Belle to be willing to divulge it.

The far-too-casual shrug she gave was enough.

“I haven’t told you about Alice’s mother, have I?” he started, facing Emma again.

“No,” she confirmed. “But I got the impression she was out of the picture.”

“Aye, and with good reason.” Belle was already topping off his mug, knowing he’d need the extra fuel; he swallowed it down and began the story:

After Milah died, after he’d lost his hand, and early in his bounty hunting career, he was still an angry young man but no longer quite so rebellious. That said, he still enjoyed his fair share of vices—most notably, booze and women (and the combination thereof).

He was no stranger to dive bars as both a place for recreation and information, and found himself in one such locale on a quest for news of the Dark One—one of the most sadistic criminals the kingdom had yet known. He wasn’t just after riches; he was after power—of the magic variety. It wasn’t uncommon to find a wake of bodies with their hearts ripped from their chests in his trail as he sought the magical objects that would grant him what he sought. 

One of those bodies was Milah’s, though that one was obviously a bit more personal.

When Killian’s less-than-legal pursuits of the demon proved fruitless, Nemo had offered him the chance to do it the right way—and he’d jumped on it. Granted, there were some bits of procedure and bureaucracy back then that he found pointless (and, if he was being honest, still did), but he was certainly making more progress than his previous attempts.

That night in particular had ended up being a bust; whatever tip Graham had passed along to him was a dead end, so he decided it best to salvage the evening any way he could. He started by ordering a bottle of cheap rum from the bartender and quickly downing a few shots, which apparently drew the attention of another patron. 

Her name was Eloise, and though he couldn’t recall her opening line, he remembered being charmed by it—as well as her strawberry-blonde curls and the bit of wildness in her smile. They began to exchange words and shots, until they had a hearty buzz going on. He made up a story about still being a sailor; she told him she worked as a maid for a local aristocrat. In hindsight, he should have known she wasn’t being forthright when he wasn’t either, but he didn’t rightly care in the moment.

She invited him to her room above the bar. He accepted. And they spent one very pleasurable night together, before bidding an amicable adieu in the morning.

Though he wouldn’t have minded seeing her again, he wasn’t naive enough to expect he ever would—especially as the chase for the Dark One picked up. He’d honestly forgotten entirely about her as he worked towards, and eventually succeeded in, taking down the demon in the next few months.

It wasn’t until several months later, when he was tasked with bringing in a con artist named Eloise, that the memories of her and that night began to trickle in—but it was a fairly common name, and he had no reason to assume the two were the same. She hadn’t struck him as the type to prey on others under the guise of an expectant mother in need of help, only to rob them blind and disappear.

Not until he actually tracked down the mark to where she was operating, in a town not far from where they’d met, and the woman on the other side of the door at the address given to him by her latest victim proved to be none other than his past paramour.

They were both briefly stunned, but he recovered sooner than she did. “Well, hello again, love. Should I be flattered that you didn’t steal from me, too?” he asked as he quickly handcuffed her.

“It wasn’t me,” she protested, albeit weakly; even she knew the jig was up. “I’m just an innocent young mother—”

“Sure you are,” he sneered, glancing her up and down as he slipped the magic-blocking cuff on her wrist and took in the noticeable lack of belly; he had to assume it had been an illusion and he wasn’t about to let her use any power she might have to escape. “You’re not even actually pregnant.”

“Not anymore,” she scoffed.

“What?” That made him pause, but the subsequent wails of an infant from farther back in the room drew his attention.

“Yes, I really had a baby,” she continued, sounding more annoyed than happy over the event. “No thanks to you.”

“What?” he repeated, further in disbelief.

“She’s yours. Go on, look.”

A pit had formed in his stomach, and his instincts warned that she could be lying. Although—he thought back to the date of their tryst, and the math did add up.

Cautiously, he stepped toward the bassinet in the middle of the bare-bones room. The babe’s cries picked up in intensity, and he was overcome with the need to comfort her. But he remained wary.

However, he knew it was true the moment he stood over her. Her features were unmistakably similar to those of his mother, most notably the slightly pointed ears he had also inherited—a trademark passed down from their elfin ancestry several generations back.

“Can you take her?” Eloise asked. “Honestly, I was about ready to give her up.”

Fire quickly replaced shock. “And you weren’t going to tell me?” The idea of any child being abandoned like he was, let alone his own flesh and blood, was horrifying.

“How would I have?” she spat back.

She had a point; they’d only ever exchanged first names. But she couldn’t truly expect him to be thinking rationally at the moment, not with the weight of the information—and responsibility—she’d just dropped on him.

He swallowed, and then turned his attention back to the babe, and carefully picked her up, careful to keep the sharp end of his hook away from her. She quieted nearly as soon as he pulled her against his chest, and looked up at him with her big blue eyes—and that was that.

Thankfully, he’d been working the job with Graham, who soon arrived to see what was taking so long. Graham took over from there, after Eloise assured him that she wanted nothing to do with the child. “She’s all yours. Good luck—she’s a screamer.”

“And then I took her home, and, nine years later, here we are,” he concluded. “It’s not something I’m the most proud of, but I wouldn’t trade Alice for the world.”

“Wow,” Emma sighed, but the way she was staring at the table and seemed to be hunched in on herself told him she was feeling a bit of shame. He hadn’t told her the story to make her feel bad, though there were some obvious parallels in choice of careers. “What happened to Eloise?” she asked timidly.

“She went away for a while,” he answered simply. “Unfortunately, I heard that she passed a few years ago. Though, if I’m being honest, it was something of a relief—I didn’t have to worry about her changing her mind about Alice anymore.”

“It’s her loss,” Emma told him. “Alice is amazing, and you’ve done a wonderful job with her.”

“Thank you,” he replied, blushing per usual. “But Belle gets a lot of the credit, too. Although the look of shock on your face when I arrived home with her is still seared in my memory,” he chuckled, glancing over at Belle.

“How else was I supposed to react? You didn’t even send a letter to warn me!” she chided, but she was laughing, too. If they hadn't been able to find any humor in the things life had thrown at them, gods only knew how insane they’d be driven by now.

“I guess that partly answers how long you’ve been living together,” Emma continued. “You said you were siblings, or sort of?”

He and Belle exchanged another look that probably only served to confirm their type of relationship to Emma, even though it was a fair bit more complicated than that. “Well,” he started, but wasn’t sure how to continue without getting into Belle’s story, and he didn’t want to be the one to share it.

Thankfully, she took over. “Actually, that’s where my own tale comes in,” Belle started. “I’ve been with him since the take-down of the Dark One…because I was with the Dark One.”

“He had you captive?” Emma gasped.

“No, I was…I loved him.”

The fact that she used past tense didn’t escape Killian’s notice; it had taken Belle some time to come to terms with her feelings towards the man, even if she’d been glad their relationship was over and he’d been imprisoned. 

Emma’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re that Belle?”

Belle tilted her head in confusion. “Beg your pardon?”

Now Emma looked nervous—although Killian was quickly connecting the dots in his head. “I guess I forgot to mention last night that my ex was Neal—the Dark One’s son,” she explained.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Belle cursed. “So I was nearly your mother-in-law?”

“Apparently,” Emma replied, laughing slightly in disbelief. “It always bugged Neal that his dad was dating someone not a ton older than he was.”

“I can’t say I was unaware of the situation, but Neal came around so little, it wasn’t a significant concern on my end.” Belle sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear his life went in that direction, though; I know he didn’t like the idea of following in his father’s footsteps, but it sounds like he didn’t stray as far from it as I might have thought.”

“He hates magic, but otherwise, he’s not afraid to go to any end to get what he wants.”

“That definitely sounds familiar,” Belle commiserated. “Well, I suppose that all was more of an answer than you expected to your initial question.”

“A bit,” she concurred, “but I guess I’m not all that shocked that the world is slightly smaller than I thought it was.” The warm look she gave Killian then suggested she didn't mind that fact.

It was strange for Killian to think that, in another life, they all might still have found their way to each other; it was an idea he was about to voice when Alice practically ran out of her room, shouting her good mornings to everyone.

As she usually did, Alice became the focus of everyone’s attention, and hers was unsurprisingly fixated on Emma, who thankfully had already had her meal or she wouldn’t have been able to eat between Alice’s endless questions.

But as the day wore on, his mind wandered back to his previous thought—had fate actually brought them all together? The overlaps in their lives were too numerous to be coincidental.

Or was he merely grasping at straws in an attempt to justify the feelings that wouldn’t budge? Because if there was one thing he realized while reflecting on his past liaisons—particularly with Eloise, and the memories of Milah that always came up when mentioning the Dark One—it was that, despite knowing he shouldn’t, he most certainly still had them for Emma as well, far deeper than he thought he did.

Belle had been correct in her warning; she usually was. But only he could mitigate the impending heartbreak.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian tried to keep his distance from Emma over the next couple of days, but the house was only so big, and there was still the matter of determining a plan before they headed for Longbourn that necessitated they spend time together.

To make matters worse—or better; he wasn’t sure—Emma seemed to fit into their little life all too well. She was patient with Alice; she got on well with Belle; and seemed comfortable exploring the woods nearby and lounging on the seashore the house overlooked. She insisted on helping with chores when Alice wasn’t dragging her away to show her something, even though he and Belle both assured her she was fine—but he knew it was old instincts (orphan instincts) trying to make sure she was useful so they’d keep her around, even if her stay had a definitive end date.

Those couple evenings were spent far too casually and comfortably in the great room, everyone chatting, reading, or just with Emma in her cat form curled up and purring in Alice’s lap. Ever inquisitive, that was one of the first questions Alice had begged of Emma after she interrupted their breakfast conversation. (Though they feigned disinterest, the other adults were curious about that, too.)

Emma had shown Alice her tattoo, explaining how it was imbued with transformation magic. “All I have to do is think about it, and then it just…happens.”

Alice traced it with her index finger. “Does it always hum like that?”

“Hum?” The question seemed to take Emma aback.

“Aye—you don’t feel it? It’s like—warm and vibrate-y.”

Emma looked over at Killian with a confused furrow in her brow, but Killian could only raise his and shrug in response. Considering he and Belle were only ever on the periphery of magic use, they had long since learned to roll with whatever Alice said about her own innate sense of it.

“Can you show me?” Alice continued, oblivious to the adults’ bewilderment.

“Of course,” Emma answered, sounding glad for the redirect. She shifted forms right on the chair, and then shifted back, all while Alice stared with stars in her eyes.

“Papa, can I get a tattoo like that?” she nearly begged.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, but had to tell her, “Maybe when you’re older.”

Alice briefly pouted, but then grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away on a tour of the house and yard, and that had been roughly the situation for the duration of those couple days.

At night, after Alice was asleep, they discussed the best way to deal with Emma’s predicament and to hopefully deal with Neal at the same time. They’d come to something resembling a plan, and Killian had Belle send a letter to Nemo when she made a trip into the closest village the day before they set to depart—a moment he was both eager for and dreading.

Obviously, he hated to leave Alice again so soon, even if he’d only be gone a few days and not the almost interminable weeks he’d spent chasing Emma. But despite his best efforts, it was far too easy to fall into playing family with Emma there, and more than once, he had to catch himself—from admiring the way the sun hit her braided-back hair while she worked in the yard, hinting at its natural golden color; from grinning at the way she and Alice were giggling and holding hands upon returning from a hike; from realizing just how close their bodies—especially, her lips to his—were while hunched over a map of the kingdom. (She may also have jumped away upon noticing the last one, much to his simultaneous relief and dismay.)

(The number of times one of them caught the other’s eye while trying not to stare was countless.)

At least he had a bit of a respite during nightly story time with Alice, even if the book was intrinsically linked with Emma. Seeing it through Alice’s eyes gave it a different life, though, and he was enjoying picking up on details he had missed in his first furious read-through while also seeing Alice’s reactions. And gods, he prayed she never grew too big to share this tradition with him; even if she was well on her way to adolescence, having her tucked into his side as they read made it feel like she’d always be his little girl—and like he wasn’t missing out on watching her grow when his work took him away for far-too-long stretches of time.

(And he was actively avoiding thoughts of the bounty he’d likely collect when this adventure was all over, considering the cost it was going to come at.)

On that last night of their detour, he had kept reading until Alice was asleep—which didn’t take long, as she’d spent the better part of the afternoon running around in the ocean’s shallows with Emma. When he reached the end of that chapter, he made sure to put the bookmark at the end of the previous one so she wouldn’t miss anything when they picked it back up.

He set it on her bedside table and slowly stood from the mattress, being careful to not disturb Alice too much. She noticed, though, and was blearily blinking her eyes even before he’d pressed a kiss to her forehead and wished her a good sleep.

“Papa, I like Emma,” she muttered sleepily.

His heart skipped the same beat it’d been hopping over for the past few days. But he responded as casually as he could. “I’m glad to hear that, starfish.”

“Do you like her?” she asked innocently.

“Aye, I do. That’s why I’m helping her.”

“But do you like-like her? Like how Westley likes Buttercup?” 

He sighed. It was far too late into the evening to even try to give that a proper answer. “I…I don’t know, love,” would have to suffice for now.

“Well, you should,” she told him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He had to chuckle at her bluntness, even if the statement reminded him why he didn’t want Alice getting attached to Emma in the first place. Ah, well—he could deal with the fallout from that later, whatever it ended up being. “Good night, Alice,” he farewelled, tucked her in with a kiss, and turned down her lamp. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Papa,” she replied—at least, it sounded vaguely like that, as she was well on her way back to sleep.

Emma had already turned in when he went back out to the main room, and he probably should have, too, but Belle was staring into the fire with a pensive look on her face that usually meant she wanted to talk.

“Well,” he started as he eased down into his chair opposite her. “What lecture do you have for me now?”

She rolled her eyes at his bluntness, but then her expression turned soft. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he deflected, though it was more for his own benefit than to get her off his case.

“Killian David Jones,” she chided. “You know what I mean. You always do.”

“Isabelle Colette French,” he threw back, but didn’t have much more of a retort. “Aye, I’ll be fine…eventually,” he conceded. “I’ll have to be. Though I may brood for a bit.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” She stood and stretched, yawning audibly, then rested her hand on his shoulder. “And it’s a bloody shame; I really like her. You’d be so good together.”

His jaw dropped in shock; that was quite the opposite of her position just the other morning. He looked up at her to see whether or not she was being serious, but she was already walking away to her room. She wasn’t one to tease in matters of the heart, though (well, other than mocking over the occasional pass made at him by the Widow Feinberg in the village, but the older woman did that to any man under the age of 40).

As good as the validation of his feelings felt, there wasn’t much to be done about it. He still had to get Emma to Longbourn—she was still a wanted criminal. He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down his face in something resembling exasperation, though more with the situation than anyone in particular.

He stared at the dying embers in the fire for another long moment, before deciding it best to head to bed himself; they were planning on setting off by midday, and there was still packing and other chores to be done before they could leave, so he’d need his rest tonight.

Of course, it wouldn’t come. Anxiety and anticipation for whatever was to come the next couple of days wouldn’t let him rest, along with the ongoing uncertainty towards how he should approach his feelings for Emma. 

Should he just give in, and enjoy whatever they might have for this brief time? Or start pulling back and brace for the inevitable withdrawal? (He’d experienced that a couple times in this life, purging alcohol from his system, and it hadn’t been pleasant; while this might hurt less physically, the emotional toll would probably come close.)

He tried all the tricks he normally used when sleep evaded him—listing off constellations, making lists of what needed to be done, even simply counting his breaths—but any time he managed to drift off, it wasn’t for long; he was far too consumed by nervous energy.

Finally, some time near sunrise, he gave up altogether and threw the covers off in a fit of exasperation. He got up and grabbed his dressing robe, stepped into his slippers, then tiptoed outside as quietly as he could manage, lest he disturb his sleeping housemates.

He wandered out to the beach, hoping the gentle waves and rising sun would give him a chance to calm his erratic nerves, only to find he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Emma stood near the edge of the shore, arms wrapped around her as she stared out at the horizon. A slight breeze blew her skirt around her legs and her hair into her face, and she shivered; apparently, he was the more prepared of the two of them.

“You should be asleep,” he said softly as he wrapped his robe around her. “Or at least dressed more warmly.”

She had jumped when he spoke, evidently not hearing his approach, but relaxed when she saw it was him and didn’t hesitate to pull the robe tighter around her. “So should you. And I guess I forgot how cold it can get by the ocean; I don’t remember it being this chilly in Storybrooke.”

“We’re a bit farther north, and Storybrooke has some natural insulation from the wind with the way its harbor is shaped. Your skirt certainly doesn’t help,” he added lightly.

She had borrowed a dress from Belle to wear while her cream gown was being washed; it fit, but she had a good few inches on Belle and it left her lower legs uncovered. There wasn’t much light but by the way she was standing, he had to assume her skin was covered in gooseflesh. (His certainly was, but he was also more accustomed to the temperature. Still—he was grabbing a sweater when they went back inside.) 

“I’ll survive,” she brushed off, but the way she seemed to nestle even further into the robe showed her appreciation. As did the genuine “thank you” that followed.

“I’d be a piss-poor host to drag you all this way and then let you die of a chill in what's supposed to be a haven. But you’re most welcome.”

They fell silent, watching the sky and sea as the waves lapping at the shore tried to drown out the unsaid words between them. The horizon was just beginning to lighten, slowly hiding the stars that hung low in the sky.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep?” Emma asked quietly, her eyes staying forward.

He hummed in thought—not because he didn’t know the reason, but because he wasn’t sure he wanted to confess how much of it was her. “Just…a little bit of everything,” he settled on, hoping that was equal parts vague and descriptive enough to define his mental state.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she replied, sighing a bit. At least he wasn’t alone in that. 

She seemed very intent on rolling a stone around under her boot, so he didn’t say anything to interrupt her, but he did notice that she seemed a bit restless. It wasn’t surprising, really, when he thought about it; not only was she on the cusp of going to prison, most likely, she also hadn’t taken a chance to really pause in the last couple months. He had chalked it up to life on the lam, but it was just as likely she enjoyed being constantly on the move. Before Alice, he’d much preferred constant motion, lest his ghosts catch up with him, and goodness knew Emma had a few of her own.

But…she was still here. So he had to ask, “Why haven’t you run away?”

She stiffened a bit at the question, but wasn’t outright offended—which told him he’d hit close to home. “I thought about it,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “Even this morning, I debated just transforming and making a break for it. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” His voice was far more unsteady than he intended.

“It’s kind of like you said,” she shrugged, eyes still on the pebbled ground. “It’d be incredibly rude of me to take advantage of your kindness only to make my own escape, and probably end up getting you into trouble in the process. There’s been enough collateral damage around me lately; I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you, too.”

The familiar stutter of his heart allowed the breath he was holding to escape. He hadn’t doubted that she cared for him, but hearing that was somewhat bittersweet: she cared enough about him to not hurt him, even though it was coming at the cost of her own freedom. And he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I…I appreciate that, greatly,” he eventually told her. He also finally dared to look over at her, only to find her giving him a small, slightly sad smile that he both understood and returned.

Another shiver took over her then, so he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her. Only then did he realize that he hadn’t put his brace on, but if she noticed his blunted left wrist resting on her shoulder, she didn’t acknowledge it; all she did was rest her head on his shoulder, bringing them ever closer.

They stayed like that until the sun fully rose, bathing everything in its orange light. It wasn’t hard to imagine starting the day like this more often than not, but such daydreams were moot at this point.

A shudder wracked his body; it was his turn to feel the effects of the cool temperatures, even if the sun was warm on his face. Emma only chuckled, though, and stepped back, but reached for his hand. “C’mon; let’s head back in. Do you have any cocoa?”

“Maybe?”

“I hope so. Let me make you some.”

Thankfully, they did, and she made it with care. He was mildly amused when she dug out some cinnamon from the pantry to put on hers, but when he tried it for himself, he immediately understood the appeal: sweet with just a hint of spice—much like the woman sitting across from him at the dining table. (Belle and Alice seemed to enjoy it, too, when they eventually rose.)

While he would have much preferred that morning be the first spent in a similar manner, if it had to be the last, he would take it.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

thanks for reading! tagging some (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609​​​​ @xpumpkindumplingx​​​​ @shipsxahoy​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​​ @thisonesatellite​​​​ @winterbythesea​​​​  @mryddinwilt​​​​ @cocohook38​​​​ @annytecture​​​​  @wingedlioness​​​​ @word-bug​​​​  @distant-rose​​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​ @pirateherokillian​​​​ @its-imperator-furiosa​​​​ @fergus80​​​​ @killianmesmalls​​​​ @thejollyroger-writer​​​​ @ineffablecolors​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​​​​ @nfbagelperson​​​​ @stubblesandwich​​​​ @phiralovesloki​​​​ @athenascarlet​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​ @idristardis​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @searchingwardrobes​​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​​ @jrob64​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop​​​​ @klynn-stormz​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @deckerstarblanche​

[countrymusiclover]

20 - I'm Peter, Peter Pan

Part 21

His Golden Princess

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @alanaangie24

Walking down the wooden stairs into one of the cabins on the ship I see Rumple reappears wearing the leather skins I saw in my visions from awhile back. He turned around smiling at me where I rest my hands on his shoulders eyeing the fabric under my fingers. "Is it weird that I rather like this outfit?"

"Not at all dear. I will say though these skins are a part of my past. Before I met you that is." He rests one hand on my hip while his other tucks hair behind my ear. "This island is too dangerous for hand holding. I must revert back to my former self."

Staring up into his eyes I glanced down at my outfit which is just jeans and a tea shirt. My sword on my hip but it doesn't look as scary as his. Tilting my head to the side I give him puppy dog eyes. "Rumple I have a favor to ask...could you give me an outfit like yours?"

"Why's that sweetheart?" He asked with a small smile.

"Like you said hand holding won't work here. Make me into a badass princess." I explained with a small smirk on my face.

He raised his freehand engulfing me in purple smoke where I spun around seeing I am now wearing a red jacket with tears all over it. A white tea shirt thrown over with combat boots. Moving my hair over my shoulder I noticed pink dye on the ends of my blonde hair. Smiling up to him I throw my arms around his neck kissing him as a thank you.

He wrapped his arms around my waist breaking the kiss. "So you like it I presume?" I nod my head before he grabbed his cane seeing my sister arguing with our parents.

"Oh, that's a great use of our time—a wardrobe change!" Hook scoffs making everyone look our direction ending their conversations.

Rumple grips his cane in his right hand determined. "I'm gonna get Henry."

"We agreed to do this together." Regina barked back to him.

He shakes his head no at her statement. "Actually, we made no such agreement."

My sister dropped her arms down. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I wanna succeed. Emma: What makes you think I'm gonna fail? Mr. Gold: Well, how could you not?" Rumple spoke to my sister not believing she's ready. "You don't believe in your parents, or in magic, or even yourself.

My sister rolled her eyes focusing back on me as I cross my arms over my chest. "I slayed a dragon, I think I believe. And besides how do you know my sister isn't the same way."

"Only what was shown to you. When have you ever taken a real leap of faith? You know, the kind where there's absolutely no proof? I've know you some time, Miss Swan. And, sadly, despite everything you've been through, you're still just that... bail bonds-person, looking for evidence. Well, dearie, that's not gonna work in Neverland." He explained to her then points his index finger my direction. "I believe in Astrid because she's learning magic and believed in it much sooner than you did."

Emma scoffed determined to get her son back. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Well, you just need someone to tell you what that is. Sorry, dearie, our foe is too fearsome for hand-holding. Neverland is a place where imagination runs wild. And, sadly, yours doesn't." Rumple explained taking my hand in his teleporting us off the ship and onto the island.

Opening my eyes I gasped seeing I am inside a wooden cage instead of by Rumple's side when we left. Getting to my feet I frantically looked around hearing someone coming this direction. Grabbing the wooden bars in my hands I gasped seeing Henry and a boy with light brown hair staring my direction. "Henry...Henry!" I called out but he can't hear me.

The random boy knocks on a tree causing a group of boys to come running out circling Henry. "You proved yourself. You are the lucky owner of that very special heart. And now? You... and it... are mine." The boy draws a knife grinning. "Come on, boys! Let's play!"

The group of boys I had to assume are the lost boys took Henry off somewhere else allowing the other boy to come towards me. I reached down searching for my sword but not finding it anywhere on my belt. "Looking for this, darling?" The boy asked holding my sword in his hand.

"Give it back, you child!" I grunted lifting my hand up trying to use magic but nothing happens. So I try the other hand getting the same result. "What the hell. That's never happened before?"

The stranger chuckled with a smirk on his face pointing his index finger towards my right arm. "Look down dear..." Lifting my arm up there's a thick black cuff on my wrist. "You see that wonderful accessory on your arm blocks your magic."

"Why you little jerk. Take it off!" I demanded glaring towards the boy I still don't know his name.

He stepped up lifting my chin with the tip of my sword that he held in between the bars. "If I wanted to I would. But I don't trust you yet darling Astrid."

"How do you know my name. I never told you it." I shuffle backwards into the corner away from him as quickly as possible.

Rumple said Neverland is a dangerous place. I could gather that whoever was Pan in this camp must be even worse. "Because I know you're little traveling buddy the Dark One and he knows who I am." The boy smiled sticking the end of my sword into the dirt and leaning on it.

Wrapping my arms around myself I remained in the corner silently searching for a way out with no magic. "And who are you supposed to be. Another lost boy?"

"Oh how rude of me darling. Where are my manners." The boy chuckled stepping up to the corner of the cage I am in. I gulped feeling his eyes staring me down. "I'm Peter, Peter Pan."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Beyond the Call of Duty

Summary:  Season 1 AU. The night of the fire at Town Hall, Regina is treated by a dashing EMT named Robin Locksley. They have an immediate connection and Regina pursues it, going against everything she has been taught by her mother and Rumpelstiltskin. With Emma Swan threatening to end her curse, will Robin help Regina learn what a happy ending truly is?

Chapter 1:  FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Chapter 13: A Plan Gone Awry

FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Regina had to delay putting her plan into action. While Robin had made it through his surgery, it ended up only being the first of many. She feared the curse was slowly killing him and continued to pray for it to spare him as she sat by his bedside, kissing his hand as she watched his chest rise and fall. It assured her that he was still alive just as much as the steady beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals. But she vowed she would not eat the apple until she was certain that Robin was on the mend.

Then she would take herself out of the equation.

"Regina?" Tuck interrupted her thoughts as he entered Robin's room. "You have a visitor."

"A visitor?" she asked, her heart sinking. She doubted that was a good thing. "Who is it?"

He shrugged. "He's an odd-looking but young fellow."

Odd-looking but young? Regina frowned as she stood. "I'm not sure who that is but I'll go out and talk to him," she said.

"I'll stay with Robin," Tuck said. "Take all the time you need. Maybe get something to eat."

"I'll try," she said, knowing that Tuck would find a way to feed her anyway. He understood why she didn't have much of an appetite but reminded her that her body still needed food anyway.

Regina stepped outside of the room and turned down the hallway. As she approached the waiting room, her heart sank into her stomach. Dressed in his faded purple coat and elaborate black top hat, Jefferson stood there waiting for her. She wondered how he had escaped Wonderland after trapping him there to rescue her father and knew that his presence in Storybrooke likely wasn't a good thing.

"Hello, Regina," he said as if they saw each other every day.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, almost hissing at him.

His expression remained neutral. "Do you mean here in the hospital or here in Storybrooke?"

"Both," she replied.

"It took a while but I eventually found the right hat," he told her, answering one question. "And now I'm here for my daughter."

She nodded, not surprised by that answer. "And what do you think confronting me in the hospital will do?"

"Hopefully get me my daughter," he said.

"I can't help you now," she replied, feeling tired. The last thing she needed was to deal with Jefferson, even if it was her fault that he was separated from his daughter. Grace was safe and happy while Robin was unconscious and fighting for his life. She needed to focus on him more.

She started to walk away when he grabbed her arm, firmly holding her in place. "Don't walk away from me," he said.

"Let go of me," she hissed, panic filling her. She didn't think Jefferson would hurt her but she also knew the lengths a desperate parent would go to be reunited with their child. Regina couldn't rule anything out.

"Not until you promise me I'll get Grace," he said, his face so close she felt like she was going cross-eyed trying to look him in the eyes.

She swallowed before saying: "There's nothing I can do. But if you're patient, I believe you'll get what you want sooner rather than later."

"That's not a promise," he said. "I want you to promise me you'll do it."

"I can't," she replied, anguished. The only way he would get Grace back would be for the curse to break. And once she bit that apple, it would likely only be a matter of days before Emma figured out how to break it and did so.

And so Emma, not her, would reunite him with his daughter.

"You can't? he asked, almost snarling. "Or you won't?"

"Hey! Back off her," John said, his voice booming. She looked away from Jefferson to see him striding down the hallway toward them, glaring at the mam. "Let go of her or we're going to have a problem."

Jefferson released Regina's arm, stepping back. "I see you haven't changed. Still only caring about yourself and not worrying about whose life you destroy in the process. You'll regret this."

He stalked away, bumping against John's shoulder as he pushed past the burly man. John glared at him before turning back to Regina. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," she answered, feeling numb.

"Who was that?" he asked. "And what was he talking about?"

She sighed, deciding how best to put what her relationship with Jefferson was. "He's someone I worked with several years ago and he believes I took something important from him. He wants me to return it."

"Do you know what happened to this thing?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I do," she replied. "But it's not in my power to return it."

He nodded. "But he's not accepting that, is he?"

She shook her head. "He is not."

"Do you think his threat was just empty words or do you think he could do something to hurt you?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she replied, a statement that pained her. She wanted to believe she had everything under control but the last few weeks have proven the opposite was true. "But I doubt there is much he can really do to me. My best friend thinks I'm the reason she got kidnapped, the DA wants to charge me despite a relatively weak case, there's a good chance I'm going to lose my son and my boyfriend is fighting for his life. What else could he possible do to hurt me?"

John sighed, pulling Regina into a hug. "I know Robin has suggested you go talk with Archie Hopper before and that it didn't go well…but maybe you should try again. You've had a lot happen and need help processing it."

She melted a bit into his hug, feeling tears in her eyes. "I don't really need help processing it. I know why this is happening. I'm just meant to be alone."

"Well, that's bullshit," he replied, leaning back. There was a serious but concerned look in his brown eyes. "Regina, I really think you might be depressed."

"Of course I'm depressed," she said, wishing she had the energy to laugh. "Wouldn't you be if you had to deal with all the shit I've had to the past few months?"

John shook his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I think deep down, you know that you're likely suffering from depression too."

"Great," she said, knowing deep down that John likely was right. "Just what I need. Another reason for Emma to use to keep Henry from me."

"Emma Swan is not going to keep your son from you," John said firmly. "And if she tries to use any possible mental health condition you have against you, she's going to become very unpopular very quickly."

Regina sighed, wishing she could believe him. "Thanks, John. But I have a feeling I'll become unpopular very quickly. It's how these things usually go for me."

John tilted his head. "Is this the dark place Robin has mentioned?"

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"Every so often he makes a mention of you tending to go to a dark place," he explained. "He then realizes what he said and stops but I think I now realize what he means."

A chill swept through her. "I didn't realize my mental state was conversation at the dinner table," she said.

"It's not," John replied, rushing to reassure her. "I'm sure you've realized by now that Robin is a nurturer by nature. It makes him a great EMT, a great father, a great friend, and a great man. He gets frustrated if he can't help someone to the extent he wants and when he gets frustrated, he talks to himself out loud. So he wasn't talking to me. He was just talking and I happened to be in the same room."

"Oh," she said, feeling better. She also felt a little spark of warmth knowing that Robin cared so much for her that he would try to figure out some way to help her.

Too bad nothing could help her.

She took a deep breath. "Well, while I appreciate the concern, John, now's not the time. I really don't have the energy to discuss any problems I may or may not have."

"Alright," he said slowly. "We can table it for now."

"Thank you," she replied, knowing that they would never go back to this conversation once she completed her plan and Emma broke the curse.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 2

Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago.  With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.

Rating: K+

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones@kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior@in-spirational @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst@kmomof4  @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch@allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @cssns @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @eastwesthomeisbest @dreamingdreamsalways @xsajx @justren21 @laughterandbooks @cocohook38​ @therealstartraveller776​

Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns​, the ladies on the Discord!  Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest​, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood​!

Other Chapters: Prologue 1 3 4 Epilogue 

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

"So after the phone calls, the text messages started coming," Emma said, settling into her best friend's plush sofa.

"Texts?" Mary Margaret asked curiously before taking a sip of her tea. "What kind of texts?"

It felt like Emma had known Mary Margaret forever. Both girls were placed in the system at young ages-Emma, because her parents abandoned her on the side of a road as an infant, and Mary Margaret, because her parents both died of illness. They ended up in the same group home, and quickly became the best of friends. They were closer than sisters until the day Mary Margaret was adopted by Cora Mills, and then eventually, Emma was fostered by Ruth Nolan.

Even after being placed with other families, Emma and Mary Margaret kept in touch-letters, phone calls, even the occasional visit. On one such visit, Emma's foster brother, David, was home from college, and as soon as he and Mary Margaret met, it was love at first sight.

They were so in love it was honestly a bit nauseating.

When they got married fresh out of college, Emma couldn't be happier. She'd always considered Mary Margaret her sister in all the ways that counted, and now they truly were.

There was no doubt about it - Mary Margaret Nolan was the person Emma was closest to in the entire world, and so it was only natural that when the weird stuff with the cell phone started happening, Emma decided to discuss it with her.

"Weird ones," Emma answered, taking a sip of her own hot cocoa with cinnamon. "Stuff like Help! or You're the only one who can save me!. And then some of them were even stranger. Just...random letters and symbols, almost like someone was randomly pressing buttons on a keyboard."

"So what did you do?" Mary Margaret asked, sitting on the other side of the sofa and turning toward Emma.

Emma shrugged. "I tried answering at first. You know, you hear about people who are abducted and, like, stuck in a basement for years and stuff like that. I kept thinking, what if someone really needed help and I just...ignored them?"

"And what happened when you answered?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Nothing," Emma answered before taking another sip. "No answer, just another cryptic text several hours later. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. Either someone needed help, or someone was messing with me. I decided I'd call the number, decide whether I needed to help them or tell them to go f-" She stopped, glancing over at Mary Margaret's toddler playing with blocks nearby. "Well, go do something not at all child-friendly to themselves."

"Let me guess, your call didn't get through."

"Nope," Emma confirmed, "but it was even weirder than that. I dialed the number just after receiving a text, but it went directly to voicemail."

"But that's not possible!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.

"Right?" Emma said. "So I tried to ignore the whole thing. Maybe the phone was just...I don't know..glitching or something, although I don't know how a technological glitch could make phone calls and text someone. Anyway, for some reason, I just can't let go. Even though I don't know him, somehow I feel a...connection...to this Killian Jones. I just-I don't know what to do about it."

Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, taking several sips of her steaming beverage, before turning back to Emma with a cautious look in her eyes. "There is...there is another possibility, if you have an open mind."

"Just how open are we talking?"

"Pretty open," Mary Margaret said. "What if-and just hear me out, I know this is crazy-what if Killian Jones is contacting you from beyond the grave."

"What, like a ghost?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but why not? One of the other teachers I work with was talking about this medium. His name is Merlin Emrys. Supposedly he can contact the dead and see ghosts and stuff like that."

"A medium? Seriously?" Emma asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Mary Margaret, you know those people are frauds. It's all about researching their marks ahead of time and then cold reading them. They're only in it to bleed as much cash out of vulnerable people as possible."

"I know it sounds crazy," Mary Margaret conceded, "but what if it's not? I've thought about going to him myself. If I could just talk to my parents one more time-make sure they're okay, make sure they've moved on, or whatever happens after someone dies. Well, it would provide a lot of comfort."

Emma's heart turned over, and she took her friend's hand. She knew how much Mary Margaret missed her parents. It was different for Emma. She'd never known her parents, only knew they'd tossed her out like garbage. She wasn't sure she even wanted to find them.

"I know you miss them," Emma said.

"I do," Mary Margaret said, "but that's not the point. The point is...what do you have to lose? Maybe this Merlin is just a quack like you said, but maybe not. Maybe he could be the key to unravelling the whole mystery."

Emma was silent for a moment. It was crazy; she knew it was. A medium wasn't going to give her the answers she needed if all her bail bonds tricks had failed her, but what the hell?

"Fine. I'll go see Merlin," Emma caved.

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

Emma's eyebrows rose as she took in the small, ranch-style house Mary Margaret had directed her to. She was skeptical before seeing the place, but now-now red flags were going up everywhere.

There was a huge, gaudy sign out front that read "Merlin, the great and powerful. Wizard of the unknown and medium of the great beyond." The sign-indeed the entire front of the house-was decorated with all kinds of astrological signs and symbols.

Was this guy even for real?

Emma seriously considered turning around and getting back in her car, but she'd promised Mary Margaret she'd at least check this Merlin out and give him a chance, and Emma was a woman of her word. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A moment later, an older man with longish, thinning gray hair and a rather unkempt gray beard opened the door. He was wearing long robes. Really playing the part, apparently.

"Merlin Emrys, I presume?" Emma asked as the man welcomed her inside with a sweep of his hand.

The man chuckled. "I'm afraid not. I'm merely his apprentice. Who might I tell Merlin is calling?"

Emma cocked an eyebrow. "You mean your all powerful boss didn't see me coming with his second sight or whatever?"

Emma stepped inside and the apprentice shut the door after her. "My master isn't clairvoyant. He merely has the ability to speak with the dead."

"Right," Emma said, not even trying to tamp down the skepticism in her voice. "I'm Emma Swan, and I'm here to-"

He stopped her with a raised hand. "Don't say too much. Merlin does not wish to be influenced by his clients. He wishes to sense the energy around you for himself."

Emma shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright," the apprentice said, moving toward large drapes at the far end of the room. "I'll be just a moment. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Emma looked around the room while she waited, and it took everything in her to keep from rolling her eyes. This guy was really playing up the whole "psychic" thing. It felt like she was in some sort of fortune teller carnival tent. All the signs and symbols. This guy even had a crystal ball. An actual crystal ball.

This trip was a massive waste of her time, but maybe it would at least prove to be entertaining.

"Emma Swan, welcome!"

Emma looked up at the handsome black man who made his way through the curtains. He was dressed in much the same way as his apprentice, only he wore a sorcerer's pointy hat on his head.

"Uh, thanks," Emma said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Full disclosure. I'm more than a little bit of a skeptic, so if this is one of those 'it can only work if you truly believe' deals, we might have a problem."

"My gift can withstand the doubts of the skeptic," he chuckled before reaching out and taking her hand.

No sooner had his hand touched hers than he gasped, taking a step back, eyes going wide. "Would you-would you care to follow me back to my private sitting room, Miss Swan? It's far more comfortable back there."

Emma cocked a brow again, wondering what this odd man was on about. Still, she didn't sense any overt deception in him, and he didn't seem to be any threat to her, so she shrugged before following him through the curtains.

This backroom was far more ordinary than the room they'd just inhabited. Emma took a plush armchair, and Merlin sat on a sofa across from her.

Merlin pulled off his hat and sat it beside him. "I apologize for all the theatrics, Miss Swan," he said, reaching for a pot of tea and then raising an eyebrow in question. Emma declined the beverage with a small shake of her head, and Merlin proceeded to pour himself a cup. "I attempt to play up to what most clients expect from a psychic. Unfortunately, most poor souls who come to see me are out of luck. The loved one they wish to contact has passed on. For most, all I can do amounts to smoke and mirrors. I could tell the moment I shook your hand that you were different."

Emma inwardly scoffed. She knew enough about cons not to be fooled by a clever con man. Made sense he'd use a different tactic with a skeptic than he would with some poor, grief-stricken sap who was a true believer.

"No offense, but I still think you're full of crap," she said.

Merlin smiled. "It seems those with the most energy surrounding them always do."

"So, what?" Emma asked. "Are there ghosts all around me or something?"

"There are a few spirits here with us today," Merlin confirmed. "There's one who's quite insistent. It's a man; looks as though he died rather young. I don't sense he's family, but you were close. Maybe coworkers? Perhaps friends?"

Emma took a deep breath, a face coming to mind. Surely he couldn't mean-

"I'm getting a G in the name," Merlin said slowly. "Greg or Gray….no. Graham."

Emma's heart turned over. Graham. Sweet, slightly dorky Graham Humbert. They'd worked together on more than a few cases, and they'd become good friends.

In fact, they'd been teetering on the precipice of possibly becoming more than friends when he died suddenly.

"How did you know to mention Graham? How did you know that name would get the biggest rise out of me?" Emma demanded, voice hard.

"I don't choose the spirits who come to me," Merlin explained calmly, "I merely give them a voice. Graham is pleased to see you again. He's glad you're doing well."

The anger came then, spurred on by the pain the memory of Graham's death brought back. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"He died quite suddenly, didn't he?" Merlin asked, ignoring her question. "I'm feeling a tightness in my chest. Something with his heart?"

"Heart attack," Emma confirmed tightly. "He had a heart attack right in front of me and died in my arms."

"He's sorry, so very sorry you had to go through that," Merlin said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "He never wanted to be a source of pain for you."

Emma felt the tears at the back of her eyes and had to take a deep breath to keep them from falling. "Yeah, well, he didn't exactly have a say in the matter. Look, I don't know how you knew to bring up Graham, but I'm still not buying it."

"He apologizes he couldn't bring you a bear claw today," Merlin continued with a smile. "Oh, and he asks if you remember the day he thought he saw a wolf. He wants you to know he wasn't drunk. It really was there-in spirit at least."

Emma gasped, remembering the night she and Graham had gone to the Rabbit Hole for a drink after a long shift and Graham swore he spotted a big, gray wolf right there on the main street of town. Emma had made fun of him for that, telling him he'd clearly imbibed a bit too much that night. There's no way Merlin could have known about that incident. He couldn't have found it in any newspaper or online article about Graham's death.

Was it...was it possible this guy was the real deal?

"Okay, I admit, it's weird you'd bring that up," Emma said. "Let's say I believe you, can you ask Graham if he's okay? If he, like, moved on or whatever?"

"You just asked him," Merlin said. "He's here with us and can hear you. He wants to tell you that he is okay. He's more than okay; he's happy. He's moved on, and he's at peace, more than he could have ever thought possible."

Emma smiled, feeling comfort at the thought.

"There's someone else here with us as well," Merlin said. "Another male presence, but I don't believe you know this one. This one seems angry, desperate."

"Um...should we be scared?" Emma asked.

Merlin shook his head. "He doesn't mean us harm, only wants his story told. He's too indistinguishable to speak now, but I sense he'll be accompanying us on our journey today as well."

Wonderful. An angry, desperate ghost guide. Just fantastic.

"So, Emma," Merlin said, after a moment, "what brings you to me tonight?"

Emma pulled out her phone and laid out the entire story for Merlin. She told him about the calls, the texts, everything. Merlin took her phone in hand and gasped as soon as it touched his hand.

"There is a huge amount of energy here," he said. "There's no doubt a spirit has attached itself to you-or at least your phone."

Emma felt a chill. "My phone is haunted?"

"Not precisely," Merlin murmured, turning the device over in his hand. "Someone wishes to get your attention; wishes for you to help him, but there's something odd here, something I can't quite place."

"What do you mean?"

"The spirit is...indistinct," Merlin said, "hazy and just beyond my reach. I've never experienced anything like this."

Emma waited, her curiosity more than piqued at Merlin's odd reaction to her cell phone.

After a moment, Merlin's eyes widened. "Your friend Graham cleared up the mystery for me."

"What?" Emma asked. "What does Graham say is going on?"

"The reason I can't get a clear read on the spirit attached to your phone-this Killian Jones-is, well, because he's not dead."

Notes:

-So there you have it. For those of you who have wondered how this story could possibly have a happy ending since Killian is dead-this is how. He's not actually dead!

-Up next: With Merlin's help, Emma finds out how this is all possible-and she finds the not-dead Killian Jones.

��                                                                           Next Chapter-->

[apiratewhopines]

This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

“I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[donteattheappleshook]

There is a Pirate in the Dungeon

Summary: 

There is a pirate in the dungeon. All the serving girls are too afraid to go down the steps and bring him his meal. All but one.

This fic is based on a beautiful little story from The Starless Sea that just screamed of Captain Swan so strongly that I couldn't resist.

***

Happy Birthday to @elizabeethan​  who supported this fic and is just an all around great friend and writer <3

Thanks to @kmomof4​ and @the-darkdragonfly​ for looking this over!

***

There is a pirate in the dungeon. All of the servants are in a flurry over it, gossip filling the halls of the Evil Queen’s palace. They say it’s him. Him who? You know, him, with the hook. The girl pays little mind to it. There is always someone in the dungeon. It doesn’t take much to upset the queen. One foot out of place, one word out of turn. 

There are always people in the dungeon. Some are former servants, some former friends, some simply people who had the misfortune of crossing her path on a bad day. In fact, this pirate may be one of the few - if not the only - prisoner being held for any real crime. But the girl keeps her head down and goes about her work. No need to get involved. No need to stand out. 

***

The pirate sits in the dungeon. He finds himself bored. It’s a strange emotion to have when facing down one’s inevitable end, but it’s the emotion he feels all the same. He wonders when Death will come. He wonders if this time he will stay, if they’ll meet like old friends, if Death will smile - not in self satisfaction, but in fondness for this game they’ve played so long. It’s only fair. He’s slipped through Death’s fingers so many times, it was bound to be his turn sooner or later. 

A key hangs on the wall, six feet away from his cell, a tease of freedom just out of reach. He appreciates the metaphor. The guard is old, and drunk, and asleep most of the time. In a past life, the pirate may have attempted escape, may have hatched some elaborate ruse to win back his liberty. But he is old now - though he does not look it - and he is tired. And so he sits in his cell, bored, and waiting for death. 

***

The girl does her best to ignore the chatter, but it follows her everywhere. She hears it in the kitchen, ears catching the whisper of a name, or perhaps a title. She hears it in the hallways, a guess at what he’d done to earn his date with the gallows. She hears it in the small bedroom that she shares with another girl, a rumor of his terrifying reputation, of a man more monster than human. But she isn’t afraid. There’s no such thing as monsters. 

***

On the first night of his captivity, a girl comes into the dungeon carrying a tray of food and water. The pirate makes the mistake of standing too close to the bars, of looking over perhaps a tad too suspiciously, too threateningly, and the girl gasps, dropping the plate and running from the dungeon in fear. The guard wakes, and shrugs, and the pirate goes hungry. 

On the second night there is a new serving girl. She makes it halfway across the room before the candlelight gleams off his hook and she stumbles. Half the food and water spill from her hands before she sets it on the floor far enough from the bars that he needs to remove his hook and use it to pull the tray close enough to have what’s left. 

The third night no girl comes at all, though he hears her retreating footsteps at the top of the stairs. By the fourth night, the pirate has resigned himself to dying of starvation. It’s not quite the death he’d always pictured for himself, but he supposes it’s as fitting as any other. 

The guard is asleep again when the girl comes down the stairs on the fifth night, this one also new and more striking than any of the other servants who have fled from him. More striking than most women he’s ever seen and suddenly something that had started to go out in the pirate’s heart begins to stir. 

There’s a wariness about her, a hesitation as she approaches, but there is no fear, and it surprises him. As she approaches the bars, she meets his eyes and he watches in wonder as the doubt melts from her features, making way for confusion, relief, and even, he thinks, disappointment. It makes him laugh and he nearly startles at the sound of his own voice after so many days of silence. The girl, however, does not startle. 

She sets the tray in front of him and he thanks her. That does startle her. He wonders briefly if it’s at seeing manners in a prisoner or from having become accustomed to never being thanked for her work at all. 

The girl studies him, gaze falling over his face and his greatcoat, settling finally on his hook before finding their way back to his eyes. He wonders what she finds there, what she may have been looking for. He takes the chance to study her himself, her long golden hair and bright eyes, the rags she wears unable to disguise a certain dignity with which she carries herself.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, neither compelled to speak as they take each other in and draw their conclusions. Soon, however, his stomach cries for him to eat the bread which she’s brought him and he’s too tired and too hungry to deny it. But as he takes note of the thinness of her cheeks and the smudges below her eyes he feels a certain obligation towards her, a long forgotten sort of duty.

The pirate tears the bread in two and holds one half out through the bars. The surprise returns to her face and he wonders at the fact that it’s kindness that seems to scare her, rather than danger. She watches him, closely, carefully, more curiously than she has yet, and he’s stunned when an older - younger - version of the pirate makes himself known, one he hasn’t seen in years, but that he hopes is still worthy of this girl’s scrutiny, perhaps even of her trust. 

She takes the bread from his hand and neither miss the way his fingers brush across her wrist as she pulls back. But she doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t run. 

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” the pirate asks, trying to remember the last time his presence wasn’t met with fear or dread. 

She considers him a moment before answering, her voice low so as not to wake the guard. “I’ve met scarier men than you,” she says, and he believes her. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, because he is, and because he doesn’t know what else to say. He himself has met few scarier men. 

The girl does not stay to eat her bread. The guard begins to stir and she hurries out of the room before he can ask her name. The pirate cannot chase after her. He would like to, but the bars pose a certain problem. When the guard wakes he finds the pirate with his forehead pressed softly to the iron rods of his prison, a soft, faraway look in his eyes. He does not, the guard notes, look at all like a pirate anymore. 

***

The girl walks swiftly down winding steps that lead from the kitchen, which is on the second floor of the palace, deep underground to the damp, carved out tunnels that serve as a dungeon. She doesn’t pay attention to the strange looks she receives from the other serving girls, or the judgemental ones she receives from the men. She is the first to make this trip twice since the pirate’s arrival and it has earned her the distrust of her coworkers. 

“Aren’t you afraid of him? Haven’t you heard what he’s done?”

“He’s behind bars,” she answers simply whenever this question is posed. But she knows that the bars are irrelevant. She does not fear the pirate. 

She is more concerned with the second question, that of what he has done. The girl, who grew up near the palace and was orphaned near the palace and now works in the palace, has never done anything, not truly, not anything worthwhile or worth remembering. 

She wonders how many places outside this palace the pirate has seen. She wonders how many places outside this kingdom he has visited, or perhaps even, outside this realm. She decides that she’ll ask him to tell her about them. The worst he can say is “no” and then her life will be no different than it was when she woke up this morning. She thinks however that if he says “yes”, it could be a little bit better. 

When the pirate sees her coming down the stairs he looks surprised, and then relieved, and then pleased. A small smile pullis at the corner of his lips and she feels it makes him look even less the terrifying monster those upstairs believe him to be. He looks young, his eyes which yesterday had betrayed an ancientness of one who has lived many lives, perhaps, more lives than they’d have liked, are now bright and anxious like a boy’s. 

The guard is predictably asleep and the girl makes her way to the bars where the pirate waits and hands him his food. He takes it with a thank you, as he had yesterday, and while she’d expected it, she was still not prepared for it and it catches her off guard, her cheeks flushing. Then her cheeks flush at her embarrassment over her cheeks flushing in the first place. 

He is handsome, dark hair and dark lashes framing blue eyes and a soft smile contrasted by a strong jaw. But she has seen handsome men before and paid them little mind. She wonders what it is that is different about this one. Whatever the difference, it makes her lose her nerve, and with no other reason to be here, and no question bold enough to ask, she turns to take her leave. 

“Wait,” the pirate says, and the girl stops, glancing back. “Will you tell me your name?” he asks. When she does not answer, he speaks again. “If I’m to see you again, I’d like to be able to thank you properly for your service. If I’m not, then I’d like a name to associate with the memory of you.” 

The girl is grateful for the darkness in the dungeon, and the distance that hides her stricken expression. “Emma,” she tells him, and he smiles at her in the same youthful way he had before. She offers a clumsy curtsy, and leaves. 

When she returns the following night, the girl has slipped whatever extra treats she could find onto the tray. A roll of bread with honey stolen off a table while serving breakfast, meat leftover from the servant’s dinner, and a small, baked good that the queen had sent back. She imagines the pirate must be hungry. She is only sent to bring him food once a day and there are no other servants making trips to the dungeon.

He looks relieved, and then happy to see her. And then something crosses his expression that she doesn’t recognize. Likely, because no one has ever looked at her like that. She finds that she likes it. She hands him the tray, watching a little too eagerly as he notices the contents. He smiles, one eyebrow jumping up, the pull of his lips lopsided, and it spreads warmth through her belly. 

“Thank you,” he says, adding “Emma” to the end. It’s the first time he’s said her name, and Emma is surprised at how much she likes hearing him say it. 

The guard is asleep, and she imagines he will be for a while, his snores resonating annoyingly through the room. She wonders if the pirate gets much sleep. She imagines it would be hard to sleep with the threat of impending death looming over her. But she imagines it would be even harder to sleep with the guards snores echoing in her ears. Either way, the guard seems unlikely to wake, so she chances stealing a little more time in the pirate’s company. 

He watches her as she makes her decision, and when he offers up some of his meal again to share, she accepts it. She feels guilty, taking his food, but it allows her the excuse to step closer to the bars and to brush her fingers carefully against his as they had last night. 

When their hands have been touching as long as they reasonably can while passing food, perhaps even a little too long at that, the pirate pulls his arm back through the bars. She notices the hook on which he balances the tray. He notices her noticing it, but says nothing. 

After a moment, he sits on the floor, resting the tray against his knee as he picks at it. While he doesn’t ask her to stay, the invitation is clear in both how close he sits to the mouth of his cell and in the way he watches her, waiting. Feeling bold, Emma sits down beside him, shoulders near close enough to touch, were it not for the bars between them. They sit silently, letting the guard’s snores fill the quiet that would be filled by their words. After a long time, Emma speaks. 

“They say you’re a captain,” she tells him, wondering if any of the gossip is true. 

“Aye, that I am,” he answers. “Or… was,” he corrects, acknowledging his current predicament. Can a captain be a captain without a ship? She takes a breath before speaking again. 

“They say you’re a pirate.” 

He smiles, mirthful, his eyebrow ticking up again. “Aye,” he says, “that too.”  Emma only nods and it seems to surprise him. She wonders if he was expecting shock, or fear, or perhaps even fascination. She gives him none of it. 

“Have you been a pirate long?” she asks then, and this time his smile is melancholy as he nods.

“Yes. Too long.” 

Emma draws her knees up, holding them in her arms as she gazes forlornly at the floor. “I can’t imagine you could ever tire of being a pirate. Not when there are so many places to see.” When she says it, she’s thinking of the freedom he must have had, the chance to go wherever he pleased whenever he pleased. But then she feels guilty, remembering where he is now. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he agrees, offering her an accepting nod. 

“And have you?” she asks, breath held in her lungs until he answers. 

“Have I what, love?”

“Been many places.” 

“Aye. More than you could imagine.” She can imagine quite a bit, but she supposes he’s probably right. 

“You must have many stories,” she suggests, and he smiles at her the same way he had when she’d asked him about being a pirate. 

“As many stories as there were places,” he promises. 

“Will you tell me some of them?” She looks at him when she asks and is met with eyes that are both old and young all at once. 

Before he can answer the guard starts to stir and she jumps to her feet. The pirate follows suit, hand reaching out to catch at the sleeve of her dress before she can leave. She turns to him and is shocked at the look in his eyes, she can’t quite place this one either, but if she had to name it, she’d call it... hope. 

“I will,” he promises. ��If you come back tomorrow. And I’ll tell you more if you come back the following night, and more after that.” 

Emma meets his eyes and knows he isn’t lying. And the promise of hearing his stories is nearly as powerful as the promise of being able to sit next to him in the dungeon again, with their shoulders just close enough to touch, if not for the bars. She agrees. 

***

When Emma returns the following night, there is more food on his tray. The pirate imagines she must have stolen or kept most of it, sharing her own dinner with him. So it feels only right to share some of his own meal with her. 

He’d tried to hide his excitement at seeing her come down the stairs, though he’s sure it was written all over his face. And she’s quite perceptive, he’s noticed. It feels strange, to have something to look forward to. He never imagined being excited for or anticipating anything while in this dungeon, apart from perhaps death. He prefers it this way. 

“So what would you like to hear?” he asks after he has touched her hand and sat next to her on the dirty floor of his cell. She contemplates his question for a while, putting serious weight to her decision and he smiles. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in learning anything about him.

“How did you become a pirate?” she asks finally, and his heart settles like a lead weight in his chest. It must show on his face because she begins to apologize. He stops her. He had not expected to have to share such a painful story so quickly, but he tells her anyway. He tells her of his childhood, uncertain why he starts so far back but the more he continues the more he feels it suits the story. 

He tells her of his upbringing on Silver’s ship, of his time in the Navy, of his brother, of everything he was and everything he himself wished to be. He tells her of his brother’s death and her eyes fill with tears, the kind that speak of understanding rather than sympathy. He’d learned long ago to spot the difference, to pick a kindred spirit out of a crowd. Tonight, he picks a twin soul out of a dungeon. 

When he has finished his story he waits for her appraisal, wonders if he did it justice. He embellished in parts, if only to make himself more dashing or the dangers greater. He could read on her face that she knew what he was doing and it only made him smile, even as she rolled her eyes. That made him do it more. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, he imagines in much the same way he had said to her that first night, and he knows then that they understand each other, perhaps in a way nobody has ever understood him before, not really. 

The guard is still asleep but he doubts they have much time left. Nevertheless he offers her another story, if only to keep her here a little longer, to watch her eyes light up with wonder and excitement as he spins his tales. Emma considers again, as carefully as she had the first time. 

“Will you tell me your name?” she asks. 

He smiles. “Killian.” 

***

Killian tells her of Neverland, of evil little boys and fairies and mermaids. He tells her of a land covered in snow, of one where sand reaches as far as the eye can see. He tells her of krakens and monsters and heroes and damsels, of kings and knights and pirate queens over the course of the following nights, each tale more fantastical than the last. But he never lies. She knows he doesn’t. He may embellish but his stories are true, and that makes them all the more unbelievable. She begins to pity the guard, who sleeps through such magical stories, but does not begrudge the privacy it allows them. 

His fingers tangle in her hair through the bars, as they do every night, playing with each stand before letting it slip delicately between his rings. He likes her hair and she likes that he likes it. He’d made a comment when she asked, about pirates being drawn to gold. She’d rolled her eyes and he’d laughed. 

“What tale would you like to hear tonight?” Killian asks, smiling that smile which always makes her stomach warm and her cheeks flush. 

She thinks carefully, as she does every night, wanting to ask the right kind of question to hear the right kind of story. With every tale he reveals more about himself, whether intentionally or not. She knows he is brave but also protective, charming, but also solitary. Dangerous, but kind. He’s seen the whole world, known countless people, but he carries a loneliness that breaks her heart in a way her own never could. 

There is a story she wants to know, one that she’s held off on asking. In part because it feels rude, because she is unaware of the rules around asking such things. But also, because she imagines this is the tale that everyone asks him, and she doesn’t want to be everybody. She hopes she can ask and still be Emma to him. 

“Will you tell me how you lost your hand?” she asks finally and his fingers still in her hair. She fears she’s crossed a line, but when she turns to face him he’s watching her with that same expression he had when he told her the first story. She knows that this will not be a fanciful tale. 

Killian nods and his fingers return their attention to her hair, his eyes fixated as he begins to speak. He tells her of a woman, of a great love and a cruel man. Of adventures and romance and the promise of happily ever after struck down by one monster’s hatred. His eyes water and she wants to ask him to stop, to beg him not to continue if it pains him so much to speak of it, even after all these years. But he finishes his story. Nothing embellished, nothing softened. And when he is finished she’s the one with tears in her eyes. 

He does not look at her, preferring to watch the strands of her hair slip through his fingers as he brushes it over her shoulder and back again. She wonders if he’s awaiting her judgement, disgust or forgiveness. Neither are fitting. There is only empathy, and anger, and a feeling she has not felt before but is certain of regardless - love. 

She reaches through the bars, takes his hook which rests in his lap in her hand and turns so that she can face him. He looks up in surprise as the movement steals the strands from his fingers, and then in greater surprise when she brings his hook to her lips before holding it to her chest, hoping he can read what she cannot say. 

He does. 

***

The following night is the last night. Killian knows this and while he’d always thought he’d leave this world with no regrets, he is left with one. He regrets not meeting her sooner, regrets time, not having enough of it, having wasted too much of it. For the first time in a century he fears death, resents it, because death will steal her from him and he is not ready to let go. But the gallows await him in the morning. 

The guard is, shockingly, awake when Emma arrives, and he flatters himself that the redness around her eyes is because she knows as well, because she will miss him as well. His heart tightens, loathing that their last night will be cut short, impeded by the presence of the guard who will prevent her from staying. But he should have known to expect more of her. 

Emma smiles at the guard, offering him something from the pitcher she carries on the tray. She imagines from his enthusiasm that it is wine or rum and he supposes he was to be offered a last drink on his last night. The guard drinks greedily and Emma continues to smile that lovely smile until he suddenly falls against the table, face colliding painfully with the wood. Killian looks at her in surprise as she comes to meet him. She shrugs.

“He’s not dead,” she dismisses and he smiles, proud and impressed. 

“Perhaps there’s a little pirate in you yet, love.” 

She gives him his food and they share it as they always do, sitting side by side yet too far apart to truly be together. Killian is aware of the metaphor here as well, though he appreciates it less than the keys on the wall. 

Tonight, perhaps because it is their last night, perhaps because she is feeling the finality of it, the grief for all that could have been and what little was, Emma slides her fingers through the bars and takes his hand, letting her fingers slide along and play with his own and his rings as he had her hair. His whole body warms from his hand, rolling through him like a wave, like the sea, like magic. 

“I thought, perhaps,” he starts but then hesitates, fingers tightening against hers. “I thought you might tell me a story,” he suggests. She watches him, eyes still red, thumb stroking along the back of his hand. “I’d quite like to know you before I die,” he admits, his voice more strained than he’d like. He realises it's not death he fears, but never seeing her again, never again touching her hair or holding her hand, never having so much as kissed her. He brings their hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s something. 

She nods, eyes watery and lip caught between her teeth. She tells him of her life, of being born near the palace, of losing her parents young, of being left by them, sent to live in the castle before she even had a chance to know them, of having looked for them but only having been met with dead ends and disappointed hopes. 

She speaks of growing up in the castle, of the queen’s temper and the constant fear and he can see where her strength comes from, though he believes she may have been born with it. She tells him of a man that she believed she loved, one who left when things became too much. All her stories speak of abandonment, of loneliness and perseverance and hope, despite it all, hope. 

When it’s nearly dawn she asks if she can have one final story and he cannot deny her anything so he says yes. She asks him what he did to be imprisoned by the queen. He laughs, because there is nothing else to do. He is not a good man, he has not believed himself to be one for a long time. But he likes to think that his last deed, the one that sent him to the gallows, was. That it was one that Liam could be proud of, and Milah, and Emma. 

“I refused to kill someone for her.” Emma’s eyes widen. Clearly, this was not what she’d expected. “The Queen learned that someone in her castle had been placed there by the former king and queen, the ones she overthrew so many years ago, and that she, a girl - a daughter - had the power to destroy her. She wished me to find and kill the girl for her, as she cannot. I refused. I am many things, but a killer of innocent women, I am not.”

The booming of a drum brings his story to a certain, poetic end. It is followed by another and it is only a moment before they recognize them for what they are. The gallows await. Emma turns to him, fingers tightening against his until her knuckles are white, eyes wild. 

“No,” she says with all the strength and stubbornness he’s grown to love in her. 

“Emma,” he starts, not wanting their last moments to be anger and pain and sadness. But she pulls away, standing and staring at him for what feels like an eternity as she makes up her mind. She lunges for the keys, fingers fumbling as she tries to find the right one, to fit it in the lock. “Emma,” he tries to stop her. “Go,” he warns, fearing what fate awaits her if they catch her trying to help him escape. But she doesn’t listen. He did not expect she would. 

When she finds the key the gate is wrenched open and she stands in the open doorway watching him with frantic, panicked eyes. He is frozen in place, unable to move, shaken by the risk she is taking. For him. She frowns at him then, confusion and just enough disbelief and annoyance to make him want to laugh. 

“Run!” she commands, gesturing towards the stairs. He knows he could make it, he could run now and get out before the guards catch him. He’s gotten out of more dire situations before. But he can’t. She may save him from death but the result will be the same. Either way he will be without her. Being without her when he knows she is somewhere he cannot reach is far worse.  

“What are you waiting for?” Emma demands, voice raising. “Get ou-” 

He strides forward, takes her face in his hand and kisses her. He kisses her as though this may be the last time, because he fears it will be, regardless of whether they catch him or not. But once he’s kissed her he can’t let her go. 

He’s held the whole of his world in his hand and against his lips and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let her go. He’s lived a very long time, and been to a great many places, but nothing has felt quite like this. Nothing has felt so much like home. 

“Come with me,” he pleads, knowing that if she says no he’ll wait here for them to come for him, because it won’t matter, not without her. 

The guards burst in, catching them with their faces still only inches apart and it takes them a moment, registering their own shock before they lunge at them, at him. Emma screams and suddenly there is a burst of white light, a light so bright that he has to shield his eyes against it. When he opens them again the guards are on the ground - breathing but unlikely to wake up anytime soon - and Emma is staring at her shaking fingers. 

She looks at him with confusion and fear, helpless he thinks for the first time in her life. He takes one of her trembling hands, kisses it softly, and asks her again.

*** 

They run. They run until they reach the shoreline, Killian gazing out at the sea, and Emma imagines them on any of the ships out there as he attempts to figure out which he could commandeer most easily. She’s quite pleased with how easily she’s taken to piracy. Or perhaps, she’s just taken to pirates. He hasn’t released her hand since they ran from the dungeon and he still won't. She’s not sure she wants him to, for fear that what happened in the dungeon might happen again.

He’s only just picked a ship and started to pull her towards it when they hear the commotion behind them. The guards have caught up to them. The Queen is with them, fury on her face. They stop only a few feet away and Killian steps forward, attempting to stand between them and her. She attempts the same, and so they end up standing side by side, hands clasped tightly, ready to face whatever comes together. 

“Well, Captain,” the Queen says. “I underestimated you. It seems you found her after all.” Emma’s breath catches, putting together the pieces of Killian’s story, of her own. Killian’s fingers only tighten around hers and she realises that he must have put it all together much sooner than she had. 

She calls for her guards and this time Killian does stand before her and the Queen has him on his knees without even taking a step, sick pleasure in her eyes as the man Emma loves gasps for breath. She screams and she cries and she begs but the Queen doesn’t stop. She won’t lose him. It’s not a question or a choice but a fact. She refuses to lose him, not when they’re so close to freedom, not when she’s only just found him. 

She isn’t sure how she does it, but before she has time to question how she does it now, or how she did it then, a light bursts from her fingers and she only just has time to see the fear in the Queen’s eyes before it engulfs them. It flows out of her. Like magic. Like love. And she’s certain that’s what it is, at least, that’s what it feels like. 

She helps Killian to his feet and he takes her hand as he had in the dungeon, thanking her. She asks if he still wants her to come with him, warns him that if she is who they think she is, the Queen will never stop hunting them. He smiles, that same smile from their first night. His fingers find her hair, slipping through the strands from her ear to the ends and letting them fall around her shoulders. 

“I’ve been hunted before,” he says. “And for far less valuable treasure.”

Someday, her parents will find her. Someday they will defeat the queen and they will ask her to come back with them. And she will, for a while. But she will always go back to him, to the adventures that wait for her in far off lands, and to the love that waits for her aboard a ship. But that is only someday. For now, the pirate takes the girl’s hand and asks her to follow him as he will follow her always, to the ends of the earth, or time. 

The End. 

*****

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[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 7/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 7: I Never Trusted My Own Eyes

The days came and went in a blur, busying themselves with mundane chores and simple meals spent dining by candlelight. Killian would tell her tales of the sea, his time as a Lieutenant in the Navy. Sometimes he would sing her a song, a soft melody that would make her heart flutter and her heart ache for a future with him. Each day the moisture would recede into the dirt, drying the roads and carrying them closer to the end of whatever it was they were doing.

And yet with each morning, there would be another excuse as to why it wasn’t a good idea for him to drive into town. Sometimes he would determine that the roads out of the forest were probably still too wet, other times she would tell him she felt too ill to be left alone. But they knew that eventually they would both run out of excuses. She could see it in his eyes each time he lied or made up a reason to stay. She knew they were living on borrowed time. Making memories that would soon be just that.

A memory of the past.

She was sure she would never forget the care he took with her or the way he pleasured her in their bed, his body claiming hers as she sang his name every night. For she was his. At least for the moment.

She’s sure the look of disappointment is heavy in her eyes when he announces suddenly that today is the day he needs to go to town. They are low on supplies since he had only purchased enough for one person. Feeding two of them had quickly eliminated his stock. He kissed her forehead, not making eye contact as he climbed into the truck, pulling away from the cabin before she could run out and beg him to stay. They had run out of time.

~*~

Killian didn’t look back as he pulled away from the cabin, leaving her behind. He knew if he saw her standing there in the doorway he would turn around and never leave her. He needed to do this, for her. He needed to find her home, where she belonged, who she belonged to.

They always knew this was temporary.

The roads were more than dry, he was aware he had delayed for many days, knowing that she had done the same. She was quick to make an excuse to keep him there, with her. But when he woke up, her fingers tangled in his chest hair, her blonde locks across his neck, his heart told him that he couldn’t delay any longer. She needed to go before he gave into his darkness and refused to allow her to leave. She wouldn’t become his hostage and he wouldn’t allow her to choose to live in his prison.

He reached the town, pulling into the parking spot in front of the store he frequented. He would go in, purchase his supplies, listen for any buzz about a missing woman, and if there was nothing, he would return home knowing that he tried. If nothing were to come of his trip, then maybe it was fate that she was to stay another month.

Gathering his supplies, he kept his head to the ground, not making eye contact with anyone in the store. He listened as they talked about their day, apparently a deer had caused some havoc at the town hall, stomping rose bushes and eating the honeysuckle trees. It was strange hearing such normal life going on around him, realizing that he had been enjoying his own mundane life back at the cabin with her. He approached the register, smiling at the woman who knew him as Rogers.

“You’re back sooner than usual.”

He nodded, “Aye, figured with the storm it was a good idea to stock up.”

“That was a big one. Glad the rains have finally stopped, maybe now they can resume that search.”

Killian’s heart stopped. “What are they searching for?”

“Some rich guy’s fiancé disappeared up here a few weeks ago. They dragged the lake but haven’t found her yet and then the storm hit. Been stuck for days just waiting it out. The whole family’s been holed up in the motel at the end of town. Sad. She’s probably dead.” She whispered at the end.

“Who’s the lass?” He questioned, trying to control the pitch of his voice. “The one who’s missing? You know in case I see anything near me.”

She pointed to the door, “Emma Nolan. Her pictures posted outside on the window.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.” He said as he passed the money to the woman and gathered his bags. He tentatively approached the window, hoping that the picture was some other woman, not his Swan. But the moment he saw the flier, the blonde hair displayed with the large smile on her face, he knew it was her.

Emma Nolan, fiancé to Walsh Oz. She was getting married. The man in the photo stared back at him in a three-piece suit. He looked stuffy and obnoxious, and not the kind of man he imagined his Swan being in love with. He tried to feel shame for taking this man’s beloved, but in the moments when he was inside her, when she was staring at him like he was the most amazing man in the world, she was his Swan. Not this Nolan woman.

“Sad tale.” He jumped at the voice behind him, turning to see the Sheriff approaching him. “Beautiful woman on a weekend trip with friends falls over the old waterfall and disappears without a trace.”

“I heard.” He offered flatly. “Sad indeed.”

“You wouldn’t have seen anything down your way, would you? We haven’t been able to reach your neck of the woods due to the storm. Perhaps you’ve noticed something?”

“Wish I could say I had.” He lied. “But I’ll keep my eyes opened.”

“It would be a shame if that woman’s family didn’t get her home to marry her husband. He has a lot of money he’s paying this town to find her. I’m sure she comes with a hefty reward.”

“As I said, I’ll keep my eyes opened.”

The Sheriff turned away from him, “We’ll be by your place soon, for the search.” He warned and Killian sighed. Time’s up.

He ripped the flyer off the window, pocketing it as he returned to his truck. Depositing his groceries in the back he climbed into the front seat and pulled the flyer from his pocket. “Dammit.” He cursed. The photo of her was a happy one. She appeared to be out for the evening, a bright smile across her face. The photo of her parents portrayed a loving couple, who were most likely going mad without their daughter.

One good deed, he thought.

~*~

Emma swore she wasn’t checking the road when she passed the window. She told herself she wasn’t waiting anxiously for him to return home. But she knew she was. She wanted to know what he had found, hoping that his search was fruitless, and he would return to tell her that they would search again in a month. She wanted nothing more than to stay here in their happy little fairytale. She didn’t need to know who she was. She was happy here. She could be happy here.

She knew it was her fear of the unknown. What if she had a life that wasn’t all she had wished for. He had found her in some trashy lingerie, naked and alone. Not knowing, not being able to piece together the puzzle was frustrating to her, it was part of the reason she gave up trying to remember. It made her angry to be so close to seeing a vision of her past only to have it disappear in a haze of nothing.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know her name. She had come up with all kinds of names for herself. She thought she might be happy being called Evelyn or Elizabeth. Maybe she’d even learn to love her new name more than whatever her own was.

She heard the truck door slam shut and she hopped to the window, watching as Killian gathered the bags from the back of the truck. He had a frown on his face which gave her pause. When he opened the door, she stared at him anxiously. “How was town?”

“I found everything on the list.” He said, ignoring her question. He set the bags on the table, and she walked over to them, taking things out to help him put them away. She reached in and pulled out the bread and a handful of cheese slices packed in a plastic sleeve. He knew how much she loved grilled cheese. She found additional cocoa and a packet of cinnamon at the bottom of the bag; she couldn’t stop the smile from creeping on her face.

“I was thinking I’d make grilled cheese for lunch.” He said softly.

“That sounds lovely.” She felt like skipping to the cold box to store the food but stopped when he spoke.

“Emma…” She turned to face him, unsure why the name fell from his lips.

“Excuse me?” She asked confused.

“Emma Nolan.” He said as he shoulders slumped. “That’s your name.”

“Of course, it’s not. I don’t recognize it at all.” She turned back to the food, depositing the items in their places.

“Well, it is. I’ve seen the photo.”

“Well, I don’t care, I don’t know that name, so you’re wrong.” She was agitated, angry at him for not listening to her.

He fished into his pocket, yanking a crumpled paper out of his pants, and unraveling it near her face. “That’s you. Emma Nolan. And that’s your parents, David and Mary Margaret.” He paused. “This is your fiancé, Walsh Oz.”

She tore the paper from his hands. “Walsh Oz, what a ridiculous name, there is no way I would marry someone with the last name Oz, it’s too…” She shook her head staring at the photos in front of her. She didn’t recognize the people on the flyer, only her face. The people who were supposed to be her parents might as well have been anyone else on the planet. Imposters. The man, Walsh, she was sure there was no way she would marry a man who looked like that. This wasn’t her life, it couldn’t be. She tossed the paper onto the table.

“I don’t believe you. I don’t care what that says.” The tears welled up in her eyes and she hopped to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and throwing herself on the bed.

“Swan, I’m coming in.” His voice was shaky, uneven, almost like he was ready to break as much as she had. The door opened and she looked up from the bed.

“Don’t call me Emma.” She warned.

“Fine. But we need to talk.” He sat on the bed, taking her hand. “I called them.”

“What?” She yelled, yanking her hand away from him. “Why? Why would you do that without talking to me?”

“Em…Love, they are your parents. They have a right to know that you aren’t dead. They were very worried about you.”

“It wasn’t your decision.” She cried.

“You were on a trip. A lovely trip with your best friends, I believe it was a girl’s trip before your wedding. You were supposed to have gotten married the weekend you disappeared.”

“Emma Oz.” She blurted out. “It’s preposterous.”

He reached for her hand again. “I told them I would bring you to them this evening. Once I had the chance to talk to you, to prepare you. They know you don’t have your memories.”

“I don’t want to go.” She cried, leaning into his neck, and sobbing against his collar. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Emma, I wish to tell you something. Something that I believe will help your decision to return to where you belong.”

~*~

She sat up, staring into his uneasy blue eyes, he wiped the tears from the corner of her lids, kissing her forehead before turning away from her. “I’ve told you that I have done things in my life that I’m not proud of. I was not a good man, Emma.” He gulped. “Years ago, after I left the Navy, I found myself struggling to make ends meet for my wife and baby daughter, Alice. We were living in a bad neighborhood, Milah was getting hassled by some of our neighbors, men who were not the sort who backed down when confronted.” He stood up from the bed, pacing in front of the window.

“My brother always told me I was stubborn, that I didn’t listen to reason. He was right of course, and because of that, because I didn’t listen to him, I lost everything.”

“The explosion?”

“It was more than that. I bought a gun, I stood up to these men, told them to leave the neighborhood. They did for a time. And then I met a man, Neal Cassidy. His father was the head of the Gold Mafia. He had heard about the stand I took with the men in our apartment. They were from a rival gang that his father was looking to snuff out. He offered me some jobs. His father paid me well. It started off simple, a few snatch and grab’s, small time theft. But I didn’t realize that the further I went, the more I was getting into the dirty side of their business.”

He felt his chest contracting with each word. Afraid to carry on but knowing that she needed to hear the truth, she needed to understand why it was better for her to go. To get as far away from him as possible.

“I tried to get out, God knows Milah begged me. But I was suddenly bringing in money, I was able to provide for my family and it felt good to be that man. Then Gold picked me to go on a job with his son. No one was supposed to get hurt. That was my rule, I would take things, but I never hurt people. But Neal, he operated differently. He didn’t let anyone get in his way. And on this night, someone fought back, they wouldn’t give up the treasure we had come to seek. I walked away, but Neal, he shot the man.”

“Oh my God.” Emma’s hand went to her mouth, and he turned away from her before he could see the disappointment in her eyes.

“The man died; he was supposed to be alone. Neal told me he had no one with him. The boy came out of his bedroom, he couldn’t have been older than 6. He was crying, calling for his father. I told Neal we needed to leave, but he said we couldn’t leave any witnesses. The moment he pointed his gun at that boy’s head, something inside me snapped. I shot Neal.”

“You didn’t have a choice.” She said, her voice wavering.

“I killed him, Emma. In cold blood. I murdered Neal Cassidy and left him there. I called 9-1-1 and ran.”

“What does this have to do with the explosion?”

“When Gold found out about Neal, he knew I was the one on the job with him. It didn’t take long for his goons to find me, they roughed me up, wanted me to admit I was the one who killed Neal. I refused. And then Gold threatened my family.”

“Oh Killian.”

“I thought if I talked that he’d just kill me and move on. But instead, he wanted me to suffer.” He bowed his head. “He followed my brother one evening, shot him in the head and left him in an alley to bleed out. He called me on the phone, told me that I still had time to save him. I raced to the location, even found him, he was dying, unconscious. When my phone rang, I heard his voice. He was laughing, he told me that I would feel the same pain he did. My blood ran cold, as soon as the ambulance arrived, I raced home only to find the cops waiting, fire burning outside my building. They were already gone.”

He leaned against the wall, daring to glance at her. “I turned state’s evidence on Gold. In exchange for my testimony, I only had to serve a 5-year sentence and I then was free.”

She stood up and walked toward him. “Killian, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t give me your pity. I don’t deserve your sorrow. I deserve what happened to me. But you don’t deserve to be trapped in my pain. You have a home, a life. You look happy in that photo. You’ll find that again. Once you go back, you’ll remember who you are.”

“I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to be this Emma Nolan or Oz or whatever they expect me to be. I’m not her. I want to be with you.”

He sighed, pulling her into his arms. “Swan. You can’t stay. You don’t belong here.”

“You don’t want me.” She sobbed and his heart broke.

“Look at me.” He hooked his finger under her chin, pulling her tear-soaked face toward him. “I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah... to believe that I could find someone else... that is, until I met you.” He kissed the bridge of her nose, peppering soft touches across her cheek until he brushed against her lips, kissing her mouth. He felt his knees threatening to buckle under him, the weight of the moment pulling him under. “But alas, it was but a dream. And with all dreams, you have to wake up.” He whispered.

“I don’t even know them.”

“But you will.”

“You’ll go with me?”

“Aye.” He said sadly, reveling in the fact that she needed him with her, but knowing he would have to leave her all the same. He pulled away from her, walking to the dresser to pull out new clothes for her to wear. Setting them on the bed and patting them with his hand. “You can keep these until you get something more acceptable that fit you.”

He tried to smile in her direction as his heart broke into a million pieces.

“For the record, you’re still my hero. I don’t care how much you want me to believe otherwise, what you did is your past, and I am going to choose to see the good in you.” She took her clothes and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her as he dropped to his knees and cried.

[mystical-flute]

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (SFWeek Day 6)

Actors AU or Social Media AU

AO3 || FFN

@mysteryandnonstopfun

“No, Baelfire!”

“It’s okay, Leia… all magic comes with a price, right? I’m happy paying this price if it means - ” he winced in pain as the magic drained more of his strength. “If it means you and Henry will be safe.”

She sniffed, a tear landing on his cheek. “But - but Henry doesn’t even remember you. He never got to see you again!”

“I have faith you’ll break his curse…”

“Bae…” came the broken voice of a father.

“Papa,” despite him dying, he had never felt more relieved to see his father. His sacrifice worked. Papa was safe.

Rumplestiltskin sank to his knees, taking his son’s hand. “Oh my boy. No, I’ll - I’ll stop this. I’ll make sure it takes me instead of you.”

“Papa, you can’t! It’s too late. It’s already begun. You have to let me go. Please.”

“Baelfire…”

Baelfire turned his gaze back to Leia. “Go… find your happiness… without me.”

A final breath escaped him, although his eyes remained open, glassy and empty, as they stared off into the bright light above him.

“CUT!”

Director Killian Jones’ voice sliced through the somber scene, chatter beginning to buzz as assistants, producers and camera operators continued the work that had been stalled while the cameras rolled.

Neal Cassidy blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the studio lighting, and sat up, off his co-star, Emma Swan’s, legs. “That was the first time I’ve ever died in a movie before. Gotta say, I don’t recommend staring directly into the spotlight above your head.”

Arthur Gold, ‘Rumplestiltskin’, stood and stretched out his. “You two are good,” he remarked. “Really just thought you two were just pretty faces, but you two got real acting chops,” his voice dropped lower as Victoria Belfrey, one of the most cutthroat producers in Hollywood, strolled by, “ - especially if you haven’t been scared off by her, yet.”

“Ah, she’s not so bad,” Emma said with a shrug. “You just have to know how to butter her up.”

“Yeah, I mean, sooner or later, it’s going to be our generation that’s the big time producers,” Neal added.

Arthur blinked slowly, then smirked. “That’s the spirit. That will get you both far in this town.”

He ambled away in the direction of catering, and the mood shifted immediately when the two stars were left alone.

“You got snot on me when you cried.”

“Your breath stinks like garlic.”

Oh, Neal couldn’t stand to be near Emma Swan. But Regina Mills’ Misthaven had broken record after record for books and social media posts, so it only made sense that, when the inevitable movie adaptation was announced, Neal Cassidy and Emma Swan, both riding high from their own worldwide successes, would play the two star-crossed, tragic lovers - Baelfire the Spinner and Princess Leia.

He glared. “Yeah? What time did you get to your trailer last night? Two? Because before Elsa worked her magic on you, you looked like - ”

“That is enough out of you two!” Killian snapped, a clipboard tucked under his arm as he approached the sound stage. “I’d heard you two were trouble to work with, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Well maybe if - ”

“I don’t care. Neither of you are scheduled to film tomorrow, so I’ve set up a bit of a… bonding exercise for you. Don’t worry, your agents gave the okay.”

Neal and Emma shot Killian incredulous looks. “You did this behind our backs?” “What the hell, man?” They protested at the same time.

“Oh, look at that. It seems to be working already,” Killian smirked, handing them sheets of paper. “Meet there at nine o’clock sharp. Spend the day together. Get to know each other - without trying to rip the other’s throat out.”

Neal thought he might have more luck jumping into a zoo exhibit, but he really didn’t want to lose his reputation or everything he had worked for.

So the next morning, he was slumped in the back seat of a car, Emma doing the same on the other side. The ride had been quiet, neither of them much in the mood to talk.

Maybe if they learned to just ignore each other, that would be enough for Killian? Hell, it was already working.

His brow raised as they turned off the main highway, heading into the woods.

“Okay, I know Killian’s annoyed with us, but is he really going to murder us in the woods?” Emma whispered.

“Please, if they did that, Misthaven would tank, and that wouldn’t be fair to Regina Mills,” he replied, although the thought had crossed his mind as well.

“I didn’t think you cared about anyone but yourself.”

“I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Finally, the driver stopped outside a cabin. “Alright you two. I’ll be back at three, Mr. Jones’ orders. Have fun and don’t do anything that might require an ambulance.”

“It’s like they don’t trust us or something,” Neal said, watching the driver pull away.

Emma didn’t laugh as she glanced at the cabin. “This is a joke, right? God, it’s like being back on Dad’s farm.”

“You grew up on a farm?”

“You gonna mock me for that?”

Neal held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as she unlocked the cabin door and stepped inside. “I was doing nothing of the sort. You just don’t strike me as the “farm girl” type with all the leather you wear.”

“I shed that image. I was never a fan of small towns or - or farms. They’re nice to visit, but I’m a city girl through and through,” she said, frowning as she looked around. “No TV?”

“Jones did say this was a bonding exercise. They probably figured we’d spend all day watching TV or going online and ignoring each other.”

“That sounds like a good idea to me.”

“Well, they ended that dream before you could fall asleep,” Neal said, flopping down on a couch. “Why don’t we talk more about that little farm thing you grew up on?”

“It’s a farm in Maine. Dad raises sheep, cows and chickens and has crops. Really not all that interesting to talk about, other than I hated getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to collect eggs. That was more my brother’s speed.”

Neal raised a brow. “Maine, huh? You don’t hear a lot about people from Maine.”

“Suppose not. Where was it you were from, again?”

“New Orleans.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? No offense, but you don’t sound like it.”

Neal chewed the inside of his cheek, before sighing. “My manager didn’t think it’d get me far if I kept the accent,” he said, slipping into his normal voice. “I really don’t think I’d have gotten Misthaven if I sound like this, do you?”

Emma shrugged. “I think the accent sounds fine, but I guess I can see what you mean. Still shouldn’t mean you couldn’t use it in other work or in interviews. Your manager must be a shark.”

“Cora Miller. And trust me when I say she wasn’t happy when she found out about this little adventure.”

“Ah, that explains it.” A pause. “Did you read Misthaven? The book, I mean.”

“I did. I think it’s bullshit that Baelfire dies.”

“You’re just saying that because that means you have to die and miss out on the last half of the movie.”

“No, no! I’m serious! Baelfire fights so hard to reunite his family and revive his father, and he knows the ins and out of magic, and he still pays the ultimate price? When others who did so much worse get to survive? Even if he and Princess Leia don’t get together, he deserved to be with Henry, at least,” Neal replied, frowning.

Emma tilted her head. “I guess that makes sense. And Baelfire returning a hero after being out of Princess Leia’s life for so long would have made for a great redemption story. Maybe Regina Mills will figure out a way to bring him back in the sequel.”

“Wait, she’s writing a sequel?”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to come out in a couple years. I didn’t know you were such a big reader.”

“You kiddin’? English was my favorite subject in school. I got a whole wall in my house dedicated to books.”

Emma sat back in her chair, clearly surprised. “Huh. It was mine too.”

Neal crossed his legs. “I guess we got more in common than we thought. What do you say we start over?”

Emma smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”

[beckettj]

I’ll Miss This One This Year - Chapter 2/5 Spring

Summary: Last Christmas, Emma Swan swept Killian Jones off his feet. Since then, nothing has gone right for them. A year on from their first meeting, can a bit of Christmas magic finally give them a shot at the happy beginning they’ve been searching for? A CaptainSwan AU inspired by the song Christmas Wrapping by The Waitresses.

Also on: AO3    FFN

Previous chapter: Winter

Chapter Two: Spring In which Emma almost gets hit by a car, and bets involving handcuffs are made...

“You said there wasn’t a story to tell!” Mary Margaret commented as Emma finished recalling the events.

Mary Margaret settled back from her position on the edge of her seat and took a sip of the hot chocolate she held in her hands. Emma was certain it wouldn’t be so hot any longer because Mary Margaret had been so engrossed in the details of her encounter with Killian that her beverage had remained untouched.

“It’s hardly a story,” Emma maintained. “We met, I took his number then neither of us really had the time to message that much, let alone arrange a meet.”

“But you did meet again!” Ruby piped up enthusiastically.

“You were keeping that quiet!” Mary Margaret shuffled forward in her seat again, looking at Emma expectantly.

“It’s not that exciting,” Emma argued.

“Come on, tell us!” Mary Margaret encouraged.

“Fine,” Emma agreed, knowing Ruby would only take it upon herself to the recount the details she did know if Emma didn’t start to tell them. “It was Spring by the time our paths crossed again. I was in Florida with Graham for that sheriff convention…”

--

Emma hurried along the sidewalk. She was late. She was very late.

And it most definitely was not her fault.

Something told her she was going to have a hard time explaining to Graham that a skunk had found its way into her hotel room on the fourth floor and she’d gotten stuck with the hotel management… but it was true!

She wasn’t too bothered about missing the convention, it was far from interesting for her, but she hurried anyway, knowing she would be pushing her luck turning up any later with that excuse.

Luckily, she had the pictures as evidence should anyone require proof, but they had timestamps on so the sooner she actually got where she needed to be, the better.

She could see the building she was meant to be in just across the street. She took a quick glance to her left. There was a car approaching but she was sure she could beat it. The moment she took the first step into the road, however, she knew she had made a mistake. The car was travelling faster than Emma had first perceived.

The screeching of the car brakes filled the street as Emma braced for impact. She let out a loud chuckle of utter relief when the car skidded to a stop, not even half a metre away from her. She hastily stumbled backwards to return to the sidewalk.

The car pulled over to the side of the road. The door opened and Emma expected to be on the receiving end of shouting and cursing. Instead, she was met by the sound of laughing.

“Bloody hell, Swan, we have to stop meeting like this!”

Before the driver had even emerged from the driving seat, Emma recognized the British accent. It was completely unbelievable. Of all the cars, the streets, the cities and the states of America, it was Killian’s car that she had stepped out in front of. What were the chances? She was no mathematician but even she knew the probability had to be extremely low.

He got out of the car, striding straight over to her. His hair was neater than the last time she’d seen him. It had been destroyed by the snow back at the ski slopes and flopped over his forehead. This time it was styled, pushed back of his forehead.

Why was she so focused on his damn hair?

“I know I am devilishly handsome but were you really going to throw yourself at my car just to get my attention, love?” He asked her with a smug grin.

Emma stared at him, very surprised to be seeing him in the flesh. In Florida. Did he live in Florida? She had asked him a few questions over text, and he her, but they had never gotten to details about where they lived.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked, finally finding her words.

“Well, I came over to check that you’re alright,” Killian told her.

“No. I mean, yes, I’m fine but I also meant what are you doing here, in this state?” Emma rephrased.

“Oh, I’m going skydiving over the Keys this afternoon with me mate,” Killian answered, glossing over his statement like it was nothing. He was going what? “Right now, however, I’m headed for lunch. So, what do you say, Emma? Take two at that lunch?”

She wanted to say yes. She really wanted to say yes.

The last time he had asked, she’d been conflicted. Unsure, only because she didn’t know his name, let alone him. Since then, she had learned his name and they had spoken a few times on text and even a couple of times over the phone.

She was wary to get her hopes up, given how little time they’d had to get to know each other, but she dared to admit to herself that he seemed to be everything she was looking for. She’d had no plans to get back into the dating scene since things hadn’t gone well with Graham, but all those inhibitions had gone since meeting Killian.

He was different. He wasn’t a friend that she needed to fear ruining a pre-established relationship with. He was someone completely new. Someone she didn’t already know near enough everything about. It was a chance to start anew and whilst that was completely terrifying, it was also really inviting.

Of course, life had to keep getting in the way. Fate was teasing her. It had pushed them together twice now but never for longer than a few minutes. The first time, she had to get Henry home. This time, she had a convention to get to and Graham was really going to be wondering where the hell she was.

“I can’t. I was meant to be at a work convention over an hour ago,” Emma sighed, sending him an apologetic look. Twice now, she had been forced to turn him down. She really didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She quickly found an alternative option, “I can do dinner?”

Killian shook his head, “No can do, love. I have a flight to Manhattan this evening. Captaining a cruise from there in the morning.”

Emma had to laugh. It was just typical. “Someone hates us.”

“I promise you, Emma, even if it kills me, we will get this date eventually,” Killian told her, and there was such determination in his tone that Emma knew he would stick to his word.

Even if, at the rate they were going, it took them five years.

“In the meantime, love,” Killian continued, his car chirping and lights going orange as he locked the vehicle, then proceeded to offer her his arm, “may I walk you to your convention?”

“It’s just across the road,” Emma told him, gesturing to the building that they could both see. It even had the huge banner, above the entrance, swinging gently in the breeze, reading; Sheriff Convention.

“You’ve already proven you need assistance with that,” Killian shot at her teasingly.

She returned with a playful glare in his direction but she couldn’t exactly argue with him after she had just stepped out in front of his car. She took his arm and they waited for the traffic to die down, providing them with a chance to cross.

It was during this time that Killian must have looked at the building for the first time, for his eyebrow raised when he read the words on the banner.

“You’re a Sheriff?” He questioned, doing his best, and failing slightly, not to sound surprised.

“A deputy technically,” Emma clarified.

“But you still have the handcuffs, right?” Killian asked, shooting her a smirk as they began to cross the road.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Emma chuckled. “It’s going to take us five years before we get that first date at this rate.”

“You couldn’t keep me in them anyway,” Killian shrugged.

“Oh yeah? You some kind of escape artist as well as a Captain?” Emma asked mockingly.

The amount of times she had heard guys say they could get out of them and then fail to do so was significantly high. It was always amusing, watching the expression on their face change as they realised they had no chance.

“Something like that,” Killian said with a nod, and he sounded oh-so-confident. “Give me… ten seconds.”

They stopped outside the convention building and Emma took her hand from his arm, crossing her own arms over her chest. She had heard plenty boast about getting out of them over the years, she had never heard someone give themselves such a short time limit.

It was impossible. Surely.

He had to be full of bravado.

“Ten seconds?” she repeated doubtfully. “There’s no way.”

“I’ll happily prove it to you, love,” Killian told her. “Care for a wager?”

“I would… if I had my cuffs on me,” Emma told him. “Unfortunately, you’re out of luck.”

Killian, it turned out, did not give up that easily. He glanced at the building, eyeing the security guards at the entrance to the building. He strolled over to them, a walk filled with confidence, gesturing for Emma to follow him. She did, with a small smile on her face at how determined he was to prove himself.

“Hey, mate,” Killian spoke to the first of the two security officers who looked at him. It was more of a glance than a look but Killian had leapt at the smallest slither of eye contact. “Bit of a strange request incoming. Emma here is a deputy. She is actually attending this very convention but, before she comes in, she and I have a small wager to settle. Do you have any handcuffs she could borrow?”

The security guard didn’t respond to Killian. Instead, he turned to Emma with an exasperated look. She could only wonder how many times he had been on the receiving end of the same kind of request. Killian was watching her expectantly and so, with an apologetic look at the security guard, she pulled out her deputy badge and convention pass to prove that Killian was telling the truth and wasn’t a complete madman.

Though the jury was probably still out on that last one.

Even with the proof that Killian was telling the truth, Emma wasn’t convinced that he would get what he wanted. She was rather surprised when the security guard handed her a set of cuffs. He also held out the key which she waved away as she took the cuffs.

“He claims he can get out of them,” Emma explained, sharing an amused look with the security guard as he closed his first around the key, “so we shouldn’t be needing that.”

Killian had a smug smile on his face, like he had a trick up his sleeve, and didn’t seem at all concerned when she walked away from the security with cuffs but no keys.

“Alright, what are we putting on this?” Emma asked.

“When I win, and I will win, I get to choose the location of our first date, whenever it may be,” Killian declared.

“Vice versa if I win,” Emma stated.

Killian smirked at her, “But you won’t.”

“Time to put your money where your mouth is,” Emma prompted, holding the cuffs out.

Killian held out his gloved-covered hands, skin exposed just below the wrist for Emma to clamp the cuffs around. She did them up pretty tight, earning a smirk and a raised eyebrow from him. Too loose would make it easy for him and, if he really could get them off in ten seconds, he wouldn’t have to worry about skin getting raw and sore.

“Go,” Emma declared after checking they were clicked into place.

Emma really wasn’t sure what technique she expected him to try. She certainly wasn’t prepared for what happened.

He reached his right hand over to his left, gripping just above the cuff. For a split second, Emma thought he was actually going to go down the route of dislocating his thumb just to win a wager. Instead, he casually pulled his hand from his wrist, shook the cuff off and then pushed the prosthetic back in place.

She stared at him. Was that cheating? Could she argue that was cheating?

Killian held both his arms in the air, the cuffs dangling from his right one, “Looks like I win.”

“No, no, no,” Emma protested, getting competitive again. “It’s still on your right hand.”

“But my hands are free,” Killian protested. “They’re no longer restricted.”

“Maybe so but if you were on the run now, that would make you stand out,” Emma shrugged it off. She wasn’t too bothered about picking the date location anyway. “The last thing you want to do when you’re on the run is stand out.”

Killian’s grin faded and he looked at her with a tiny frown on his brow, “Is that spoken as a deputy, or from experience?”

Damn. How the hell did he pick up on that?

“Both,” Emma admitted.

She pulled her crossed arms a little tighter to her chest. It wasn’t a topic she talked about that often and certainly not to someone she barely knew. But Killian was looking at her with those blue eyes and a look which just screamed that he was willing to listen. Could she open up to someone that soon? Was she prepared to risk getting hurt? She wasn’t sure she was. But she was standing in an awkward silence and didn’t know where to go.

“I have experience,” Killian spoke up softly, breaking the silence.

Emma’s head shot up instantly at that. She didn’t want to make judgement but, in just three words, Killian had triggered alarm bells in her head.

“Kind of,” he went on. “Not from the police.”

That calmed her initial concerns.

“I was in the foster system. My older brother aged out, went to work on some boats and they judged his living and working conditions as unsuitable to be my legal guardian. Expected me to say in a broke system for another three years,” Killian scoffed lightly. “I was having none of that. Took matters into my own hands, went and joined him on the boats. He took some convincing at first, but we got there. The ocean became my home. Has been ever since.”

Emma didn’t respond at first. She just stared at him in a mixture of surprise and disbelief. She kept saying that their luck hadn’t been very good but suddenly Emma found herself face to face with someone who might just be the first person to understand where she was coming from. Many of her previous relationships had fallen apart over abandonment issues. It was a concern that she had whenever she tried dating again and one which often got in the way with progressing any further. Either she would push them away or they wouldn’t be able to cope with the reassurance she required.

There was a chance that Killian could understand all that. The prospect that she may not have to hold back those concerns with Killian was exciting, refreshing, like a weight lifted off her shoulders.

“Emma, are you okay?” Killian’s voice broke her from her thoughts.

“I’m fine,” Emma nodded. “I just- I can’t believe how similar are situations were. I was in the foster system too. Decided to drop out of it a few years early, went on the run from the system. I wasn’t lucky enough to have a sibling to go through it with.”

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized immediately. It wasn’t one of those throwaway ‘sorrys’ that people used whenever they felt awkward and didn’t really know how to respond. It was heartfelt and meaningful. Emma actually believed it. “I don’t know what I would have done without my brother.”

“It was-”

“Emma! There you are!” Graham’s voice called out.

Oh crap! She had completely forgotten about the convention. She spun around to find Graham at the doors into the building, making his way towards them. Emma remembered she still had the joys of telling him all about her morning encounter with the skunk.

“I’ll text and call. We’ll make plans,” Killian told her, already backing off towards the security guard, no doubt going in search of the key for the handcuffs which hung around his right wrist.

“Easier said than done,” Emma commented given they had been trying that since they met in the winter.

[suwya]

Proteus’ curse.

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Summary:  Emma woke up like any other morning in her bed ... to find out that the day would not be like any other. 

This story takes place during the weeks between S4A and S4B.

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Rating: G

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Warning: gender swap

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AO3

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A/N: Apparently it's exactly eleven years of Tumblr for me. Hence a one-shot.

This is meant to be a lighthearted and funny story, or so I hope. 

All my gratitude goes to my amazing beta-reader @thisonesatellite.

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Emma woke up like every other morning in her bed, in the upper part of her parents’ loft. Henry was staying at Regina’s for a few days, so she knew she was alone in her room, that’s why she was surprised to see Hook’s hand first thing, after slightly opening her eyes. 

She tried to remember the previous evening, and she knew that they had spent more time than necessary downstairs before separating, but she was sure he had left before she went to bed. 

Had he come back, snuck into her room during the night? Well, that was a first. 

But she wouldn’t complain if he had decided to sleep behind her, with an arm enveloping her waist. 

She closed her eyes again, deciding to enjoy this little quiet moment. 

But it was strange, she couldn’t feel his body heat. 

She opened one eye again. His hand was still there, and it was definitely his hand that entered her peripheral view. With his characteristic rings, and some hair on the arm that peeked out the pajama sleeve, the same color as hers. 

Wait… not only the same color, exactly the same pajamas! 

That was even stranger. Bright pink was not something he used to wear. 

She lifted her right hand to touch his, but at the same time, he lifted his.

Emma was finally completely awake. Sitting on the bed, her back leaned against the headboard. 

She looked around, but she was alone.

She stared at her hands. 

No. Definitely not her hands. 

Those were Hook’s hands, or better, hand. Just one. The left sleeve of her pajamas ended in nothing. 

No! No! No! Emma started chanting it inside her head. This isn’t possible! 

Emma stood up and hurried towards a mirror hung on the wall on the right side of the bed. 

She gasped as soon she saw her reflection, hand and blunt wrist lifted, trying to cover her face... or better, his face!

In the mirror, there was no trace of Emma Swan, just the image of Hook wearing her pink pajamas with little bunnies on them. 

Ok, to be honest, the image was ridiculous, but she didn’t find the strength to laugh. “No! No! No!” She started to repeat, this time aloud. 

Emma went running downstairs, but she immediately realized she was home alone. She had no idea what to do, it seemed like a bad nightmare or an awful b-movie where the main characters made a wish to be in the other’s shoes. But she was completely sure she hadn’t made such a wish. Had he? 

She was pondering whether to call and ask Hook about this when the main door opened and David entered with a strange look in his eyes.

Father and daughter stared at each other for a few seconds. Emma didn’t know if she was blushing or she was going mad, but she couldn't imagine what kind of thoughts might be going through her father's head. 

What he finally said was the last thing she was expecting. “Emma?”

He didn’t ask it as if he was wondering where his daughter was, he asked it as if he wanted to be sure that the person in front of him was really Emma.

“Dad?” Was her reply. But it came out as a question. Because if she was in Hook’s body, who was talking to her? She had been living in Storybrooke for quite some time now to know that everything was possible. 

“No. Not your dad, honey. I’m your mother.” He… she… whatever… answered. 

Emma sat down on the first chair she found and sighed. “What the hell happened last night?”

.

~·~·~·~

.

Killian woke up to the sound of an incoming message text on his phone. He turned around in the bed and before reaching for the device, he passed a hand over his face, trying to shoo away the nightly cobwebs.

What the hell? He thought, feeling only smooth skin, no trace of his stubble. He looked down at his hand, or better say, hands. Because he now had two of them. Delicate, neat, and very, very feminine.

He jumped out of the bed and went to the bathroom, noticing that he had to tie the belt of his trousers, now wide on his hips. When he looked up in the mirror, he cursed "Bloody hell!"

How is this even possible? He thought, reverently touching the blonde tendrils that covered his shoulder. In the mirror, there was one sleepy and somewhat unkempt Emma.

"Emma!" He exclaimed. Worries starting to fill his mind.

Killian went back, pacing his room at Granny's, deciding what to do, when he suddenly remembered the text message and grabbed his phone to read it.

"We need to talk." Was the short line from his love. Nothing more. 

He didn't know if she was in the same dire straits he was. But if he was inside her body, she probably wouldn’t be in better shape.

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts.

When he opened, the vision in front of him left him speechless.

"It's me. Emma." She felt the need to specify. "May I enter?" But she didn't wait for his reply and stepped in, closing the door behind her.

Killian was still looking at her, or rather, at himself, mouth agape. 

Emma put her one hand on her waist and arched one eyebrow, waiting for any kind of reaction from him.

After what seemed an eternity Killian was only capable of asking "What the hell are you wearing?"

Emma opened some buttons of her shirt, revealing the pink pajamas with bunnies under it. "Do you think walking here in my pajamas would have been better?" 

Killian shook his head.

"And thank God I always wear pajamas two sizes too big, because otherwise, I have no idea in which state of undress I would have woken up this morning!"

"I'm glad you just put some clothes over it." Was his reply. "I suppose those are your father's, aren't they?" He stated, indicating the large plaid shirt and the jeans she was wearing.

She nodded. "And, by the way, I brought you some clothes of mine, so you can change". She left a bag at the end of the bed.

Killian was wearing the same outfit he had worn the previous day. When he had come home at night, he had collapsed on the bed without taking anything off, apart from his black leather jacket and boots. “I do not intend to change.”

“Why not? You can't go out like this.” Emma pointed to the belt he was wearing, cinched tightly, and the way his clothes fell oversized on her thin body. 

He shrugged. "I'm not going to undress until we are back to our own bodies."

Emma arched one eyebrow again. She was getting used to doing this gesture she had so often seen on his face. "Are you telling me that you're not going to have a shower until we solve this problem?"

"Are you?" Was his reply with a shocked expression on his, well, her face.

"I haven't thought about it, but I suppose I'll do it, sooner or later. Or do you prefer me to carry your smelling body around the town?"

"Emma, love" he started, struggling to find the best way of expressing what he wanted to say. "We're making progress in our relationship. That's a fact. But we haven't taken the next step, yet." He stressed the last “t” and made a pause letting his words soak in her. "Are you sure you want me to look at your fully naked body for the first time while you're not in possession of it?" 

Emma could feel how the upper point of her, ahem… his ears became hotter. "Oh!" She was only able to say.

"Exactly my point. Oh! So no. I do not intend to bathe while I'm not back to be myself. My entire self!" 

And then he scrunched her face in disgust.

"What is it?" She asked, touching her, his cheeks, "Do I have something on your face?"

He shook his head. "No worries. I just realized I don't like the way I blush."

“All right.” She sighed. “Let's get to business. David and Mary Margaret are waiting for us at the station.” After a short pause, she added, “And before you ask, yes, they have swapped their bodies as well.”

“This is going to be weird.” It was his time to sigh.

“Weird is the understatement of the year!” Emma exclaimed. “David ...no wait, Mary Margaret told me that not everyone in this town has been affected by this… thing. She has already met Leroy and Granny this morning and they seem to be their usual selves.”

“So why us?” Killian asked.

“My mother has a theory, she texted me a few minutes ago that she would like to talk with us in person about it, both of us.”

“All right, love, lead the way.” He gestured toward the room door.

But before leaving, Emma asked Killian to help her put on his hook because doing everyday actions one-handed was nothing easy. He had his doubts, worried that she would hurt herself or someone else unintentionally, but in the end, he gave in. "Be careful, it's sharp."

And he had to lace her hair in a ponytail with a rubber band she had given to him, because "If you don't want to wash, at least comb my hair, I don't want to become a Rastafarian". He had no idea what that was, but Emma's already categorical orders sounded even more threatening coming out of his lips.

.

~·~·~·~  

.

When Emma and Killian entered the station, David, in the body of Mary Margaret, was already there waiting for them. He was wearing a soft pink sweater, very typical of his wife, and he was scratching his neck. "I don't know how Snow can live inside this!" 

Killian suppressed a laugh "Was it indispensable for you to put on her clothes?"

"My wife thought that we should attract the least attention possible, given that this curse, or whatever it is, hasn't affected all the people of Storybrooke."

"Where's mom?" Emma asked.

"She said something about a matter at school, but she'll be here soon."

"I can use this time to relieve myself," Emma said.

"No!" Killian and David shouted simultaneously.

"Are you kidding me?" She was stunned.

They both shook their heads. "You'll have to wait." 

"Come on girls, I'm going to explode!" As soon as the words came out of Emma's mouth, she realized her mistake, which was received by a scowl from the men. "Guys." She corrected herself. "Sorry, out of habit. But I really, really need to."

"Fine!" Killian exhaled. "I'll help."

"What do you mean, help?" David was annoyed.

"It's my bloody body." The other man cut short.

A couple of minutes after, Killian was standing next to Emma in the small toilet of the station. 

She had a scarf tied around her eyes so that she couldn't see anything. "Is this really necessary?" She asked arms stretched before her to not hit anything.

"Aye, love, it is."

Killian positioned her in the right spot and she felt how the zipper of the jeans opened up. 

She couldn't see, but her other senses were quite alive. When Killian took out her, or better said, his member, she jolted. "Whoa!" 

"Everything alright?" Killian worried.

"Yeah, sorry, it's just... Is this what you feel when someone is touching you?" She inquired.

He seemed to ponder over it. "I'm not sure what you're feeling right now, but I suppose yes."

When Emma finished and was fully dressed again, Killian took the scarf from her eyes. 

"Don't you have to...?" She asked, pointing towards the toilet seat.

He shook his head. "When you live on the ocean for so many years, you learn how to hold it. Facilities are not the strongest point of a ship."

"You may know how to repress it, but I know my body and believe me, you won't resist as much as you think." 

He swallowed hard. "Let's go back to our duties."

.

~·~·~·~

.

When Emma and Killian went back to the main room of the station, Mary Margaret was already there as well. 

She told them that a girl had locked herself into a class room and had no intention of coming out. 

Snow had had to go check it out as sheriff, but as soon as she’d arrived she’d recognized the girl's voice as that of one of her ex-students. 

A classmate had told her that the girl in question had come to school that morning crying and saying that she had done something horrible.

Mary Margaret knew the girl’s background, she came from a good family, and her parents were True Love, which made it likely that this girl was showing the first signs of magic.

“It could have been her, unintentionally causing all this trouble.” She explained. “And giving that she is the product of True Love, well, I thought that’s why this sort of curse doesn’t affect all the people.”

“I don’t follow you.” Was Emma’s statement.

“I mean that, maybe, it affects only True Love couples.” Mary Margaret stated.

At that, there were various looks exchanged between the four of them. But it wasn’t the time or place to discuss it. 

Snow went on. “David, she won’t talk to me, because she doesn't recognize me. But I’m sure that if you could go to school and try to make her reason, we could probably find out what she did.”

“Me?” He asked bewildered.

“Yes, you. Because to the rest of the world, you are me!” And she crossed her arms indicating that the matter was closed.

David muttered something like “What would I say to her?” and “Why is it always up to me?” But in the end, he surrendered to his wife’s desire. With the condition that Killian would go with him, in his role of Sheriff Swan. 

In the meantime Emma and Mary Margaret would go to talk to Regina, to find out if there was a possible magical cure to this curse, or whatever it was.

.

~·~·~·~

.

Regina opened her front door to see a very puzzled David Nolan, who was more interested in finding out if anyone was following him, and an unusual Killian Jones, who was wearing an outfit more typical of the man next to him. The mayor raised one eyebrow in question, looking at the couple in front of her. “Sheriff, Captain, what can I do for you?”

“Ah… we hope you could help us with a delicate issue.” The blond man said. 

She left the door wide open for the others to come inside. “I see that being part of the Charming family is affecting you more than it should, pirate.” She was looking down at Killian.

“We’re not who you think we are.” Was his short reply.

Regina froze. “And exactly who are you?” She knew that glamor spells were never a good thing. 

“Emma”. “Mary Margaret.” They answered in unison.

Regina relaxed a bit. “Well, this is…” She started. 

But she was immediately interrupted by Emma “Weird.”

“Awkward”. Mary Margaret added.

“I was going to say: amusing.” 

“Believe me, Regina, there’s nothing funny about this.” Emma snorted. “And by the way, why aren’t you in Robin’s body?” She asked.

Regina crossed her arms and lifted one eyebrow. “Should I?” 

“Yes. Or at least we thought you…” But Emma didn’t finish the sentence.

“I supposed that this curse, or whatever this is, is affecting only True Love couples. But maybe I’m wrong.” Mary Margaret explained.

The mayor seemed to ponder that possibility. “You could be right.” She conceded. “Assuming that the Savior and the Captain are True Love.” 

Emma didn’t let her go down that path. “But that doesn't explain why you are still…you!”

“Because magic only applies to Storybrooke boundaries, and as we all know, Robin is now out of town.” Regina clarified matter-of-factly. “That’s why his, I mean, her" she added pointing towards Mary Margaret "theory could be correct.”

Emma was not at all liking the turn that dialogue was taking, and went straight to the point. “Can you undo it?” 

“I could. If I knew who made this curse and how. You should know that all magic has its counterspell, but we need to be sure about how it was created.” It sounded more like a reproach than an explanation. “And by the way, have you tried by kissing your guyliner boyfriend?” 

“Regina!” Emma hissed.

“Alright, alright.” The mayor complied. “Let me know if you find out who did this. And I will work on a possible antidote.” 

.

~·~·~·~

.

Meanwhile, the two men had almost reached the school grounds when Killian grabbed David’s arm to stop him. “There is no need to raise suspicions, we should behave like the people we seem to be.” 

“What do you mean?” David wasn’t following his companion’s thoughts.

“Your wife doesn’t walk like that,” Killian stated.

“What?” 

“It’s more like a fashion show than a march to war.” The other explained.

“I don’t know if I’m more upset by the fact that you noticed how my wife walks, or because you know what a fashion show is.” 

“What can I say, I’m a man of many surprises.” Killian winked smugly.

“I’m not going to punch you in the face, just because your current face is my daughter’s.” David started his stroll towards the school, even more at the full march.

“I never thought this situation could have some perks.” Killian chortled. 

.

~·~·~·~

.

As it turned out, Mary Margaret was right. The girl was scared when Killian and David entered the room where she was hiding, but as soon as she recognized her ex-teacher she burst into tears. 

She told them that the day before she had argued with her boyfriend, but her parents didn't seem to care about it, confident that sooner or later the young lovebirds would resolve it. She added that it was very difficult to be the daughter of a perfect married couple; it seemed that everyone expected her life to be the same. 

That was why she had so badly wished that all True Love couples could go through some kind of misunderstanding so that her parents could see her point of view.

But, of course, the next morning, realizing the harm her wish had caused her parents had made her regret it, and now she had no idea how to fix the situation.

David tried to reassure the girl, telling her that they would soon find a cure to fix everything.

.

~·~·~·~

.

And that was exactly what Regina did. Fixed it. In no time she produced the antidote for the Proteus’ curse. That was the name of this curious magic that swapped True Love’s bodies. The mayor gave to all the couples affected some little bottles that they had to drink to reverse the curse.

Killian and Emma were standing in his hotel room at Granny’s. Facing each other. Two vials on the table next to them. 

“So,” she said, “this is it. Back to our original selves.”

“Aye, that’s the idea. Are we sure Regina didn’t put anything strange into these liquids? I wouldn’t like to wake up tomorrow with a dragon face or similar.” 

“I think we can trust her.” But she didn’t move to reach for the bottles. 

He saw her hesitation. “What is it, love?”

“I was thinking about something you said this morning.” 

She was clearly uncomfortable, so he tried to lighten the moment. “You shall have to be more specific, I said many things.”

“I’m glad you chose to not take a shower. Not until we’re back to normal.” 

“No need to thank me.” He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, but it was strange for him to notice his stubble under the fingertips. 

“Yeah, well…” 

She was still hesitant, he could sense it. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me? Or shall we proceed to…” He said, indicating the vials. 

She looked at him hesitantly and he nodded, to let her know that she could tell him anything, whatever it was that was worrying her.

“Uh… given that we haven’t taken that next step already in our relationship… you know… we could try things.” 

This attracted his curiosity. “Define things.”

“I was thinking… what if we take advantage of this situation to get to know each other better. I mean… we could for example take that bath together.”

Killian was starting to understand what she was trying to say, but he wasn’t sure to be on the same track. “Even though I do find myself devilishly handsome, I’d rather be you, all of you, on the other end of my attentions.” 

She laughed, releasing some of the tension. “But we have this opportunity to feel what the other would feel when we touch each other, isn’t it interesting? And I'm glad I'm not the one who has to get on tiptoe to be able to kiss you.” She grinned. “So, what do you say?”

She was being serious, she really wanted to try it. But what did he want? He stared at her for a few beats of their hearts. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“No?” She was surprised.

“No.” He repeated. “As much as it does sound intriguing and tantalizing, I still prefer our first time to be the way it should be. And believe me, Emma, when we decide to take that step, we will know what the other one is feeling, maybe not in the most literal meaning of the word, but we will know it. And it will be perfect. Just as I want it to be.” 

A million thoughts seemed to cross her mind, but in the end, she understood his point of view and smiled at him. “Ok.” She went closer and tilted her head until she could feel his lips on hers... or vice versa. The kiss was short but still intimate. 

“And by the way, I do not like to be the one who has to get on tiptoe to be able to kiss you,” Killian muttered.

She burst out laughing.

[defenderrosetyler]

A Prince and His Swan Chapter 3

The Time has come for chapter 3! Thank you to @flamencodiva​ for helping Beta as usual; There is a small warning in here is a character death, minor language, things like that.  WC:  2465 There is also a companion series with this by flamencodiva as well, The Frog Prince which can be found HERE Storybrooke “Good Morning Samuel.” Mr. Gold says, not looking up from his work as the bell above the door chimed, signaling a person's entrance into his store. “Gold,” Sam says, letting out a huff of annoyance. If Gold was going to question him the same as Henry was about his mood? This wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit. Mr. Gold, being the wealthiest man in town, knew almost everything. Including the town gossip.

“Judging by the sound of your mood, it's safe to say you and Y/N had another argument this morning, didn't you?” He says, dark brown eyes looking at the younger Winchester brother. “How are your parents, by the way? Your relationship with Ruby?” “Ruby is none of your concern.” Sam snapped. “Oh, come now, is that any way to talk to a man who helped you and your family?” He says, giving his response in a calm, low tone .”I could go to Rowena and be in charge of all of those finances?” Mr. Gold took a step closer to Sam, giving him a slight glare, “After all, it was originally my contract you destroyed, Boy. But I can make sure to take it back and have you start at square one all over again.” Sam held up his hands, not wanting to argue with the man, “Is it just me, or was the clocktower moving this morning?”

This made Gold raise a confused brow at Sam. This was not the first time he’d heard this rumor, especially with the talk of the new person that had arrived in town, even staying at Granny’s B and B. The bell rang a second time that morning, sounding another patron entering the shop's entryway.

“Good Morning, gentleman.” Sheriff Graham says from the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Cleaning his throat, attempting to diffuse the tension between the two lawyers in the room. 

“Good Morning, Graham.” “Sheriff.” Both men, who seemed to be in a standoff, greeted the Sheriff of Storybrooke. Refusing to turn to look at him. “Would you gentleman be interested in a job? I have a client who needs a lawyer, and you two are the only ones I know.”

 “Well, Samuel, I think this makes for an interesting deal between us. Let's put that brain of yours to the test. I want to see how well you're able to keep our newest capture in her cell. If you can keep her behind bars, I’ll give you a raise in your salary. This would allow you to pay back Rowena a lot sooner and allow you to save up for any possible future you and Miss Ruby may have.” Sam gave him a look, waiting for the rebuttal of what would happen when he ends up losing. Which Sam had no intention of losing. He wanted to show up Gold. Stand up to him. “If I end up winning and our new friend is freed from her cage?” he says, a wicked look in his eye. “I’ll have you work double shifts here, receiving the same amount of pay. Possibly less, I haven’t fully decided yet.” Sam blinks as he lets his words echo in his ears.  Thrusting out his hand for Gold to take, a smirk on his face, “Done.”

Enchanted Forest

“Samuel! We weren’t expecting to see you.” Charming says, greeting his friend from the throne room of his castle. It was full of guests coming to see the newly wedded couple. Then again, the arrival of a royal baby was cause for celebration. Sam smiled, hugging Charming. 

“Congratulations on the new arrival on the way.” He smiled, glancing over to see Snow approaching them slowly. “Samuel,” Snow White greeted, making her way towards him to envelope him in a tight hug. “We heard about Odette. Have you found anything?” “I don’t think you’d believe me,” Sam sighed, looking at his friends.  “I think I know of someone we can talk to that may be able to help you out,” Charming says, looking over at his wife, who also nods, having come to the same idea as her husband.

The Blue Fairy.

Sam watched as the Fairy approached, feeling wary of her. Dean had mentioned Amaya had been cursed by a fairy, but if Snow and Charming said that she was someone they trusted, he could trust her, couldn’t he?

“Nice to meet you,” Sam says, remembering his manners. Telling the Fairy about Odette and her curse.

 “Oh, I know all about her curse, sweet one,” She says sweetly to him. This made Sam blink. Had he told her all of this for nothing? The Fairy let out a sigh. “As much as I’d like to offer my assistance, Rowena’s curse is pretty straightforward in how to break it.”

“Paid in blood,” Sam scoffed, “Charming, I’m not about to let anyone die because of someone I love!” He says, angry at the situation. He wasn’t about to lose Odette. This wasn’t going to end in bloodshed. The translation echoed in his ears, making Sam feel anxious. ‘never shall she be with the ones she loves, until true loves confession be spoken with blood.’ Feeling frustrated, Sam left the throne room, heading to the dungeons. Sam knew that Snow and Charming had Rumplestilskin in their dungeons. Maybe he could help him break the curse from Rowena or at least offer some sound advice. Then again, the man was dark and evil. “No...No, this is foolish,” Sam muttered under his breath. “Nothing is foolish, dearie,” Rumple said from his cell. “Especially if it keeps that little swan of yours safe.” “You don’t get to talk about Odette as if you know her!” Sam snapped, walking up to the bars of his cell. Face red with anger, chest rising and falling in rage. “Who am I kidding? You're just a waste of my time. Arguing with you isn't gonna help me save Odette.” Rumples' maniacal laugh echoed in the dungeons as Sam made his way back to his own castle. There was a ball to prepare for.

Storybrooke “What do you mean you backed out of the challenge?!” Ruby snapped as she looked over at her fiancé. She had been pacing in their living room ever since Sam returned later from home than usual. As Sam sat down, telling her the events of the afternoon, she was growing angrier and angrier. “I mean exactly that, Ruby!” Sam snapped, feeling frustrated and tired of her questioning his every move. His eyes filled with rage, glaring at her.  “I don’t care about you anymore!” He says, voice rising as he grew angrier. “If you don’t like my work ethic, then there’s the door.” Ruby blinked, hearing Sam’s sudden outburst. He’d never raised his voice like this to her before. What was coming over him? Sam sighed as he ran a hand over his face. He had to clear his head. Maybe some coffee and sleep would be best for him. The following day, Ruby’s things were all packed, making it clear she was leaving. Sam headed over to the jail with a resounded sigh to say good morning to Graham and check in on things there. Emma Swan was causing quite the gossip around town. What was so special about her anyway? Seeing Emma released from the prison made Sam smile a little. Knowing if he’d kept his bet with Gold, he would have lost. As he made his way over to his office, a voice calling his name caught his attention. “Henry? Shouldn’t you be in school?” Sam scolds him gently, arms crossed against his chest. Henry looked slightly embarrassed. “I wanted to see if you could teach me horseback riding.” Sam raised his eyebrows at the request. “It's just-” “Henry, for the tenth time, I am not a prince in that special book of yours,” Sam says, cutting him off. “Please, Sam?” Henry practically begged. Sam held up his hands, not wanting to argue. Henry grinned excitedly. Then a thought came to his mind. “Henry, we don’t have any horses in town, do we?” Henry nodded, heading to a small ranch in town that Sam didn’t know was there. Then again, Sam didn’t travel much. Mostly, he was occupied with work from the law firm or doing work for Mr. Gold. When not spending time at his place of employment, Sam spends a lot of time at home or even sharing a meal with his brother at Granny’s diner. How else would he know that Singer Ranch even existed? “Henry! Nice to see you, kid!” An older man chuckled. “Hi, Mr. Singer!” Henry greeted, “Sam and I came to ride a horse!” “Mr. Singer,” Sam also greeted, holding out his hand for the elder stablemaster to hold. “Henry’s told me a lot about you, Sam. Let me guess, he thinks one of my horses are yours then?” Sam nodded, clearing his throat. Bobby led them to the stables, where there were three horses. One seemed to catch Sam’s eye. A black horse, the tallest of the three with a beautiful black mane. “That there is Onyx.” Bobby says,  “Got him all saddled up for you.” As Sam approached the stable door, Onyx let out a loud knicker. Causing Sam to chuckle, brushing the horse’s nose. “See? He recognized you!” Henry cheered. This made Sam blink his eyes and back up a little. “Henry, I’ve never seen this horse in my life.” He says, trying to argue. “Bet you can ride him though.” Henry says, “Besides if you’re teaching me, you should show me what to do first, right?” This kid was not letting up. Apparently, Sam wasn’t the only one Henry had been pestering. Henry had been pressing Dean too. Making him show off archery lessons when he went to sub as a gym teacher for the day. Sam raised a brow at Henry after looking at Onyx. “If I can ride him properly around the arena, I’d like to know more about Y/N. Clearly, she dislikes me, and I’d like to know why. If I’m truly a prince, then maybe she’s a princess?” “If you can ride Onyx, Henry won’t be the only one impressed. Can’t seem to get anyone to calm him down to ride him. If anything, he tolerates me at best.” Bobby added under his breath. Stepping into the stall, Sam sighed, holding out his hand. The horse had to trust him first before he decided to jump onto his back and ride around the area Bobby had. “Easy boy,” Sam whispered softly. “I’m not gonna hurt you, see? You're not so bad, are you, Onyx," Sam said. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath, letting it out slowly. He's never been close to a horse before, and yet, this horse seems to trust him. The hose gave a soft snort, his nose pressing into Sam’s hand as a sign of acceptance. Moving slowly, Sam placed his foot in the stirrup, pushing off the ground, swinging his leg over, and securing himself on the saddle. Henry noticed Sam shaking his head. Sam still felt Henry was still out of his mind. Sam wasn’t in some fairytale. He lived in the real world. Cleaning his throat, Sam nodded to Bobby, allowing him to open the stall door. “I’ll be damned,” Bobby says in surprise. “That horse barely tolerates me.” “That's because he’s Sam’s horse!” Henry says, trying to stress the point. Placing his book on a stool, flipping to find the page of Sam riding Onyx through the woods. This was crazy. Sam had never ridden a horse in his life, yet he knew how to approach Onyx? Sam gave a gentle click of his tongue, followed by a soft kick to Onyx’s side. Sam wanted to take things slow. Just send the horse on a peaceful walk. Apparently, Onyx had other ideas, moving into a trot instead. Sam gives him a swift kick. “I said walk.” He muttered “I thought you said you never rode a horse before Sam?” Bobby questioned him.  Sam blinked, looking over at the older man. “You made him stop on a dime since he wasn’t listening to ya. Only a rider who knows his horse would know how to control him like that.” Onyx was still not pleased with being told what to do, even if being ridden by Sam. He’d been cooped up in the stall for far too long. Onyx broke out into a full canter within a moment’s notice, rushing him and Sam into the woods outside of town. “Damn it, Onyx, slow down, would ya?!” Sam shouts, feeling frustrated and irritated. Why wasn’t the horse listening to him? It was clear the horse wanted to go running, to feel free and run. Sam desperately tried to gain his control back. While he was away, Henry and Bobby talked while looking over his storybook. Bobby was apparently in his book too, but Bobby was willing to sit and listen to Henry. Henry was just a boy. He needed friends to talk to instead of people brushing him off. “Onyx, I said slow down!” Sam snarled at the horse and gives it another firm kick to his rib area. Trying to make the stallion listen to reason. This time, after past attempts of misbehavior, Onyx finally slowed down to a trot then over to a walk. As sunset approached, Sam decided to climb down off Onyx and lead him back to the stables where he’d be in Bobby’s care once again. Offering to walk Henry home before choosing to walk home himself. He really didn’t want to head back to his apartment, didn’t want to face Ruby. She had given him enough of a headache and didn’t want to cause another one. Sam always knew he was welcomed at Granny’s for a meal. Even if he and Y/N weren’t on speaking terms. As Sam made his way into town, though, he heard screaming coming from the jail. It wasn’t anyone he knew, but the woman shouted a name he knew, making Sam feel sick to his stomach. “Graham...” Sam breathed, rushing over as fast as he could to help Emma. “Emma, Emma, what happened?” “I-I don’t know….” Emma stammered. “I….I think he’s dead….” She whispered, in a state of shock. With a frown, Sam leaned over to check Graham’s pulse on his neck then his wrist. With tears brimming his eyes, he rushed over to Granny’s for help. Y/N had just made her way inside from running an errand for Granny, noticing the look in Sam’s eyes. She slowly reached to place a gentle hand on his arm.  “Sam? What is it?” she asked. A lonely tear fell down Sam’s cheek.  “Graham’s Dead.”

[ohmightydevviepuu]

for tonight you’re only here to know / part three

(artwork used with permission from carpedzem) part one | part two | part three AO3

A/N:   no beta on this one. we die like real small creatures from alpha centauri.

--

Sometimes on the rarest nights Comes the vision calm and clear Gleaming with unearthly lights On our path of doubt and fear Winds from that far land are blown Whispering with secret breath Hope that plays a tune alone Love that conquers pain and death

We shall never find that lovely land of might-have-been I can never be your king, nor you can be my queen Days may pass and years may pass and seas may lie between We shall never find that lovely land of might-have-been

Ivor Novello

There is applause and it is thunderous as it echoes off the rafters and the walls and sneaks into the crevices between the bookshelves where every manner of humanity is squeezed in, side-by-side; he feels as if he can hear them all breathing, or trying to, hung on his every word even as he is reliving it. Every second.

There is a voice next to him, poking at the edges of his consciousness, and he remembers.

Who he is.

Where he is.

Here, and now.

He shifts in his chair and glances with only the barest hesitation at the device on the table in front of him that records his voice and transmits it even farther, to those who are not physically present. He directs his question at the woman seated next to him, pert eyes and short hair and a beaming smile.

“Apologies, love,” he says. “Can you repeat that last bit?”

“How does it end? Do the princess and the pirate--?”

“Oh, aye. They get their happily-ever-after. It’s a thrilling tale, to be sure.” He suits his tone to match his words but the truth, of course, was rather more gruesome. He shuts his eyes, an attempt to stave off the flood of memories that threatens to overtake him, replacing the brightness of the bookshop’s event stage with the bleakness and the blackness of the dungeon and how it felt to fall, to catch his breath--his breath, he was breathing. His view of her was magnificent, her hand outstretched in defiance, the purple glow of the squid ink he’d given her--pressed into her hand in a moment of desperation and trust and love--enveloping the Evil Queen and binding her, immobilizing her on the spot. Emma twirled--dancing--spun on sure feet the three steps between herself and the Queen and caught his heart in her hands before it hit the stone floor.

“Killian!” It was a scream and sometimes he hears it, still, in his nightmares.

 He coughs, swallowing bile.

There is--as if by magic--a bottle of water being pushed at him and he braces it against his left wrist, bringing into view the black glove he wears on his left hand as he twists off the cap and sips greedily, wishing it was possible to wash away the taste of a memory. The Dark One’s laughter as he smiled, as his teeth glittered and he straightened, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket and blowing gently across the page as the words disappeared and re-formed in the air and settled on the bars, causing them to vanish. As if the bars were nothing more than an illusion, a trick, a plan. The creature lifted a single finger--in warning, in disappointment--pointed it at the Queen as he spoke. “You should have come to me for help when the Curse failed,” he whispered. It was conversational and chilling and the Queen her mouth to speak but said nothing, moved not a single muscle as she was bundled into the Dark One’s cell and the bars replaced, as solid as they ever had been. “You should have listened when I taught you the proper casting of it. And what have you to show for it, Your Majesty, after all of these years? Nothing.” The creature sighed. “Whereas I have a deal to conclude with this lovely young woman. Emma.”

The way he said the name was a caress and it was Emma’s turn to shiver, blinking as her palm turned up--the hand not holding Hook’s heart--and her knife pointed at the Dark One.

“Put that away, dearie,” the creature said. “I have other weapons I prefer. And you have something I need. And as soon as we are done--”

 The plastic crinkles in the tightening grip of his fingers; sometimes the sound it makes still surprises him, soft and loud at the same time.

The water spills and the woman jumps.

“I’m quite all right,” he assures her, and she does not know enough to know he is lying.

She giggles, gives a grin that flashes the whitest and most perfect set of teeth he’s ever seen.

“So the princess, does she give Hook his heart back?”

He pulls at the chains around his neck as if it is a reflex, and maybe it is--maybe every time he feels the weight on it he thinks of nothing but her fingers and the way she smiled when she tangled her hand in the chains and pulled him upright, golden hair and glittering eyes as she smiled at him, the rush of success and victory coursing through her though he could not feel it.

“That would be telling,” he says, raising a single eyebrow and plastering on another smile as a wave of laughter rumbles through the audience.

(Her sad smile and the nervous way she said, “I’ve never done this before.”)

(“Held my heart in your hands?” Hook’s hand on her wrist, the warmth and the energy there. (“You’ve had it for longer than you realize, love. It is--and always will be--yours.”)

“We’ll just have to read and find out,” she laughs, gesturing at the bound book stood up for display on the flimsy table.

The Land of Might-Have-Been.

By Killian Jones.

 “So, Killian.” Her eyes flutter. “Tell us more about your main character. Hook. Where did you get your inspiration?”

He smiles, his hand rubs at the back of his neck before he leans forward, anchoring his elbow on the table and settling his hand under his chin. “In some ways I think of him as the man I used to be,” he says. “The man I would have been, if I had not found my way to a change.”

He put his life on the line for two things: Love and revenge.

Captain Hook had been forged in the fires of the former.

Killian Jones had been set free by another kind of flame.

“I had a brother once. And a first love.” He rubs unconsciously at his right wrist, though the thick fabric of his shirt more than covers the tattoo there--more than covers all of them, the details of his life inked into his arm like a sleeve, that told the story as easily as the book did and in fewer words. “I was hurting, and chasing after anything that might help me to overcome that pain, to regain control.” The octopus curling around his shoulder and down the side of his torso; the roped sailor’s knots; the tangled thorns of the vines digging into his bicep, dripping black venom. “I realized that I could be a better man. That I wanted to be, and what I needed was to try something new.”

 The Dark One’s voice was silk and oil, smooth and greasy. “--as soon as we are done, Regina, you are going to give me Belle. You are going to tell me what you’ve done with her. I will flay you while you speak, perhaps, or--”

“Rumplestiltskin.” It was the first time Hook had spoken the man’s name in decades.

Names had Power.

Such as the power of distraction; Hook struck as the creature turned, blocking Emma’s whitening face from his view as he stepped in between them and grasped the creature’s wrist with his hook, wrapping his hand around the other. Wrapping his hand and the object he concealed there--for while Hook may have been fatally unprepared for his first encounter with the Dark One, he’d vowed never to be without recourse again.

The creature screamed as the cuff closed around his wrist and Hook said, “Surely you did not think I only traveled to Neverland in my quest for your demise? Cora sends her regards, crocodile.”

The Queen’s gasp was audible--as well it might be, for she had banished her mother to Wonderland almost thirty years ago--and Emma’s face was blank, a cipher, as the creature whirled back to face her, clutching his wrist as if his hand had been sliced off, and pleaded. “Missy. Missy…”

Hook stepped in between them, blocking the princess from the Dark One’s sight. “You want to make a deal, Dark One? Then you’re going to deal with me. That cuff will block your ability to access your magic unless or until I decide to remove it, and not a minute sooner.” He turned to Emma. “Promise me, Swan, that you will see to it that Ariel truly got away safely, back to her prince and to her home. And perhaps you can do for Graham what you have done for me.”

“Killian.” Power. Magic. Fire. “What are you going to do?”

Lunacy.

 The room around him is fully silent and even the interviewer is holding her breath when Killian says, “I thought about what it would be like for him--for Hook--if he had a chance to be a part of something. Because I know a little something about that, about not being able to forget your first love, to believe that you can’t move on. But all it took was meeting the right person--”

And on his left shoulder blade, just above his heart, a swan.

 “It’s like he said. The Curse failed, love,” Hook said. “None of this was meant to happen--none of this is what he foresaw, or what she planned. Isn’t that right, crocodile?”

The Evil Queen moved as if to strike, as if she had--or would ever have again--that freedom of movement, but the Dark One merely smiled.

“It wasn’t just your parents that were meant to be swept away by the Queen’s curse,” Hook said. “It was all of us. This entire realm sent someplace else, into a Land Without Magic. That’s where Baelfire went when he left his father.” Hook paused before continuing. “When he left me. He believed it was the only place he would be safe.”

“What’s your point, pirate?” The Dark One snapped.

“My point is that all magic comes with a price. My point is that when the spell failed, something went wrong. And now is your chance, crocodile--to tell us. The truth. And in return--” he held up his hand, pointed it at the Dark One in attempt to forestall the protest that was surely imminent “--I will tell you where the maid is, your precious Belle. Where Regina has kept her all of these years. Perhaps I will even remove that cuff and allow you to do something about it.”

It took all of his strength not to mention the other thing, the object that consumed his days and his nights and his nightmares for the better part of three decades. The object that could kill the Dark One--his crocodile, Milah’s murderer. But Hook had made his choice.

He just wished he could feel it--feel her--the fire--the magic--because now he had a name for it, the way he felt about her--all of the things she made him feel and want and believe.

“Tell us, and I will use the portal to bring back the King and the Queen; I will leave, so long as you leave Emma out of this. Emma and her family will be free of you and all of your schemes, hereafter.”

The creature cocked his head and tasted the air with his tongue, considering, until--

“No.” Emma was definitive.

The creature giggled as Emma moved, deliberately switching places with Hook to place herself between him and the crocodile, so she could force him to look at her and her green eyes. “I don’t need saving,” she said.

Hook smiled and said, “That’s good. Because I’m not a hero.”

“I can handle it. I’m not a damsel in distress.” She was lying; there was distress written all over her face, but this--this was something he could do for her, something he wanted to do. Something with purpose, with meaning, something new.

“Emma, think of yourself. Of your family. Of your kingdom. You can’t leave--and even if you could--there would be nothing left for me here. Not even the pursuit of my revenge. I cannot be that man any more. Darkness and hatred have left my life empty.” He cupped his hand over her cheek and stroked the tear forming there, brushing it aside. “I do not want to end up like Regina. Please.”

It was then and not a moment sooner that the world he’d so carefully constructed over the long years shattered, finally--completely--to pieces. As he stepped forward and pulled her against him, a drowning man grasping for a rope. As he pressed his lips to hers and she kissed him as if he were dying and she alone had oxygen.

 “So, one last question, then, Killian. We’ll take it from the audience this time.”

In the crowd, someone rises--there is a flash of blonde and blue and Killian cannot--he cannot--

The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement as she speaks. “Killian,” she says, “do you believe in True Love?”

Killian smiles. He forces himself to. He exhales a laugh.

He exhales a laugh to cover up the fact that all of his breath seems, suddenly, to leave his body.

Again.

On account of a kiss.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, slow degrees of feeling welling up inside him, coming from someplace deep and unfamiliar except for the heat and the magic that seemed to guide it; he had no defense for it, no protection against it, and it built into a wave so powerful that to feel it crest over him, exploding in sparkes of rainbow light, was nothing so much as a relief. He staggered back under its impact and braced himself against the bars of Regina’s cell and watched as a door formed before his--before their--eyes. His heart, so recently returned to him, pounding so hard that everything around him seemed to vibrate--his mind a thick haze of fire and light and magic. The torches in the dungeon ablaze and every kiss before this one merely a prelude, flint to light the kindling.

The door was three times the height of a man, taller than the dungeon as it seemed to pierce the ceiling. When it opened there was a lonely stretch of forest bisected by a strangely-paved path and a sign.

“Welcome to Storybrooke.”

At the sign--or more properly at the edge of it, just where it met the road--was a vessel unlike any Hook had ever seen before, heaving and steaming as a man kicked at it, swearing under his breath as if his invective would serve as fuel.

“Father,” Emma whispered.

And--from inside the vessel--a woman’s voice; “Mother.” There was the sound of something opening and closing as a piece of the thing swung open--a door--and a boy slid out.

No. Not a boy.

A young man.

The Evil Queen growled.

The Dark One hissed.

And Emma said, “Oh. Oh, shit.”

 The lights are dim and the crowd dispersed as he leaves, waving a hand behind him and walking away from the storefront branded Housing Works Bookstore. It’s dry--a rarity in this city, he has found--dry and cool and clear, and if he angles his head just so between the so-called ‘skyscrapers’ there is a faint glimmer of the stars that are very nearly the same here as they were there. He still remembers them, the way they shone in her eyes as the truth of what they were watching through the portal struck her.

“I have a brother,” she said, and her voice seemed to carry across the portal, across time and space, because a petite, dark-haired woman nearly fell out of the vessel as she looked up, looked around.

“Emma?”

It was a sound of disbelief and doubt and hope but it, too, carried; the man straightened, the vessel forgotten as he started walking unerringly toward the portal that surely he could not see.

Emma swore again and turned to her grandmother, to the Evil Queen, and said, “They remember?” Out of all the possible questions, of course she chose the least expected. How--why--what--none of them was as salient as the simple fact. They remembered.

The Queen raised in eyebrow in pure hauteur and Emma grabbed his hook and pulled him toward the door. “I must go to them,” she said, and he followed.

He would follow her to the end of the world and beyond; with a cry and a lunge she hurled herself at them, at her parents, at her brother.

Hook watched as Queen Snow took her daughter’s head in her hands and kissed the forehead, delicately--as King David pulled his daughter into his arms and cupped the back of her head, gently--as Leo introduced himself.

“Please don’t call me Leopold,” he said, and Emma laughed through her tears.

“This is Killian,” she said. “Captain Killian Jones.”

David’s eyes narrowed as he took in the silver prosthetic where Hook’s left hand used to be. “Captain Hook?”

But Snow said, “Now is not the time, David,” and her green eyes shone almost as brightly as her daughter’s as she looked at him, up and down from his boots to his eyes that were lowered, respectfully--as she stepped forward and took his face in her hands the same way she had taken Emma’s. “Thank you,” she said.

Hook blushed. “I--milady--gratitude is hardly necessary,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly and, for the first time in a long time, uncertain. He was uncertain and his hand reached, unthinkingly, for Emma’s, for the warmth and the comfort he found there.

“You found us,” Snow insisted.

“Emma found you,” Hook said.

“And I never doubted she would,” Snow said. “But I know what you did for her, why she is able to be here right now.”

“What--” Hook swallowed. “What did I do?”

Queen Snow looked at him, and looked at her daughter, at their hands clasped together and said, “True Love’s Kiss. It’s the only magic strong enough to break any curse.”

“Oh,” Hook said. Oh.

He dropped Emma’s hand and stepped back.

The King grumbled. “Let’s discuss this at home. We have a kingdom to take back.” Then, under his breath: “Again.”

The word hung in the air. Home.

Hook took another step back--turned away--opened his mouth--all he knew, with certainty, was that he could not go back there. He could not go back to that place and that person who carried around all of that darkness and anger and hate. He wanted to stay. He was a pirate, a Lost Boy; it would not be the first time in his life that he found himself in a new place with nothing but his wits and his hook and the things he carried.

But Swan--

Emma.

Princess Emma.

She--

He would follow her. Of course he would. He could just as soon live without air as he could live without her.

(He’s known that since the first morning he’d woken up to find her gone; he’s known that every night he’s dreamed of her and every morning since.)

“Oh,” Snow said. “Oh.” Mother and daughter watched each other, identical eyes matched in understanding. “Emma’s not coming home,” Snow said.

  It is very nearly midnight when Killian returns home, unlocking his front door with practiced ease and slipping the keys into the pocket of his leather blazer.

What he is not prepared for, or expecting, is her.

Waiting for him.

(Truth be known, he might never be.)

Emma Swan, his True Love, is waiting for him, her green eyes twinkling in the streetlights that are shining through the windows of their flat and still--always--nothing prepares him for the sight of her. Her golden hair is lighter now, streaked with very fine strands of silver; the blue leather of her jacket is bright and adorned with zippers instead of gemstones. She wears no jewelry, in this place--they sold most of it a long time ago. Her only adornment is a silver chain around her neck and the ring he gave her--his brother’s ring--between her breasts.

“You beat me home,” he says.

“You had your adoring fans to contend with,” she says, and laughs. Killian shuts the door behind him and inhales, slowly, savoring it the way he always does--sweet and spicy--and she watches him.

“Your eyes,” she says. “I love the way you look at me. Still.”

“Always.”

And it’s not a dream, but sometimes it still feels like one, when she grabs him and says his name and--somehow--he can feel the Power in it. She grabs him and he forgets where they are and when they are and he remembers the day she decided to stay here. With him.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said, looking at her mother and her father and her younger brother, the heir-presumptive once the King and the Queen were back on their rightful thrones. Killian had no doubts that they would see to Regina, and to the Dark One. Snow would give Graham back his heart and make certain that Belle was safe and cared for.

For the moment, there were more important matters to attend to.

Snow White ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Her voice was somehow strong and brittle at the same time--understanding twinged with sadness. “No,” she murmured. “You didn’t.”

Emma didn’t cry when she said, “I want something free of all of this. Free of the past and all its scars. Something I’ve chosen. Away from--”

“Us,” King David--the man once known across realms as Prince Charming--said.

“No,” Emma said. “But--yes. I’m sorry.”

That’s when David took her in his arms. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to us. Not ever. We love you. All that matters is that you know that, and are happy.”

And they were.

They are.

Together; they still make a good team.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she whispers. “Do you believe in True Love, Killian?” She stands on her toes and kisses him and it’s full of sweetness and love and he can feel it--the warmth and comfort and the magic that they were both told couldn’t exist in this place but which they kindled with the light they made for each other. The past, here, is nothing more than a bad dream from which he’s awakened, finding himself in her arms until the nightmares are banished and there is nothing but the two of them.

Killian lifts his mouth from hers and takes her hands and kisses them, the backs, each knuckle, before he settles them over his heart. It beats, hard but steady--so steady--as he holds her hands there. “Aye, love,” he says. “You are my happy ending.”

She pulls her hands away, pulls his hands in hers as she says, “That’s not what this is.” He feels it through the layers of her clothing as his hand rests over her abdomen--the flutter there--and he laughs, as she smiles a real smile, that same smile, from the night they met. “It’s a happy beginning.”

And that, surely, is nothing short of magic.

-30-

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